by Stacy Gail
But...maybe that was all I was to him. Just work.
He had walked away six months ago without so much as a backward glance, after all.
That alone told me more truth than any statement ever could.
I stared at my feet, trying to even out my breathing. For over a decade, I’d thought that Polo and I had been as close as two people could be, and that we’d meant something to each other. That I meant something to him, because he’d meant something to me. Something...special.
Obviously, I was an idiot.
“I’ll take a beer, if you’ve got one.” Konstantin seemed to know my insides were knotting up inside, if the gentle way he rubbed my back was any indication. He handed over my clutch he’d rescued, then settled us both down on a sleek white sofa with scarlet cushions. “That was kinda sweet of the big guy to say that, don’t you think?”
“What?” Kon’s murmured words in my ear dragged me out of my dark thoughts. “Didn’t you hear what he said?”
“Sure, I did. Polo just admitted that he had to consciously force himself to think of you only as work. That means the man struggled with it, and that’s what makes it sweet.” A sympathetic smile appeared as I stared at him and all the crazy bullshit coming out of his mouth. With a shake of his head, he leaned in to kiss my temple. “Aw, look at your blank little face. You’re really on the slower side of stupid, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Shut up.” I smacked his knee as Polo made his way back to us, beer bottles in hand. As he handed one to Konstantin, he gave him a hard stare.
“What are you doing?”
Konstantin glanced up, took one look at Polo’s face, and wound his arm around my shoulders. “Snuggling with my bestie.”
“If you’re going to sit that close to her, why not just sit on her fucking lap?”
“If Dash were my type, I’d rather have her sit on my lap. But since she’s not, she’s shit out of luck.” He patted his knee, and offered a flirtatious wink. “You, on the other hand, can park that fine ass here anytime, sexy.”
Polo didn’t blink. “My house, my rules. Move. No one sits that close to Dash.”
My mouth dropped open at this “rule” of Polo’s house. What the hell did it matter to him if Konstantin sat glued to my side? “Uh, I don’t mind—”
“I do.” He stepped aside and gestured toward an armchair nearby. “Relocate yourself, or I’ll do it for you. You have five seconds.”
“Relocating. Relocating.” With a noisy sigh, Kon pushed off the sofa and pivoted into the chair Polo had indicated. To my shock, Polo immediately took Kon’s place beside me, slung his arm behind me along the back of the couch, and did that man-spreading thing until our thighs touched in one long line, from hip to knee.
What the actual hell.
My brain screeched to a tangled, disjointed halt. First he pulled the rug out from under me by telling me I’d been nothing more than a job to him for over a decade, and now he wanted to sofa-snuggle?
Talk about a wild mood swing.
And holy wow, his thigh sure was hot against mine. Like, nuclear-hot. Any minute now I was going to melt into the sofa cushions and never be heard from again.
Konstantin stared at Polo before offering a juicy snort and taking a swig of beer. “You’re a real piece of work, Marco Polo.”
“I try.” Sounding unapologetic for being a piece of work—and that was putting it politely—Polo nudged my shoulder, an act that brought him fractionally closer. “So. What’s with you going ape-shit over a stupid card game? Am I going to have to send you to Gamblers Anonymous, or what?”
Good grief, he actually expected me to have a coherent conversation when all I could focus on was the heat where our legs touched? Amazing. “You know as well as anyone that I get bored if things get too quiet. I’ve been hitting the gaming scene over the past couple of months to get my blood pumping.”
“I get that you’re an adrenaline junkie and you’re never going to be happy with being at home baking pies and shit, so that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you losing your damn mind over one hand of cards. If you need the money, I’m sure all you have to do is say the word and your brother will have it in your account by the end of the day.”
“I’m not going to run to Nizhy for every little thing.” At the name, Konstantin shifted in his chair and looked away, but Polo didn’t blink. “And I don’t need the money. Not personally. You know Papa made sure I was well taken care of. He made sure he took care of all of us.”
