War (Bratva and Mafia Chronicles Book 1)

by Melissa Silvey

  “Your signal jammer is a little drastic, don’t you think?” he asks, with a smirk.

  “It’s kept me alive,” I point out. When he rolls his eyes, I shake my head. “Being invisible has kept me safe.”

  “But you need to know how she is. And I need to know about my business, and if Guilia Rossi is in New Jersey. Turn it off for a little while, and let me communicate with my men.” He sounds very calm, and convincing, and I do want to hear from her.

  I’m walking to my communications closet to turn off the scrambler, when I change my mind. I think it would be better if my apartment stays invisible, and I need to know Chi’s apartment is still in one piece. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” he asks, as he grabs one of my automatic rifles and slings it over his shoulder.

  Since we’re waiting in my apartment, all of my guns are available. No one will ever see my private armory in my basement, not even Dimitri. But I carried up several guns that I thought would be helpful, and left others that I didn’t think were appropriate for my quiet Brooklyn neighborhood. Not that I ever thought I’d shoot a rocket launcher out my kitchen window, but it’s there if I need it. Not to mention what I have in the storage area behind my closet in my bedroom. I’m prepared for anything.

  Except falling in love with an Italian princess. I wasn’t prepared for that.

  When we’re outside, I approach a vehicle covered with a faded black tarp. It looks like it might be covering an old hunk of junk, but when I remove the cover I expose my brand new caddy SUV. It’s black, not brown, so I hope Chiara will approve. I keep it covered to protect my anonymity, because the plates and the VIN number are real.

  Dimitri whistles when he sees it. “Sweet ride, Misha.” That makes me grin. “Is it bulletproof?”

  I remove my rifle and place it on the back seat. “Ha! I’m not that rich,” I reply, as I open the door and start the engine.

  Dimitri climbs in the passenger side, almost hesitantly. I’m sure he’s used to sitting in the back of the car now. “Where are we going?”

  When we’re out on the street, I grab my cell phone, and immediately call Chiara. She answers immediately, with an excited, “Hello?”

  “Hello, treasure. Are you okay?” I demand as soon as I hear her voice.

  “I’m fine, Misha. Guilia is okay, she’s nervous but likes the place. We’re hanging out in Dimitri’s suite. He has a pool in the middle of his living room!” she exclaims.

  Great, now I have to top that somehow. “Good. I’m glad you’re okay,” I say. I try to keep my emotions low key, because I don’t want her to be worried. Also, Dimitri is in the seat beside me. I notice, although he said he needed to make his own phone calls, he hasn’t yet.

  “Tell me how you are, Misha. Tell me what is happening there,” she demands, gently. I clear my throat, but I don’t answer her. I can’t tell her that we are on our way to her place, because I hope to find the Moretti family there and I’m looking for a fight. “Please, Misha. I need to know.” Her voice is soft, but firm. I think she knows what I’m going to do.

  “I’m with Dimitri. We’re going to your place,” I admit.

  She sighs loudly. “Please be careful, Misha.”

  “I will be. I promise. You’ll be coming home soon, treasure. We’ll be together soon, I promise.”

  “I hope so,” she says. “I miss you, Misha. Take care of yourself.”

  “I will. I love you,” I say, without thinking twice. I’m not ashamed of my feelings for her.

  “Misha, I-“ she begins.

  But I interrupt her. “Not now, treasure. You’ll have time to tell me when you see me again. I’ll see you soon.” I hang up before I can say anything else. Then I turn toward Dimitri, who looks bemused but doesn’t speak. Probably best.

  At that he begins to make his phone calls. I’m thinking about Chiara, in what I can only assume is the lap of luxury provided by the handsome man sitting beside me. It’s frustrating that I will never be able to give her that, unless I return to killing.

  We’re sitting in front of Chiara’s house, and I am again lost in my thoughts of her, when I hear, “There’s a car circling the block.” I glance up toward the street, and catch the tail lights of an SUV turning left. “What do we do?”

  I’m suddenly in work mode. I am in my element now. “See that silver sedan on the next block?” Dimitri nods. “Run up there and make sure they are still alive.”

