The Arrangement (Crimson Romance)

by Bethany-Kris

  “I wonder if you’ll beg,” Anton mused. “I’ve made bigger and better men than you do it.”

  “For no man,” Vito bit out.

  “Would you for God?”

  Despite the bloodshot eyes, matted, bloody hair, and the bruises and cuts marring up his features, Vito still appeared to be determined and arrogant.

  Anton would enjoy breaking him.

  When Anton reached for the ballpoint hammer, a flicker of fear passed over Vito’s features.

  “Pray.”

  “Wh-what?” the Italian asked.

  Sweat dampened Vito's forehead, the beads of perspiration running lines down his face. Staring up at Anton with wide eyes and a bloody mouth, he didn't seem to have a clue what the Russian wanted. Anton stayed quiet as Boris snatched up the pliers and paring knife and moved to his Boss’s side, taking the knife when it was passed to him.

  With the sharp tip of the blade pointed out, Anton held the knife under Vito’s chin. He greatly enjoyed seeing Vito’s nervous swallow as he twisted the weapon slowly. The smallest amount of blood rose to the surface of Vito’s skin, sliding down the metal blade.

  “Pray,” Anton repeated. “It's the only thing that might save you.”

  “P-praying?” Blood sprayed from Vito’s mouth as he stuttered over the words. “You're going to let me go?”

  “No. But, you tried to hurt an angel today, so God might.”

  Finally, Vito understood. The lines trailing over his cheeks were no longer created by his sweat, but by his tears. They drew pathways through the blood, spit, and dirt, marking him clean in only those salt-touched spots.

  “Th-the Lord is my shepherd ...”

  “Good,” Anton praised. “Like I said, this is going to hurt.”

  The hammer in Anton’s grasp swung to and fro. The Italian's eyes watched the movement with terror choking his words out in a breath. “I shall not want ...”

  “Boris, when we’re done, keep the tongue,” Anton said. “Perhaps Sonny would like a gift.”

  • • •

  Viviana stayed quiet as Sasha paced the space between hospital waiting room chairs. It had been a rough day, to say the least. Anton was on his way. She called him without thinking he might have been handling something and just sending a text instead. Lucky for her that he wasn’t, but now he was in a panic and that wouldn’t lead to anything good.

  “He’s going to be terribly angry,” the older woman said, shaking her head sadly.

  “Anton?” Not for a minute, Viviana thought. Heartbroken was more like it. He adored his father.

  Sasha chirped out a bitter laugh. “Oh, no. I meant Daniil. He despises the hospitals. I can only imagine how hard of a time he’s giving them while they take x-rays of his lungs.”

  “How long?” Viviana asked.

  “What?”

  “Daniil. How long has he been this sick?”

  It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed the medical supplies and the doctor who came and went throughout the day. She had, but Viviana just assumed that they were treating Anton’s father, not waiting out his failing health. They didn’t talk about it, and she could understand that because for one thing, it hurt the family to do so. And secondly, maybe Daniil didn’t want the grief of others over his sickness to be the last of what he witnessed for his final months.

  Sasha’s sadness turned into a teary gaze. “Awhile. He’s far too sick to continue with chemo. It’s only killing him instead of helping. The pain has been getting worse the last couple of months, but he’s lasted longer than his doctors predicted and a constant morphine drip helps.”

  That was the worst thing about having the lifestyle they did. Sometimes having everything you ever wanted at the simple drop of a hat could come back and bite you in the worst way when there was something you finally couldn’t have. Life, for example. Sickness couldn’t be bought away. Sure, the best doctors and medicine would be brought in without hesitation, but death would still come if there was nothing that could be done. No amount of money could buy health.

  Up until then, another week had passed Anton and Viviana by in an almost blissful silence, minus Vito showing up and scaring the living hell out of her. When Anton came home that night stony and silent, she decided she didn’t want to know what became of Vito.

