Just as I left the room, I glanced back and looked out of the window. Angelo had come out from under the balcony and stepped back enough that I could see him. Our eyes locked and I felt that deep, irresistible tug. Tomorrow, he mouthed, watching my reaction.
I nodded. What else could I do? I’d go to Little Italy. I’d see whatever it was he wanted to show me. And then I’d have to break up with him all over again because there was nothing he could show me that was going to change my mind.
But I was wrong. The next day changed everything.
19
Irina
I’d texted Angelo to tell him where and when I’d arrive. I stepped out of the cab and straight into his arms.
“Someone will recognize me,” I said, my voice muffled by his chest.
His big hand smoothed down my back, calming me. “I barely recognize you,” he murmured in my ear.
I’d tied my hair back in a bun so that there were no loose strands. With the hood of my hooded top raised, you couldn’t even see I was blonde. Dark glasses covered my eyes—luckily, it was a bright day and with the sun glinting off the snow, plenty of people had opted for sunglasses so it didn’t look completely ridiculous. As long as I didn’t open my mouth, no one would have any idea I was Russian.
Even so, being there on Arthur Avenue—the real Little Italy, Angelo claimed—felt wrong. The street didn’t look scary: it was busy despite the cold and the people looked happy, nodding to each other as they hurried between cafes and delis. But to me, this was enemy territory.
The cab pulled away but Angelo kept holding me. His big hands roamed down my back and over my ass. The embrace changed. He drew me harder against him, arms iron-hard against my back, and I felt the outline of his cock through his pants. Then he was kissing me, his tongue slipping into my mouth, and I melted against him, forgetting my fears. When he reluctantly released me, he took hold of my hand and squeezed it tight. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s walk.”
My stomach knotted tight. What was it he wanted to show me? Whatever it was wouldn’t solve the problem: we were still on opposite sides. But I fell into step beside him.
First, we passed a cafe. The owner did a double-take as we passed, then ran to the door. “Mr. Baroni!” he called. “Wait!”
We stopped and waited—Angelo relaxed, me nervous. A few seconds later, the cafe owner returned and pressed espresso cups into our hands. “Please,” he said.
Angelo knocked his back and I hesitantly did the same. It was rich and perfect with a kick that hit me a beat later, warming me from the inside out, the perfect counter to the icy air. Angelo patted the cafe owner on the shoulder as he took the empty cups and the guy almost bowed.
Seconds later, we passed through an indoor market. Everyone wanted Angelo to try their fruit, or to give him a free scarf to guard against the cold, or to just say hello and tell him how they were doing.
It went on: store after store, street after street. Angelo strode along with his coat billowing out behind him, head high, regal and yet approachable...and everyone approached him. Some had questions. Some had concerns. Most just wanted to shake his hand.
These weren’t his friends, I slowly realized. These were his subjects. And they worshipped their king. It was awe-inspiring...and weirdly familiar, but I couldn’t think where I’d seen something similar.
Then Angelo put his hand on my arm, stopping me. His gaze was focused on the street corner up ahead. I couldn’t figure out what he was staring at...then I saw him, a thin guy leaning against a building, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was furtively scanning the street...looking for customers, I realized.
Then he glanced in our direction, saw Angelo...and went white. Angelo lifted his chin a millimeter, as if to say, I’ve seen you.
The guy broke and ran. And that’s when I finally understood. Angelo must have seen the look on my face because he turned to me and leaned down so that he could murmur in my ear. “Now do you get it?”
I’d been wrong. It wasn’t just about streets and businesses, places on a map. It was about people. His people. He helped them, lent them money, protected them from street crime. They needed their king. And he wasn’t prepared to abandon them and hand them over to Vasiliy. Not even for me.
I stared up into Angelo’s eyes and nodded. I got it.
And that’s when I remembered where I’d seen this before. When I was a child, Vasiliy had sometimes taken me, along with his son, Luka, with him when he made his rounds of Moscow. He’d had people running up to shake his hand. He’d kept the community alive.
