I play with my tie while attempting to contain my enthusiasm.It’s already working.Cardona is shoving his own supporters out. Cleaning house.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”
“Listen, Felix is getting a little too hot-headed, if you catch my meaning.”
“I do.”
He clears his throat. “Some of the families have been talking, and we think it would be best to make sure this fight doesn’t get too big, you know? What’s the point of organized crime if we spend most of our time fighting each other like a disorganized mob?”
I nod. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“This bullshit right now. It’s bad for business, y’know?”
“I’m well aware of this. I watch the news too, Ricky.”
He scoffs. “The news? That won’t tell youshit. Have you been keeping up with anyone else since this whole shitstorm started? He’s hitting partners, associates, his own goddamn mules—anybody he ever looked at funny in the last nineteen years. He sure as shit is doing a better job tearing all of us down right now than the NYPD ever did.”
I smile. Ricky is absolutely right. Running this city requires that the different families set rules between each other, delineate territories, and sit down at negotiation tables in the event of any disputes. Organized crime. That’s the key word here. Organized.
What Felix is doing is anything but. He’s letting his own paranoia and fear get in the way of good business. And people are starting to notice.
“I have a way we can end this war, Ricky,” I say. “But I need your support.”
“I’m all ears, you beautiful Russian bastard.”
Within an hour, I’ve secured an alliance with one of the biggest drug kings on Staten Island. His support gives me clearance to walk through his territory unharmed until this war is over—he’s giving me rights to set up traps for Felix when the time is right. What happens after is anyone’s guess. But so long as we’re willing to sit down and negotiate, there’s always a way forward.
Was this your plan, rodnaya? To show the rest of our underworld brothers that the emperor had no clothes? That Felix was actually powerless?
If it is, then it’s a frighteningly cunning plan. And for a moment, savage pride surges through me.My clever fox…
The house is quiet when I get off the phone. I slide from the chair, wander toward the counter, and debate making a fresh pot of tea. She hasn’t had any all evening. She probably needs a cup.
I frown.Why do I care?
Emotions rattle me. I know the answer to that. I just don’t want to think about it.
The real question is, why can’t Istopcaring?
My hands move of their own accord. Within minutes, a pot of lavender tea is brewed and I’ve got two clean cups piled on a tray. I grab ginger crackers, biscuits that Stepan made for dinner, and a pack of chocolate chip cookies.
Whether we’re getting along or not, Liya needs to eat. She’s lost some of her glow lately, and her belly hasn’t grown much in the past couple of weeks. Despite her insistence that she’s “pudgy,” I can see the impression of her ribs. That doesn’t bode well for the baby.
I lift the tray.It doesn’t bode well for her either.
Upstairs, classical music floats past the bedroom door. I can hear Liya humming along to it. I peer through the crack to see her sitting in front of the vanity. An open tub of cream sits near the mirror. Every so often, she dips her fingers into it.
Love resonates wherever she massages lotion into her skin. She’s almost smiling, but the glow is dulled. Like she’s seen too much.
Like she’s felt too much pain.
My heart sinks.Because of me.
Anyone else in her position would have looked smug, but she doesn’t appear that way at all. She looks proud, like she’s ready to become a mother.
Ready to protect her child no matter what it takes.
It feels odd spying on my wife, yet I feel entitled to do it. I wish she was wearing her wedding ring instead of it weighing down my pocket. Maybe then this wouldn’t feel so odd.