“Yeah, he did.” For just a second, a terrible grief twisted Polo’s expression, so dark and pain-filled it made my eyes sting. Then he shrugged, and the moment was gone. “If money’s not the issue, then why did I have to carry you away from the table to keep you out of a fucking paddy wagon?”
“Chicago’s Future.”
His dark brows lowered, making those wonderful chocolate-brown eyes of his seem even deeper. “Chicago’s future? You think the future of Chicago was riding on that one hand of poker? Since when did you start thinking you were the center of the fucking universe?”
Kon snorted again even as I hissed with rising outrage. “You really did forget everything about me when you bailed, didn’t you? I suppose I should feel grateful you even remember my name.”
“I didn’t bail, Dasha. I was set free. There’s a big fucking difference between the two, in case you didn’t know.”
As chastisements went, that was a doozy. Even Konstantin looked down at his beer as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, Polo.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What I meant,” I went on before things could get too mired down in awkwardness, “was the charity I started around the time Papa got diagnosed, remember? Chicago’s Future. It started out as just a tiny food bank and second-hand clothes distribution center out in Bronzeville. But I’ve been working hard on expanding it ever since Papa died.”
“Oh, that.” He lifted a vague shoulder. “I thought that was just a passing hobby of yours.”
Damn, not only had he not wanted to be around me, but he also apparently thought I was a shallow, socialite poser. This night was just getting better and better. “I’ll have you know that Chicago’s Future is very important to me. Or more to the point, giving back to this community and making it a better place is an absolute passion of mine. Over the past year, it’s become my main mission in life.”
He looked at me like he didn’t know who I was. “Why?”
“You mean, why do I like helping good and hard-working people?”
“No, I mean why call it your main mission in life?”
“Because it is. And because, deep down, part of me might actually believe in the basic concept of karma,” I added, and gave him a twisted smile that hurt all the way to my heart. “I loved Papa so much, and he was the best father anyone could ask for. But let’s face it—Borysko Vitaliev did a lot of bad things. A lot of bad things. Laugh at me all you want, but I can’t forget about all the suffering he left in his wake.”
“I’m not laughing, Fearless.” His expression softened with a startling beauty that almost stopped my heart and made my body inexplicably flush all over. When had he gotten so beautiful? Then the hand that he had draped along the back of the couch came up to sift gently through my hair, and I almost forgot I needed to breathe. “Listen to me, all right? Borysko made no apologies for the life he led. You know that, right?”
Breathe. Breathe... “Mm-hm.”
“So, if he made no apologies, you shouldn’t either.”
“I don’t. Or I try not to.” I fought hard to keep from blissfully closing my eyes as his fingers continued to caress their way through my hair. Any second now I was going to start purring, and he’d get weirded out by me. “Maybe I should try harder.”
“Maybe you should. It kills me to think you somehow feel all that shit is your burden to bear. It’s not, and I won’t allow you to suffer like that
.”
“I’m not suffering. I love what I do. And hey, if I can balance out some of my father’s bad karma by doing some good in this world, then that’s just icing on the cake.”
“I’m not sure karma works like that, sweetheart.” Konstantin settled deeper into his seat, watching us. “I don’t think you can buy your dad a better seat in the afterlife, if there even is such a thing.”
“I’m not trying to do that.”
“Sounds like it to me.”
“I want my father’s life to have meant something good, Kon, something that was a benefit to this corner of the world, not a devastating detriment. Considering that Nizhy seems determined to take the Vitaliev organization back to the bad old days when it was first making a name for itself, I’m the only one left who’s interested in doing that.”
“It’s hilarious to see Konstantin shit himself every time you say your brother’s old name.” Polo grinned over at the other man even as his hand cupped the back of my head and pulled me closer. It took everything I had not to shiver as the heat between our bodies threatened to burn my clothes right off my body. “What’s the matter, Kon? Afraid you’re going to have your tongue cut out just for hearing it?”