Angelo was Vasiliy a decade ago, before he became cold and bitter. I stumbled on along the street, trying to process it all.
A white-haired guy hurried out of a bar as we passed. “Angelo!” he said, grabbing his hand in both of his. “You gotta help me. The Russians are leaning on the liquor merchants. They won’t sell to us. I’m running dry.”
Angelo glanced at me for a second, then nodded. “I’ll look into it,” he promised.
The guy clapped him on the shoulder. “God bless you, Angelo.” He disappeared back into his bar, but I just stood there staring at the place where he’d stood. Seeing it for myself made all the difference. Angelo had protected these people for years. Vasiliy and Mikhail had suddenly muscled in. Sure, Angelo had pushed back hard, but it was we Russians who were the aggressors. The war, when it happened, would be our fault. The blood would be on our hands.
I’d known Angelo and I were on opposite sides; I’d never considered, until now, that I might be on the wrong one.
And now that I realized it, I felt sick at the implications. Vasiliy and Mikhail wouldn’t back down and neither would Angelo. That meant it was up to me.
If I wanted to be with Angelo, I had to stop the war.
20
Angelo
She got it. She knew now why I couldn’t back down and let her uncle and his thug of a partner take over. The really scary thing was that there’d been a split second, standing in her bedroom, when I’d almost considered it. I’d do almost anything for this woman. The power she had over me was frightening.
“How do we stop this thing?” she asked, her voice quavering.
I hugged her to me, pressing her small body against my big one and wrapping my arms around her to keep her warm. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think Vasiliy and Mikhail will stand for anything other than victory. They want this turf.”
“I’ll talk to Vasiliy,” she said firmly. “I’ll try and make him see sense.”
God, she was brave. I took off her sunglasses so I could see her face. “You need to be careful. Really fucking careful. If he suspects we’re together....” I slid my hand across her cheek. She was cold, as always. I put my other hand on her other cheek, desperate to warm her. I wasn’t ready for the upswell of emotion in my chest. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She put her hands on my hands. “I’ve gotten good at lying,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. She shook her head. “You know, Vasiliy didn’t used to be like this. He was ambitious but not like this. He used to be like you.”
Like me? I felt my chest tighten. Crazy. But I nodded.
“You need to help too,” she said. “Do what you can to calm this thing down.”
I sighed. And right after I’d told The Saints that I’d come down hard on the Russians. But...I looked deep into those cornflower-blue eyes and dammit, I couldn’t deny her, even if the thought of playing nice with the Russians made me die inside. “Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll do what I can.”
“And what about...us?” she asked quietly.
I pushed her back just far enough that I could kiss her. God, those lips tasted sweet. There was something in her soul that was clean and bright and untarnished—everything I wasn’t. Kissing her was like diving into a cool mountain lake and washing away my sins...and then slipping beneath the surface into the heated, tempting depths. Within seconds, I’d lost control, pushing her back ag
ainst the wall and pinning her there with my body. My hands grabbed hers, our fingers intertwining. The kiss turned open-mouthed and panting and I started to calculate how many blocks we were from my apartment.
My phone rang. Fuck!
I reluctantly released her and fished out my phone. Rico. I put my finger to my lips and answered. “Yeah?”
“We got a problem.” He sounded worried. No, not just worried: upset. And it took a lot to shake Rico.
“Hold on.” I covered the microphone. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I gotta work. When can I see you?”
She had to think about it, which didn’t bode well. “The day after tomorrow,” she said at last.
What?! I was sick of these delays. I needed her naked in my bed, now! I’d never had to wait around like this for a woman before. But….
But for Irina, I’d wait. “Okay,” I said between gritted teeth, and gave her one last kiss. Then I stepped out into the street and waved for a cab for her. When the cabbies saw who it was, they couldn’t drive over fast enough.