  “Without protection?” he mutters. Dimitri looks too tough, too dominant for the confused expression that’s covering his handsome face.

  “You have a gun,” I growl, and exit the SUV. I slam the door closed. Fuck! I paid too much money for this damn car to get it shot up. But I’ll do anything for Chiara.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, as he walks around the car toward me.

  “I’m going to disappear,” I tell him, as I step into the shadows.

  I watch him as he jogs down the block. Thank God he isn’t wearing a suit, or he would have complained about that too. He approaches the silver sedan, then speaks to the occupants for several moments. I think it’s safe to assume they are alive. I stealthily walk around the block, and find the SUV Dimitri pointed out on the next block over. It’s empty. That’s not good.

  I move to return to my car, to find a gun pointed directly at me. Suddenly, unexpectedly, I’m face to face with Dante Moretti. Finally. He favors his older brother, but he’s not as big or brawny as Frankie. He almost seems a little effeminate to be in the mob. Even with a gun pointed at me, I’m not afraid of him.

  “So you’re Dante, the asshole who preys on little girls,” I spit out, making my distaste apparent.

  His pretty face turns into a snarl. “If you’d seen Guilia, you’d know she’s not a girl. You can keep your whore, just tell me where my woman is.”

  I scoff at him. “Your woman? She’s not a woman, she’s a child. And I’ll make you regret calling Chiara that.”

  “My family might be afraid of you, but I’m not. To me, you’re just another Russian that needs a bullet in the head.” He moves the sight of the gun up, and it’s pointed right between my eyes. At one point in time, I would have been ready for this. Not now. I have too much I want to do. I have the rest of my life with Chiara to look forward to.

  Just as I’m about to reach out and try to disarm him, I hear someone approach. Then they speak. “Drop your weapon, dick.” It’s Dimitri. What the hell is he…

  Dante turns quickly, and when his attention is on Dimitri, I train my own gun on Dante’s back. It’s only a second, I swear less than one heartbeat, before I hear the shot ring out. Dimitri’s eyes go wide, and his face scrunches up into a mask of sheer pain.

  Fuck! Dimitri has been shot, and it’s my fault. I lunge toward him, to try to somehow keep him alive. That’s when Dante crumbles onto the sidewalk. I glance back at Dimitri, and his eyes are huge as he stares down at the gun in his hand. He looks stunned, as if he has no idea what happened.

  Surely he’s killed before. Or maybe he just pays grunts like me to do his dirty work.

  “What the fuck just happened!” he cries out.

  I stare down at Dante Moretti, taking in the blood seeping out of the hole in his chest, covering his gray shirt. “Looks like you just shot a Moretti.” I reach the toe of my boot out, and nudge his hip. He grunts, and gurgles.

  “What the fuck do we do now?”

  I aim my pistol between Dante’s eyes, and tell him exactly what I think we should do. “We should kill him.” I’m just waiting for him to give the order.

  “Wait!” he exclaims, as he pulls out his phone. “We can work with him being alive.”

  I sigh loudly, and shake my head as I watch him. “We should just shoot him.” Dimitri glares at me, and I can see a plan developing. Maybe I should just go with it. “Block the number if you’re calling nine one one. Star six seven that shit.”

  “Yea,” he replies, and frantically touches the screen of his phone.


  I hear a car start up, and then I see the SUV Dante arrived in peeling out and driving away. Great. The first real shot has been fired. The war has really begun.

  I hear Dimitri trying to tell an operator what has happened, but his words are barely comprehensible his accent is so thick. So I take the phone and tell the person exactly where to find Dante. Then, I grab Dimitri by the shirt, and pull him toward my car. The sedan driven by my father’s men is driving away as I start my SUV and slam it into gear.

  “What do we do now, Misha?”

  “Right now I have to fucking drive without getting pulled over,” I say, as I listen for sirens.

  “How the hell are you so calm! You would have just killed him!” he cries out, as he pounds the leather of my dash with his big fists.