“That’s not funny, Polo. Knives has gotten way worse about his old name since you’ve been gone. Like, crazy-worse.”
“Knives.” It took more strength than I had to hold back a scowl. “That just sounds so... wrong. It’s the nickname of a low-class hood who’s trying too hard. I can’t make myself go there.”
“Try,” Kon advised, pointing his bottle at me. “The man had his name legally changed to Nozhi—Knives—so if you’re smart, you’ll respect that. Even if you are his much-adored little sister, you’re taking your life into your own hands if you keep calling him by his former name.”
“I get that.” To my surprise Polo nodded, his sight turning inward even as he continued to hold me to his side. “I totally get that. I’m the same when it comes to my name. I can’t stand the sound of it.”
“Which part?” I turned into the curve his body created with that one arm draped behind me, and for the first time in what felt like forever I realized I felt utterly safe. Even if he had seen me as just a job, he would always be my Polo, my safe harbor. Nothing would change that. “The Marco part? The Polo part? Or the Scorpeone part?”
“All of the above, though I’m not going to lie—I’ll go to my grave hating the fact that I bear the Scorpeone name.”
An invisible dagger twisted deep in my chest, and I couldn’t stop from reaching up to cup his cheek. No matter how much I wished otherwise, I was a part of that bitter hatred that lived like a cancer inside of him. “Did you know that hating your name is a form of hating yourself? It’s not healthy, Polo.”
“Tell that to your brother.” Without warning, that affable smile of his switched on. With a sigh I dropped my hand, because I knew what that meant. He was done talking about himself. “Now there’s a sight that’d be worth the price of admission—you, trying to analyze your brother after everything he’s had to go through to get to the top of the Vitaliev food chain and claim the throne as Borysko’s successor. I’m sure he’d love that.”
“So would I, but he’s too busy to talk these days.” Then I rolled my eyes at how whiny I sounded. I wasn’t a needy wimp, for crying out loud. “Seriously, he is very busy. I haven’t even gotten a chance to talk to him in about a month or so.”
“He’s got a hell of a lot on his plate right now, Dash.” Konstantin drained the last of his beer and set the empty soldier on the coffee table. “Taking over an empire—while convincing everyone that you’re the man for the job—is never easy.”
“It’s not that he’s taking it over. Nizhy is rebuilding it.” And for the life of me, I couldn’t keep the disappointment out of my tone. “During the last years of his life, Papa fought to legitimize the Vitaliev family holdings. You’re a part of that,” I added, nudging Polo. “This entire building is a part of that. He once told my brother and me that what he was doing was no different than what Joe Kennedy did for his family when he made his fortune as a bootlegger during Prohibition.”
“I guess that was pretty gangster back in the day,” Kon acknowledged, stifling a yawn. “Running illegal hooch over the border in those shitty little wind-up cars. I wonder if he ever busted a cap in anyone? Now that would’ve been gangster.”
“My dad’s point,” I went on, not even bothering to roll my eyes, “was that he had the same vision for the Vitaliev family that Joe Kennedy had for his.”
“Politics and the mafiya,” Polo said dryly. “Yeah, I can see the similarities.”
“One makes the rules, while the other breaks ‘em,” Kon added with a careless wave of his hand. “But yeah, basically it’s all about power and the people who want to control it. Maybe we’re in the wrong business.”
“My father wanted the family business to just be the foundation, not the whole house. He told Nizhy and me that he would do the dirty work of building that foundation in order to launch us into American nobility. Instead, my brother’s determined to drag things back to the way they were twenty years ago. Back into the blood, back into the violence. Borysko Vitaliev’s vision of a legitimate Vitaliev family dwindles with each passing day.”
“Not necessarily.” The arm behind me moved to curl around my shoulders and give me a squeeze. “You’re still fighting the good fight, though you did almost get thrown into the clink tonight. Good thing your dad wasn’t here, Dash. Borysko would’ve burst a blood vessel, knowing how close his darling daughter came to earning herself a rap sheet.”