I opened the door for her and slammed it when she was inside. Then I took the necklace from my pocket, leaned through the window and held it against her neck. Irina looked down at it, looked up into my eyes...and nodded. I fastened the clasp and smoothed the necklace against her skin...God, her skin was so soft! I gave her one last kiss and reluctantly pulled back through the window. Then I watched the cab pull away, putting the phone back to my ear only when it was halfway down the street.
This whole thing is going to be impossible, I thought. But she was worth it.
I finally uncovered the microphone and put the phone back to my ear. “Sorry,” I said to Rico. “Why don’t you come find me? I’m on the corner of King Street and Arthur Avenue.”
“I know,” said Rico’s voice from behind me. “So am I.”
I spun around and there he was, close enough to touch, the phone still held to his ear. He must have been walking the streets when he called me, and he’d happened across me while I was saying goodbye to Irina.
One look at his face and I knew: he’d seen me kiss her.
21
Angelo
Rico’s a big guy and, when he’s riled, he barely knows his own strength. He hauled me off the street and slammed me up against the wall of an alley hard enough to whump the air out of me. “Irina Malakov?” he demanded. “Irina fucking Malakov?!” His hands were twisted into the front of my shirt, pulling it tight around my body as he lifted me. My feet were only barely brushing the ground. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”
I tried to pull loose. “Get the fuck off me!”
But he didn’t let go. “Tell me it’s a plan,” he growled. “Please, Angelo, tell me it’s some fucking clever plan. You’re banging her to get to Vasiliy, right? She’s gonna tell you all his secrets!”
“No!” I tried again to break his grip, and failed. Then I hit him with a good punch to the kidneys that would have doubled up any other man. But this was Rico, and he didn’t even seem to notice. “It’s not like that!”
He released me. It was so sudden that my legs buckled under me as I hit the ground and I staggered, trying to regain my balance. I glared at him, but his anger had gone...to be replaced by fear. He’d seen something in my expression, something that terrified him.
“Is it a sex thing?” he asked. “Is it about fucking over Vasiliy by fucking his niece, like revenge?”
“No! Jesus! I haven’t even slept with her yet!”
Now Rico looked really scared. He ran a hand through his hair. “You haven’t even—Oh, shit. You like her. You’ve fucking fallen for her.”
I opened my mouth to snap at him, to tell him not to be so fucking stupid, but the words wouldn’t come. I looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
“Oh, shit. Oh, Angelo, what the fuck am I going to do with you?”
I straightened my shirt. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone? Who the fuck am I going to tell? The Saints? They’d crucify you for this. You’d be gone. The guys? Who’s going to listen to you, if they find out you’re secretly banging her?” He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No, I’m not going to tell anyone. But you gotta end this. Now!”
I thought about lying and saying I would, but I’d already lied to him for too long. I shook my head.
“Angelo, what’s going to happen when Vasiliy finds out you’re banging his pride and joy? Jesus Christ, you’re going to bring the whole Russian mob down on us! There’ll be war!”
“We’re heading for war anyway,” I muttered.
“Oh, so you thought you’d just help things along?”
“I didn’t mean for it happen!” My voice lashed out like a whip. I stood there for a second glaring at him, but the anger faded when I saw the hurt and confusion in his eyes. I sighed and tried to soften my gaze a little.
“You should have told me,” he said.
“I didn’t know. Not at first.” I took a deep breath. “But...yeah, I should have.” And then I had to struggle with it, a word I hardly ever used. “Sorry.”
Rico gave a long sigh and nodded.
“You still got my back, right?”
He gave me a look. “You really gotta ask that?” He took two quick steps over to me and pulled me into a hug. It was like being crushed by a grizzly bear, but I felt better.
“So what did you call me about, anyway?” I asked when we stepped back.
Rico shook his head grimly. “It’s Cinderella's,” he said. “It’s bad.”