  “Because I don’t care about that piece of shit lying on the sidewalk. He deserved a bullet, and I hope he dies. All I’m worried about now is getting you somewhere safe.”

  And Chiara. I’m worried about what might happen to her, or her family, because of what Dimitri did. But I won’t say that out loud.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chiara

  “No! We are not coming back there until Misha says it’s safe!” I’m practically screaming into the phone, and I only feel a little bad that I’m screaming at my dad. He deserves it, though. He put his daughters in this position.

  “You are still my daughter, Chiara Maria, and you will do as I say!” he answers back. His voice is gruff, and angry, but he’s not yelling like I am. I think he feels his control slipping away, and I’m glad. I hope he suffers, the way I have over the last few months.

  “You gave up your right to call me that months ago, when you tried to sell me to a man I didn’t want.”

  I’m pacing around the living room in Dimitri’s hotel suite, which is the entire length and width of the hotel. I swear, a person could get lost in his penthouse apartment. I’m currently watching Guilia swimming in the pool that is partially inside the suite, the other half of which is on the balcony. Who in the hell is rich enough to have an indoor pool in their apartment? Frankie’s dad’s house isn’t half this decadent.

  I’m wearing the bathing suit that was brought to me by Dimitri’s personal valet, Beso. Beso has seen to all of our needs since we arrived, efficiently and patiently. He has to be a damn saint to have answered all of Guilia’s questions without getting the least bit flustered. Most men give up on her after twenty minutes of her incessant chatter. I have no idea how a man like Dante thought he’d be able to handle her.

  “We can find you, Chiara. We have ways. You’re coming back willingly, or Frankie will drag you back kicking and screaming. Your choice.” His voice and tone are both threatening. I’ve never heard him try to be this intimidating. My shoulders shake from it. Then I glance across the room at Beso, who is trying hard not to stare at Guilia. He has a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. He’s tall and wide, and built like a tank, and he offered us his protection as soon as we entered Dimitri’s home. The two armed men outside the door, and the other guards employed by the hotel, add to my sense of security.

  “Good luck with that, Dad. We’re not going anywhere until Misha comes to get us. Face it, Papa, we’re not your pawns anymore.” I end the call, and throw my phone down onto the nearest white leather couch. I called my mother’s phone, to talk to her, and he answered. I didn’t want to speak to him anyway.

  Beso’s attention is torn from my sister when he hears the conversation end. He nods, and leaves as if he suddenly remembered something of utmost importance that needs his attention. I never thought I’d feel this safe in the enemy’s house.

  Where did I even get the idea that Russians were the enemy? I mean, I never really had any allegiance to the Moretti family. Maybe it’s the idea that they are just as ruthless as the Italian mob. Misha is a killer, after all. But I don’t think he wants to be. I’m reminded of the tattoo of the anchor on his hip, the one he hid away on his body so most people would never see it. I bet he feels just as weighed down by his family as I’ve always felt by mine. He is the one who has suggested we run away and never look back. I don’t think it was all because of my impending marriage, either. And I remember how he offered to kill, to financially support my family. He doesn’t do it because he likes it, or even for the money. He does it because he’s forced to, by his circumstances. Like I was nearly forced to marry Frankie, and Guilia was almost given to Dante.

  “Come swim with me, Chiara!” I glance up to find Guilia standing just inside the tiled pool room, calling out to me through the open glass door. She’s dripping water all over the place, but she’s barely avoiding what must be expensive carpet in the sitting room. Did I say my family was weighing me down? I meant my father and his mob ties, not my sister and brother. Never them.

  I smile at Guilia, because it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. “Okay,” I reply, just as I hear my phone jingle. I pick it up to find a text message from Angelina. Your boyfriend shot my brother in law. He will pay, and so will you. Frankie is more angry than I’ve ever seen him, and he’s gunning for you.

  Well, this is just fucking fantastic. I’ve never seen Frankie angry, or sad, or happy. I’ve only ever seen Frankie emotionally unattached. I don’t want to think of what he might be like when he’s pissed off.

  I have to send a text to Misha. I have to know the truth, because I don’t trust Angelina in this situation. She could be lying just to make the Russians look bad. Did you kill Dante Moretti?