  Sasha had been happy they picked a date for the wedding and didn’t say another thing about it, let alone pester her son with more phone calls. Planning for the wedding suddenly seemed a whole lot easier with a date officially picked and Anton’s declaration over what he’d like to see used as a color scheme. It wasn’t going to be big, so a lot of little nonsense could and would be crossed off their lists.

  With Anton’s influence and a few phone calls, The Plaza Hotel’s entertainment, dining room, and spa on Fifth Avenue had been booked for their wedding, dinner, and reception with practically no notice at all. Viviana didn’t dare ask the cost of that one, or just how much money he shoveled out to the owners and management to save that date. Given the price just to rent a room for a night, which Viviana’s mother had done more than once when her father was alive, she knew it had to be quite an expense.

  The pretty black Bentley was waiting the very next morning after Anton’s show with the keys. The cutest red bow sat perched up on the hood, just waiting for Viviana to get in and make those tires squeal. Which she did—all the while Anton had his hand on her thigh sporting the most devious, sexy smirk as it trailed a little higher, making her breath catch.

  It had been an easy, quiet week. Nothing to worry about during her walks with Rocco after Vito, though her bulls were sticking closer to her than ever. The bulls weren’t giving her warnings or signals about something that might have concerned them now, though. Whenever she ventured away from their safe house with her car to visit a few shops for wedding things, or just because she could, Viviana hadn’t once felt unsafe, even after the dog park fiasco. Although much to her displeasure, but not surprise, she was made aware on her third trip into the heart of the city that a federal car was now on detail with her. Anton had been in a particularly good mood for the week when he was home as well.

  Simple, so damned simple.

  And then it wasn’t.

  Sometime in the late afternoon, Sasha called over the intercom in a panic. The doctor had been to the house earlier in the day with a promise to be back after supper just to check if Daniil’s cough was getting worse. When the coughing fits turned up bright red blood in a tissue, it was clear something else was going wrong beyond a little chest cold.

  Nothing was little when it came to cancer.

  The phone in Viviana’s hand dinged with a text. Sighing with just a smidge of relief, she said, “Anton is coming up from the underground parking garage now.”

  It was the softest, most heartbroken sob from Sasha that all but did Viviana in. Almost as if Sasha’s heart was being ripped from her chest and torn apart, because if the way she looked at Daniil on daily basis was any indication, it most certainly was. With her knees drawn up into her chest, Viviana hugged her legs and hid her face, not wanting to watch a stronger woman than her cry.

  • • •

  “One second, Boss,” Boris muttered, slamming shut the car door. “Just give the others a moment to catch up.”

  Anton fought back his rising urge to bark at the brigadier. It was his father after all, so if he wanted to rush up through the garage without waiting for the other men to arrive, he had every right to goddamn well do so. Of course, that was the irrational side of his brain, which at times, still felt like he was that twelve-year-old kid who thought his father and step-grandfather ruled the fucking world.

  Being who he was now, Anton knew it wasn’t just about him anymore. Daniil had more than earned his place and respect in their world. He didn’t have biological brothers, but he had four dozen Bratva brothers scattered across Brooklyn with their phones on constant dial. At least eight of them were in cars on their way there.

  “Boss, heads up. Sixth row
down, second lane in, black car with hats down.”

  At Boris’s quiet warning, Anton made quick work of finding the unmarked car with an almost predatory gaze. Two federal agents. They looked to be the same ones who continued following his Viviana around, although they had yet to approach her. Anton was more concerned with just why they were tailing her more than the actual fact that they were.

  “Fucking cockroaches,” he growled darkly. “Here with my dad sick, really?”

  Boris shrugged. “Maybe they just followed her car in.”

  “She jumped in the ambulance with my mother.”

  “What’d you think it is, then?”

  Anton swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. “Roman, maybe. I know Sonny had her locked up tight after her dad died, making sure the feds couldn’t get to her when she was grieving.”

  “You gonna let her talk to them?”

