I follow her with my eyes as she dashes across the living room and up the stairs, then head back to my lounging spot. My bedroom is just above the terrace, so I have a clear view of the figure that steps onto the upper balcony five minutes later.
The breeze makes her hair float around her face as she leans over the railing, gaze focused on the fishing boats bobbing in the distance, and her bare toes peek out through the guardrail posts. Retrieving my glass of wine from the patio table, I shift further into the shadows, leaning on the stone wall at my back, and keep my eager eyes on my feisty Russian princess.
* * *
“What do you mean ‘she’s staying here’?” Guido gapes at me. “I thought you had our team shoot that video to pressure her not to reveal our identities to Petrov after we send her back.”
“That video is insurance. But for another purpose.” I lean back on the couch. “I offered her a job.”
“You offered a job to a woman you had kidnapped?”
“Yes. I offered her three million dollars for her services. She declined. Her exact words were: ‘Take your millions and shove them up your ass.’”
Guido sighs and sits on the recliner across from me. “Fucking Christ. What kind of services?”
“It looks like our network crashed unexpectedly. I want her to fix it.”
“Other than the back door she somehow created, there’s nothing wrong with our systems.”
“There is now. I called Mitch and ordered his guys to scramble our root directories and applications until they barely function. Miss Petrova has been persuaded to remain as our guest until all of the issues are resolved. Since she was not receptive to my money, I was forced to find a currency that she could not reject. Seems she likes her family and is willing to fix our IT systems to deter the threat on their lives.”
“So how long is this ‘fix’ going to take?”
“I instructed Mitch to keep up the sabotage, covertly of course, until I say otherwise.” I glance down at my bandaged forearm and smile.
“You like her.”
“Yes.”
“Jesus fuck, Raff. I know you’re accustomed to getting anything you want, women included, but this? Blackmailing this girl to stay here by threatening to kill her parents? There are hundreds of women—beautiful women—who would rush to your side. All you need to do is snap your fingers.”
“You mean, wave my credit card.”
“Rafael—”
“The subject is closed,” I interrupt. “I’m going to pay a visit to Calogero tomorrow. One of his goons has been seen at the Catania Port. Our godfather will keep his butt in Palermo, as we agreed, or he won’t enjoy the reminder I’ll mete out. I won’t allow him to infringe on what’s mine.”
When I returned to Sicily, Mancuzo—the Cosa Nostra Don at the time—had already lost his hold over most of the eastern part of the island. The territory from Catania to Ragusa was ruled by gangs. It took me two years to rectify that situation and take control of the area. After Calogero stepped into his role within the Family, I agreed to his dominion across western Sicily, but the east coast is under my reign.
“Calogero is bleeding money from using the cruise ships and passenger ferries to transport his product. He needs access to the main cargo shipping lines, and those all run through the Port of Catania. I don’t think he’ll let it go, Raff.”
“Not my problem. I don’t want his drugs in my port.” I grab my jacket off the back of the sofa and stand up. “I’m going to bed.”
“And where will that be, if I may ask? Since, apparently, you gave up your bedroom to our hostage.”
“Guest room.”
“Why not move her there instead?”
I meet my brother’s gaze. “Because the only bed she’ll be sleeping in from now on, is mine.”
Chapter 5
The decrepit taverna where Calogero typically spends his afternoons is located on a dead-end street in the old part of Palermo. Except for the ravages of time and the relentless Mediterranean sun, the place hasn’t changed one bit in all the years. The shithole I remember from my youth still looks like a shithole, complete with paint peeling off its outside surfaces.
As I open the rickety door and step inside the gloomy interior, I’m hit with the stench of stale alcohol and the rancid smell of cigar smoke. In addition to that, drifting through the open back door and hanging heavily in the air, is an unmistakable scent of fish from the nearby market. Every seat in this putrid place is vacant. The establishment’s only patron is sitting at a small garden table set up on the patio. He’s in his early seventies and leaning over a spread-out newspaper, sipping coffee. Behind him, with their backs to the wall but only a few feet away, are two armed men. Their eyes follow me as I cross the empty taverna, heading toward the leader of the Sicilian Mafia.
“What business brings you here, Rafael?” Calogero lifts the coffee cup to his mouth; his eyes never leave the newspaper.
I take a seat across the table and take him in. He might act mighty and all-important in front of his men, but we both know the only reason he’s in this leadership position now is because the Family was in complete disarray after I killed the previous don.
“I think you know the answer to that question.”
My godfather finally looks up, but his gaze only lingers on my face for the briefest of moments before it flits away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I shake my head. Seeing this man wrings hatred in every fiber of my being.
In Italy, a godparent is as close as one can be next to a familial relationship. Some people even consider this bond stronger than true blood ties. When I was a kid, this man was my role model. After my father was killed, Calogero stepped in to fill his shoes. He took my mother, brother, and me under his protection. When Mom and Calogero got together, I never held it against either of them. I believed my godfather was a good man. But the truth is—he was a coward. He might be the don now, but he is still the same old chickenshit who did nothing when his predecessor declared my mother a traitor and executed her.
“Next time I catch one of your men in Catania trying to bribe the port workers, I’ll cut out his tongue, and you’ll find his dead body dumped at your front door.” I slam my hand on the surface of the table, making the coffee cup and the water glass rattle. “Do not fuck with me, cumpari. Or you may end up with your throat slit open just like Mancuso.”
“You are a disgrace to your blood and to the Family, Rafael,” he says through his teeth. His eyes drop to my left arm. “Swearing fealty to our enemies. If you had an ounce of decency, you would have removed their mark long ago.”
I lean forward, getting in his face. “It may come as a surprise to you, but some people own their choices.”
Calogero’s lips pull into a sneer. “You have some nerve. Walking in here as if you own the place, threatening me. One word from me, and you’ll never leave this place alive. And a week from now, someone will find your worthless hide washed up on the beach.” He tilts his head toward the bodyguards at his back, who immediately reach into their jackets, going for their weapons.