“That reminds me,” I said, snapping my fingers when what I really wanted to do was snuggle into his side and never move again. “How did you know I was at a card game that was about to be raided? You haven’t been my bodyguard for six months, so how the hell did you even know I was there?”
“Hey, yeah.” Konstantin sat up straighter. “I’d like to know that myself. And since I’m the one who’s still Dash’s bodyguard, I’d like to know your trade secrets on how to keep her protected.”
Polo let loose a short breath before he removed his arm from my shoulders and pushed to his feet, leaving me oddly bereft. “That floating poker game,” he said, not looking at anyone as he prowled to a curved wall of windows that took in half the Chicago skyline. “Do you know who runs it, Kon?”
“Yeah, a guy by the name of Moretti. I checked him out—he’s run this game for at least eight years, and for the most part I like what I found. He’s got a rep for running a tight ship.”
“You didn’t check deep enough.”
Konstantin’s dark brows slammed downward. “What’d I miss?”
“Fabian Moretti is married to Angelina Scorpeone, my... my older sister.”
It took everything I had not to gasp out loud. Just the name Scorpeone—when it wasn’t in reference to Polo—turned my skin to ice.
No doubt Polo had the same reaction.
“So,” I said, trying to sound like my entire nervous system hadn’t just been dragged through jagged shards of ice, “you’re saying that every single time I sat down at one of those tables—”
“You were a guest of the Scorpeone family, the Vitaliev Bratva’s sworn enemy.”
I was going to throw up. Any second now I was going to seriously spew.
For just a moment Polo glanced back at me, and what I saw in his eyes—his ravaged, tortured eyes—made me want to scream. To hide. To never see those eyes again just so I could stay sane.
Those were the eyes of the killer known as Scorpio.
Then he turned back to the windows, and I could breathe again.
“One of my former snitches within the police department mentioned to Alexei that Vice had been tipped off to the poker game. Alex told his father Yuri, because he’d remembered Konstantin mentioning that you had been hitting the tables lately. Yuri told me, because he hates coming in to work when I’m in a bad mood, and if there’s one thing t
hat puts me in a shitty mood, it’s when a Scorpeone crosses the path of a Vitaliev. He was hoping to head off my shitty mood before it happened. As we speak, Alex and Yuri Rodin are downstairs in Heaven’s offices, no doubt waiting for me to come in and blow like Mt. Vesuvius.”
“Spare them, please.” My voice sounded as dead as I suddenly felt, and I dragged a hand through my hair, trying to shake off the mood. Usually my hair hung in a sleek, chin-length bob that naturally curled under at the tips, but after hanging upside down off of Polo’s shoulder while running from the cops, it felt like one huge tangle. “And whatever you do, don’t tell Nizhy about this. He hates the Scorpeones even more than the two of us combined.”
“Too late. I called him to let him know I’d do everything I could to make sure no Scorpeone mess ever touched you. He knows I brought you here and that you’re safe. In fact, Knives is the reason why I’m not taking you home tonight. My orders were to sit on you until he had the time to talk this over with you. He’ll be here first thing in the morning, so whether you like it or not, you’re my houseguest tonight.”
“Your orders?” A surge of anticipation at the prospect of staying overnight at Polo’s got snuffed out by an achy twinge I couldn’t define. Polo hadn’t brought me into his home, into his carefully guarded private space, because he’d wanted me to be there. No. He’d done it because he’d been ordered to.
Shit.
I really was nothing but a job to him.
He nodded. “Yeah. So?”
“Does that mean you’re coming back to work for the Vitaliev family?”
“It means that Knives is the brother of my heart, and I’d do almost anything he’d ask of me. Especially when it comes to protecting you.” Again he turned away from the curved windows to focus on me, and the raw power of it locked me in place. “I’m no longer owned by the Vitaliev family, Dash. I’m free, and I’m going to fucking stay that way no matter what I have to do. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still loyal to you and Knives on a personal level.”