  As three cars slid into the underground parking garage one right after the other at a speed too fast to be regular civilians, Anton kicked his car door closed and shrugged. While the cars began to unload with older Bratva members, Anton and his brigadier began making their way to the entrance for the elevators.

  Crossing directly in front of the federal car, just to let them know they weren’t fooling a soul, the younger man stared straight through the windshield before flicking them his middle finger as a silent fuck off. They’d only get the one warning.

  “My fiancée is a grown woman who knows what she can and can’t do without me needing to tell her. If she’s got something to say to the feds regarding her father’s death, that’s her choice. It has absolutely nothing to do with the Bratva. We all know she isn’t going to speak a word about me. That’s what’s most important.”

  “The Italians—they’d kill her for talking about family business.”

  “They could sure fucking try.”

  • • •

  Viviana looked up as a pair of hands squeezed her shoulders soothingly. Anton’s tired, sad expression stared back down at her. “Hey.”

  “Hey, babe,” she answered back, seeing the slight curve of his lips at her sentiment. “Missed you.”

  “Missed you, too.”

  The moment Anton’s gaze met his mother’s form coming over to greet him, he released Viviana’s shoulders. She looked away as he embraced his mother in the suddenly quiet waiting room, knowing they probably needed that moment together. It was only when his hands came in contact with her body again that Viviana felt it was okay to speak again.

  “I didn’t realize he was …” Emotions lodged in her throat. “I’m sorry about Daniil.”

  There was the briefest flicker of wetness shining in bright blue eyes before the man above her blinked it away. “He’s got a little while left. Already planned his own funeral, sad as that is. We don’t talk much about it because it makes him angry. I just assumed you would have figured out how bad it was on your own, but I suppose I should have sat you down and really explained it.”

  Viviana didn’t have a clue what to say.

  Looking around, she was quick to notice the many men who suddenly swamped the waiting room. They all chatted in English and Russian, their voices far too low for her to really catch onto anything they were saying, not that she would have understood their mother tongue. A few had gathered close to Sasha, one with an arm wrapping her trembling shoulders tenderly, and she nodded in response to whatever the men were saying. Even still, Viviana couldn’t help but feel awkward under some of their scrutinizing gazes as they, too, watched her.

  The following day was Anton’s birthday. It would have been the first time she was properly introduced into their very private society at the party they were throwing for him at his club. There was no doubt in her mind that they were all too aware of just who exactly she was, and all the trouble she could be very well causing them, so it only served to make Viviana that much more uncomfortable.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a lot of Bratva here,” she mumbled, feeling silly. Zoning in on a loose thread, she picked at the fabric, avoiding Anton. “They’re all looking at me.”

  “Of course they’re looking at you. You’re beautiful, and they’re probably wondering where your engagement ring is.”

  Viviana choked back her laughter. Yes, with teary eyes, a sweater and jeans, and hair that had just been tossed back into a loose ponytail before the ambulance arrived. Sure, beautiful. The engagement ring was a whole other matter altogether that he wouldn’t even talk about, for some reason.

  “Come on, Anton.”

  “I’m serious. Some of these men haven’t seen you since you were a drooling two year old. Imagine how big of a surprise it is for them to see you all grown up, and with me no less.”

  Now, Viviana was wondering just how many of them had been a part of the agreement and which men in the room he was talking about exactly. “Really, who?”

  “Never mind that. They wouldn’t talk about it anyway. Business, baby.”

  With a disgruntled hum, Viviana found her knees being drawn away from her chest under his urging. In Anton’s strong hold, she was picked up as if she didn’t weigh anything more than a feather before he rested back down in the seat with her curled up in his lap. An arm curved around her shoulders, his hand stopping to rest on the pulse in her neck.

  For a single moment, she stilled in Anton’s hold, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his chest and the beat of his heart. Without a doubt, she knew that beating organ was breaking. Strong and stony on the outside, but shattering to pieces on the inside.