* * *
Cinderella’s has been around for over a decade. A big old house out in Westchester with electric gates and high hedgerows for privacy, a parking lot around the back and discreet security guards. It could be a spa or perhaps an exclusive rehab clinic.
What it actually is, is a brothel. The kind where the women work in rooms plusher than any hotel, the clients are screened and the cops turn a blind eye—mostly because the Chief of Police has his own favorite girl there. The women are happy, they make a lot of money and there’s very, very rarely any trouble.
Until today.
Normally, Grace, the madam, would greet me with a smile on her face and my favorite drink in her hand. This was anything but normal. She was waiting for us on the porch when we pulled up, her arms hugging herself against the cold. I’d never seen her look so shaken. “She’s upstairs,” she told us. “In my room. I don’t want the other girls or the guests to see her.”
Icy fear sluiced through my veins. I shoved open the door and led the way to the stairs.
Inside, Cinderella’s is done out like a turn-of-the-century merchant’s house, with lots of dark wood paneling, velvet drapes and chandeliers. There’s always soft music playing and wherever you go you can hear the soft sound of female laughter. Every woman looks stunning and they walk around not in lingerie, but in sexy, tasteful gowns that cost a thousand dollars apiece. It’s just about the most relaxing place a man can be. But today I hurried past the grinning guys in suits and the girls smiling and flirting with them. I needed to know, now.
I burst into Grace’s room and saw Kirsty. And tried to control my face.
Grace and Rico trooped in behind me and closed the door. Rico cursed under his breath.
I said nothing for several seconds. Then I knelt down beside Kirsty’s chair and gingerly hugged her, not wanting to cause her any more pain. After a long moment, I looked over my shoulder at Grace, my arms still wrapped around Kirsty. “Who did this?” I asked. My voice was quiet but my whole body shook with anger. “Is he still here?”
Grace shook her head.
“Why did you let him leave?!” I am going to kill him. I am going to beat him until he’s a hair’s breadth from dying and then I’m going to lock the fucker in the trunk of a car and drive it into the Hudson River and drown him.
“It didn’t happen here,” said Grace. “Kirsty was on an outcall. A hotel.”
We don’t let the girls do outcalls for precisely this
reason.
Kirsty shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said. As if somehow, this was her fault. “I know we’re not supposed to.” Her voice was an agonized rasp that made my hands tighten into fists behind her back. “But he called me and said he’d give me two thousand for a few hours. He sounded okay….”
I gently released her and moved back a little. I had to look at her face, now. I couldn’t avoid it any longer, not without upsetting her.
Both her eyes were swollen shut and both cheeks were bruised and bloody. There were sharp, square marks that I couldn’t figure out, at first. Then my stomach lurched—they were the indentations left by the guy’s rings. There were red finger marks around her throat, too—the guy must have had big hands because they wrapped almost completely around. There was a darker red mark there, too, a serpent, as if one of his rings had it carved on the inside.
She swallowed with difficulty. “It’s worse lower down,” she said, nodding to her robe. “He used his belt on me. And before that, he...did stuff to me. Stuff I don’t do.”
She’d been under my protection and I’d failed her. I was only barely managing to hold my anger in check. It was boiling up inside me, filling me with the need to smash, to punch, to kill. I glanced across at Rico and it was like looking into a mirror. He gave me the nod, ready to do whatever I needed him to. But this one I’d take care of myself.
I had to take a deep breath and smooth down the lapels of my suit—that calmed me enough to pull out my phone and take a couple of photos of Kirsty’s face and neck. When I found the bastard, I’d shove them in his face just before I killed him, so that he knew why. “Who was he?” I asked.
Kirsty tried to speak but started to cough instead. Blood from her split lip dusted my shirt. “Big guy. Rich. Called himself Simon but I don’t think that was real. He didn’t say much.” Her voice quavered. “He started on me as soon as I got in the room.”
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