Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“If he had any hand in what happened to Tati, I’ll flay his skin from his bones.”
I had no doubts Nikolai would.
Dmitry nodded in agreement, and I was sure the eldest Petrov would have a few unique ideas in helping his crazy-ass brother out.
Carmine didn’t make mistakes, but I knew with arrogance and power, everyone slipped eventually. When people thought they were untouchable, that's when they started fucking up. If he was involved, I’d find the trail.
Nikolai leaned in and had a sadistic smile curving his lips. “And if we find proof? What then?” He started rubbing his hands together. “How about you just send him our way?”
I held his gaze. “We’ll cross that bridge if we get there.”
Dmitry’s eyes narrowed. “If Carmine is involved, this is going to destroy the Cosa Nostra from the inside out.”
“It’ll drag every-fucking-thing down. The Ruin will be turned upside down, and it'll cause an all-out war.” I rubbed the back of my head.
“It’s already a fucking war.”
I nodded at Dmitry. I wouldn’t let Carmine destroy everything I cared about.
There was a heavy fucking silence as the weight of it all settled on our shoulders. But I meant every word. “I’ll kill Carmine myself if I find out he was involved in Tatiana’s attack.” And I’d revel in it.
“We’re in this together,” Dmitry inserted, and I felt my eyebrows reach up to my fucking hairline. Never thought I’d hear those words directed at me, coming out of a Bratva member.
“Let's be smart about this shit,” Nikolai said, surprisingly being the one thinking rationally right now. “Everything could go to hell.”
Everything is already going to hell, just like Dmitry said.
“If Carmine betrayed the Cosa Nostra, his own people, he’ll be dealt with. If he betrayed me, I’ll castrate him and feed him his balls in a soup Tatiana makes.” The silence was long and heavy, and then Nikolai burst out laughing and slammed his hand on the table.
“Fucking hell, man. You’re crazier than me.”
“When it concerns Tatiana and my baby, I’ll burn the fucking world down, and it still wouldn’t satiate my need for blood and vengeance,” I told him, and I watched the brothers exchange a look, one that seemed eerily similar to one of approval.
A cold determination weighed down on all three of us then, and Dmitry ended our meeting with, “We’ll do what needs to be done when the time comes.”
Yeah, we fucking would.
32
CARMINE
Isipped my liqueur in a dimly lit little restaurant in Palermo, Sicily. Conversation was low from the few patrons eating, but I noticed they kept their gazes averted from where I sat. They knew who I was. What I did.
My face was an unreadable mask. I had to have it in place. I’d never let anyone know what I thought or what my plans were.
I was meeting someone here tonight, someone who had traveled a great distance to have this face-to-face conversation.
My specialty, the reason I was where I was and how I’d gotten to the level of power I had, was because I could navigate the complex web of politics inside organized crime. I was the head of the Italian Cosa Nostra.
But this meeting was different.
I was betraying everyone and everything for the sake of gaining the ultimate level of control. The stakes were fucking high, and there was no going back now. I sipped more of the Amaro Averna and waited, but I didn't have to wait for long.
Moments later, the man I was expecting walked through the door. He wore all black, his head lowered, his gaze straight ahead.
Elias, Head of the Greek Mafia—The Stygian Syndicate—stopped in front of me and, after a second, gave a slow, arrogant smile. His short, black hair was styled away from his face, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, showcasing the top of the dark ink I knew covered his entire chest.
“Siediti, Elias.”
He smirked again and cocked a dark eyebrow, but then he accepted my suggestion as he grabbed the back of the chair and pulled it out before he took a seat.
I gestured for someone to bring Elias a glass of Amaro Averna. When it was set in front of him, my guest picked it up and tasted the alcohol.
Although he seemed calm on the outside, I could feel the brewing tension radiating off him.
“Elias,” I began, keeping my voice steady. “How about we just cut to the chase?”
He stayed silent. Finally, after taking a longer drink of the liqueur, he set it down then tipped his head forward, wordlessly telling me to continue.
“We both know the Bratva’s hold on Desolation is strong. The Cosa Nostra has an alliance since the Bianchi girls married the Petrov brothers, and it is because of that connection the peace has been kept—as fragile as it is on most days.”