  I don’t know why I feel this way, like I should be upset about it. Why should I give a shit if Dante is dead? That just means Guilia can go home, and I won’t have to worry about her being married off to him. No, that’s not why I’m upset. I’m upset because I know they will come after us for sure now. No matter where we go, if Misha killed Dante, we will never be safe. Dimitri’s suite is luxurious, yes, but I couldn’t live here indefinitely. It would quickly turn into a prison.

  Misha answers faster than I expected him to. No, Dante isn’t dead and I didn’t shoot him. We are meeting Frankie now. Wish us luck.

  That’s not what I wanted to hear, either. I’m not happy that Dante isn’t dead, and I almost wish Misha had killed him. Does that make me a bad person? And I really don’t want Misha meeting with Frankie, if he’s really that pissed off.

  I send Misha another text. According to Angelina, Frankie wants your head on a silver platter. Please be careful. Good luck.

  I have so much to worry about, and Guilia is having the time of her life, with her own personal manservant waiting on her hand and foot.

  I take a few steps toward the pool, while glancing at my phone. When I finally look up, I nearly run into Beso, who is carrying my sister’s favorite soda. His dark eyes are fixed ahead of him, and when he notices I’m near he says, “Excuse me, miss.” His tone is respectful. His expression is almost empty. His eyes, though, are burning when he glances at me.

  The last thing this man wants to do is hit on my sister. I will introduce him to his balls, up close and personal, after I remove them.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Misha

  We’re stepping into the hotel where we are meeting Frankie Moretti. This is the most neutral ground we could find, but that doesn’t mean the Morettis won’t have more men there. It is his turf, after all.

  I am walking behind Dimitri, and three of his men are walking behind me. As we enter the elegantly decorated dining room, I do a quick sweep of the guests. I see three tables full of my father’s men, with Anatoli at the head of one of the tables. He is intimidating, to say the least, and has more eyes on him than anyone else in the room, including Dimitri. I might be the killer in the family, but Anatoli is the violent one. He makes men wish they were dead, and his reputation precedes him everywhere he goes.

  Finally my gaze lands on Frankie Moretti. He’s just as handsome as I’ve heard, maybe more. He’s also huge, nearly a head above the others he’s sitting with. And he�
�s glaring at Dimitri with dark eyes that hold more hatred than I’ve ever seen. I see Nico Rossi sitting beside him, and he whispers something to Frankie before his stare turns to me. I’ve never been intimidated by anyone, except maybe my older brothers, until right now.

  Of course, I would be that angry if someone stole Chiara from me. If the roles were reversed, I would want to take his head off. But I’ll never have to worry about that. Chiara is mine, and I’ll never let her go.

  We arrive at the table Frankie and Nico occupy. Frankie stands, and waves his hand at three empty seats. “Please, sit,” he says, in a voice that is harder and gruffer than I expected.

  Dimitri sits, along with two of his men, but I remain standing. It’s harder to get to a gun in a sitting position. I look away from Frankie, taking in his minions one by one. They are all armed, which is to be expected.

  “Wine?” Frankie offers. Dimitri shakes his head. They stare each other down for several moments. Frankie is older, taller, with a chest as big as a barrel. Dimitri seems more cerebral, planning three moves ahead as if he’s playing chess. Finally Frankie breaks the silence. “You shot my brother.”

  “He pulled his gun on me,” Dimitri states, and although he shows no emotion his words ring with honesty. “I didn’t leave him to die, though. I called 911.”

  “Yes, and you have my gratitude.” Frankie’s eyes shift to glare at me, more than once.

  “I have one demand, in return for your brother’s life,” Dimitri comments smoothly.

  A waitress approaches just then. She must have a sturdy backbone, because she smiles at Dimitri and asks, “What can I bring you, sir?”

  Dimitri orders an expensive bottle of wine, with one glass. Then his attention is again on Frankie. “The Rossi women remain under my protection.” With those words I look at Nico. He somehow looks more angry than Frankie.

  “No. My daughters will be returned to my home,” Nico growls.