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“Make sure the Mexicans are out of our borders and turn back. We—”
“Turn back?” I can’t help but exclaim in annoyance.What is he talking about? I wanted to stomp those rats into the ground!
But of course, what would George know about it? He’s probably spent the whole day in his huge apartment, checking the monitors, sending messages, and drinking gin. His actual name is Georgyi, and he’s my distant uncle or whatever, the Pushkov family is too big to keep track of everyone. All I know is that we are blood relatives and he knows nothing about the real meaning of being a Mafia member.
George’s main task is to keep track of each member’s location and coordinate our movements so that we don’t bump into each other. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very helpful to have someone out there who can give me directions and deliver my words to others. But sometimes, his orders just make no sense at all!
“George, we can get them, just give us more time.”
“No, your task is to clear the territory. Don’t get involved in anything outside our borders.”
His voice gains strict notes, and I purse my lips, trying to keep my protests at bay. An argument won’t get me anywhere, and I can’t disobey him without a good reason. No matter how annoying he can be, George still ranks higher than me, and if I step out of line Father will hear about it very soon.
“Got it,” I grumble, keeping my eyes on the Mexican car. It’s too far away now, and I know I can’t reach it before they escape through the freeway. Goddamnit!
It takes them just another minute to reach the ramp leading to I-94, and I exhale sharply and shake my head as I watch the Mexicans merge into traffic. It’s so tempting to follow them and force them to drive off the bridge just to remind Gerardo that they should stop playing their damn games with the Bratva.
The Escarra family has gotten too brave lately—it’s time to teach them a lesson! But I only clench my jaw harder and drive past the ramp, slowing down to make a turn back into our territory. Disobedience is considered one of the worst offenses in my family, and I don’t want to attract more attention now, when I’ve already messed up with Louis.
As soon as I turn around and make sure that the border is clear, I get back to my call with George. “They left. It’s all clear.”
“Good job.” He pauses for a moment, and when I’m already reaching for my phone to hang up, George suddenly adds, “You know we have to be careful with the Mexicans, right? We don’t have even a formal truce with them…”
Unlike the Italians, he doesn’t say, but I hear it all the same—and he’s right. The Messinas have been sneaky enough to get themselves a piece of cake from both sides.
“So if we go too far, they might as well declare war. And Yuriy Viktorovich doesn’t want that. At least, not now.”
Ah, of course, how could I forget about Yuriy Viktorovich? I shouldn’t even think about making him upset—or else.
“But haven’ttheygone too far already?” I murmur, unable to stop the bitter feeling in my chest. But before George can say anything, I clear my throat and raise my voice over his. “You’re right, of course. My bad. Let’s forget about it. I’m going back to the store to check how much they’ve stolen, okay?”
It sounds like George wants to say something, but I’m already tired of this bullshit, so I hang up before he can say anything and focus on the road.
Of course, I know that he’s right. Our life is tough as it is, and being in an open conflict with another clan is nothing good—trust me, I know from firsthand experience. Ever since Elena married Riccardo Messina and our families agreed to stop this pointless brawl, things have gotten so much better. We stopped losing our men and resources, and it allowed us to grow even stronger.
Nobody wants another war, including me—but I can’t help the feeling that our self-restraint has made the Mexicans too confident. Like rats emboldened by the lack of resistance, they’ve been trying to get deeper and deeper into our territories. Isn’t it enough for us to do something about it?
I huff under my breath and shake my head. It looks like nobody really cares, especially the Italians.
Of course, the Mexicans are our problem, not theirs, especially since they struck a deal with the Escarra family. But what aboutourdeal? What about the marriage between Riccardo and Elena that was supposed to become the symbol of the alliance ofourfamilies? When the Messinas needed us, we came to help them—but they’ve never returned the favor.
I come to a stop at the red light, staring ahead with annoyance and resentment bubbling in my chest. God, can you imagine the audacity? Instead of following their own promise and joining us to beat the Mexicans, those damn pigs turned around and shook hands with our enemies! Well, I shouldn’t be surprised really. The Messinas know nothing about honor, and—
A sudden honk interrupts my thoughts, and I blink. What, is it green already? But no, it’s still red, and a moment too late I realize that the honk came from my right side. When I turn my head, I see Boris grinning at me through the window. A moment later my phone starts ringing, and I only have enough time to answer before the light turns green.
“Hey, Sasha.” I hear his smooth voice through the speakers and grimace, trying to get rid of him in the traffic. “I like your new color.”
My color? I frown, and it takes me a moment to figure out that he’s talking about my hair.
“Well, thanks.”
“You know, I’ve always wondered if it’s true that redheads are beasts in—”
“Bye, Borya.”
I finish the call even before he finishes the sentence and let out a loud huff. I can’t believe he’s doing this again. We are literally relatives! Even if very-very distant. But it doesn’t matter, really. Even if he wasn’t my goddamn-what cousin, what girl would ever fall for…this?
I shake my head and glance in the rearview mirror. It looks like Boris got the hint because I see his car make a turn far behind me. Good for him. I breathe out in relief when my phone rings again, and I almost growl under my breath.