  “I don’t want to lose my father,” he whispered. The words were so grief-stricken and heavy in her ear that Viviana shivered under the weight. “I don’t know what I’d do. First it was Nicoli, now Dad … Fuck, you think I’d be used to death by now, given everything.”

  “It’s not the same kind of death. But when it is, and it’s someone else’s grief, don’t you feel guilty?”

  That hold on her shoulders tightened. “You shouldn’t ask me—”

  “I should,” Viviana interjected, keeping her tone quiet and calm. “I want to know.”

  She felt his mouth press to the side of her temple as his lips parted and he exhaled heavily. “Ever since my first, yes. I always feel guilt for their grief, even if it was deserved. I was taught to respect the life I took, no matter what it owed. At some point that life was worth no more or less than mine.”

  Viviana decided she loved him even more because of that. There had been no respect shown to her father, mother, or brother. There had been none for her when she was made to hold Sonny’s hand at her father’s funeral, probably the same hand that was used to hold the gun and pulled the trigger to end Roman’s life. It made her weak and unsure, taught her that even blood didn’t hold a flame to greed. Her learned respect was created from nothing more than fear. She didn’t want to be that girl anymore, and she sure as hell knew she wasn’t, but it had taken a lot to get there, starting with Anton.

  “I didn’t want to lose mine, either,” she heard herself admitting. Reaching down to find his hand holding her knee tightly, she uncurled the fingers and weaved them with hers. Viviana allowed them both a moment to breathe before she spoke again. “I didn’t want to be scared; I was so tired of crying. It won’t matter if I’m thirty or eighty, it’ll never really go away. It’s always going to hurt.”

  Viviana swore she felt wetness smear from his cheek to hers, but she didn’t acknowledge his tears. It was more than likely he wouldn’t want her to anyway. His grasp on her leg released just long enough to rub his face.

  Anton cleared his throat, voice turning hoarse when he said, “So, on Sunday …”

  “What about it?”

  “There’s a baker that’s always made the cakes for our family whenever we had special occasions. He’s opened up his shop to us personally for that day. If you want to go with me at noon, we’ll have one more thing crossed off your list.”

  “I can do that,” she agreed,
settling back into his hold with a sigh. “So I guess there won’t be a party tomorrow, huh?”

  “Oh, there’ll be a party, and we’ll still have to go. Actually, it’ll give them a chance to celebrate my father in one way or another, too. All the more reason to drink good vodka. Like they need an excuse to drink.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Viviana noticed a very mousey looking nurse standing with a clipboard in her hand and staring wide-eyed at the sudden influx of men in the small waiting room. With a nod in the woman’s direction, Anton coughed to gain her attention.

  The woman startled at his simple look. Viviana guessed then that the last name on the clipboard probably spoke volumes as to who the woman thought she was dealing with, and everything she thought, well, it’d probably be right.

  “Immediate family for a Mr. Daniil Avdonin?”

  Every Bratva man who wasn’t already standing did. Viviana couldn’t help but snort under her breath at the sight. More than once she’d spent nights like this in the hospital when she was younger, watching her father’s men rush in with wives and children bundled up. The Bratva was not the Cosa Nostra, but they were still a family in every way that counted for them.

  Sasha was back at her son’s side in a flash, her hand resting atop his on Viviana’s knee. “I’m his wife. This is his son.”

  “Could you come with me for a moment, ma’am? A more private area—”

  Anton spoke up, tone gruff and low when he interrupted with, “Here is just fine. Whatever you have to say, they’ll be told regardless.”

  The nurse was once again looking like she wanted to bolt. Viviana was left wondering where in the hell the doctor was. “Yes, okay then. Uh, so a viral infection has settled in his lungs. There’s a lot of fluid that they’re attempting to remove, but we had a collapse. By the looks of the x-rays, there is a good chance pneumonia has started in as well. He can go home …”

  “Go home?” Anton growled.

  “In a few days,” the nurse finished quietly. “If everything goes fine with removing the fluid and getting rid of the infection. Otherwise, he’ll probably be here for at least the next few months.”