Jesus, though, I don’t know that I’d know how to live a normal life, to not always be looking over my shoulder, wondering which bullet has my name on it.
Shaye’s right. I’m not the same. I may never be again.
But can I be better this time? That’s the million-dollar question. And fuck me if I know the answer.
“Look, we can talk more later. I need to get to a meeting.”
“Okay.” She pauses, and I know she’s nibbling at her lower lip, the way she always does when she’s contemplating a question. “Can we really do that this time? Talk?”
“Yeah. I promise. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I click off the phone a second later. There are so many reasons why I keep things to myself. Shaye is number one. She doesn’t need to get lost in the murk that pollutes my mind. But ironically, she’s the only one who actually wants to help me work through this. I hate the psychobabble bullshit, but she’s the only real partner I have. And she’s the only one I want for the future.
Maybe it’s time to really listen, to prove to her that we are a team. I can’t let this fear crush our dreams.
God, I wish I could have a few more minutes with Grandpa Vito. He’d never tell me what to do, but he’d make me believe what I’m capable of. I’ve lost a lot of that confidence, and I need it back. This time, I’m going to have to find it on my own.
I stuff my hands in the pockets of my jeans and walk a couple of blocks until I reach my destination. I furrow my brow, staring into a dirty, dark window on the side of the blood-colored door.
Red Square.
It’s go-time.
I grasp the door handle, pull it open, and step inside the smoke-filled room. I peer around the dimly lit space, illuminated only by a single, flat-screen television in a far corner, the bar, and a few scattered table lamps. I can see clearly enough that the place is near-empty, save for a few tall, lanky goons in a corner. Their arms and necks are inked up and down, most of the symbols recognizable.
Bratva tattoos always are, which is something I never really understood. I mean, I get the whole brotherhood thing, but they’re damn incriminating. Like a lot like the Mexican drug cartels, they wear their ink as badges of honor, but I still can’t figure out why they’d want to brand themselves as known associates to major crime rings for all the world to see.
Pride, I guess.
I have plenty of pride. I just prefer to keep it hidden to anyone who might be able to lump me in with other criminals.
I look over to the bartender and he nods his head toward another red door in the back of the room. He must know they’re expecting me. And the fact that I stick out like a dick on a cake probably gave him a clue. I cross the bar area, my sneakers sticking to the floor with each step. A couple of guys raise their menacing glares in my direction, but I don’t pause. I don’t look. I only walk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see one of them rise from his seat and step into my direct path. I recognize him from the night he showed up to help rescue Shaye from the warehouse where she was being held by Frank Cappodamo. He’s no less threatening today, but I’m not in the mood for any bullshit. I raise my steady gaze since he has a good six inches on me, and mind you, I’m six-two. I guess alcohol and tobacco don’t stunt your growth after all, since these guys pretty much survive on vodka and skinny black cigarettes.
“You looking for more help, Salesi?” He folds his arms and narrows his eyes, bloodshot from all of the drugs and day drinking. “Because it’s time for payback the way I see it. We helped you. Now it’s time for you to help us.”
“Alexi, shut up and sit the fuck down.” Katarina wedges her way between us and gently pushes Alexi away with her hand. “Let us work out the details. You just keep sitting here and looking badass, okay? We don’t want to scare away our new friend, do we?”
Alexi’s mouth stretches into a tight line, staring me down as if he’s trying to decide what the right response is. He backs away toward his chair without a word. Just a lot of grumbling in Russian. Damn, she’s fierce. Either that or he wants to fuck her. And judging by the way they’re all drooling into their shot glasses, it’s a fantasy they all seem to share.
Kat winks at him and flips her hair over her bare shoulder. Alexi’s eyes are glued to her right now, as if her spell on him is too powerful to challenge. Or maybe it’s because her shirt is just a little bit too tight. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to fight it…it being her super power, the reason why she is such an asset to her father. I’ve heard plenty of stories and seeing her in action confirms for me, yet again, that I never want a daughter.
Ever.
She turns her ice-blue eyes toward me and flashes me a bright white smile. This girl is as gorgeous as she is deadly. “Papa is waiting for you. He sent me out here to make sure the guys didn’t give you a hard time.”
I shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
A little giggle escapes her plump pink lips. “If you say so.” She nods her head toward the back corner where there’s another beefy Russian flipping around a butcher knife. “Maybe I should have let you use your Italian charm on these guys. How far do you think that would get you?”
“I like to think I have more to offer than just the charm.”
“Yeah, but your pretty face wouldn’t work on them.” She snickers. “You’d need my tits and ass to go along with it.”
“If that were the case, I’d have other problems.” I nod toward the back. “Should we go?”