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North Bergen was like most Jersey towns, only this one seemed to be designed by a lunatic. Whoever planned that city must have been fucked up on something strong, because the streets made no sense. Never mind that some were so steep they were on seventy degree angles, but others just stopped in the middle of the map with no rhyme or reason.
I could not imagine learning to drive in such a town or riding a bicycle. But this was where Sofia had grown up. I frowned as we sat in the heavy traffic, even more dense in Jersey than it was in Manhattan. But eventually, and under the original forty-one minute timeline, we arrived.
I put my hand on Sofia’s thigh, stopping her from jumping out of the vehicle before my guy could open the door. She looked down but did not remove it, and something spiked within my blood. Pride maybe that she obeyed, that she trusted me to keep her safe.
Imagine that? A soft bunny who trusted her safety to the hungry wolf who stalked her. I cocked my head to the side, memorizing the feel of her through the layers of cheap clothes she wore. Not that it mattered to me. I liked her better naked, anyway.
During the ride, Sofia told me about this Uncle Frank. Her paternal Aunt Linda’s husband was a real winner. Not. Josef sent me a file on him ten minutes after we left her apartment and I’d glanced over it while she spoke. Frank Russo was a sonovabitch plain and simple. A low level wannabe mafioso who liked to gamble and fuck hookers. Young hookers.
I did not miss the revulsion in her eyes when Sofia spoke of the man. She was hiding something from me, and I had my own idea just what Uncle Frank had been like when Sofia was younger. The thought filled me with rage. I released my hold as Josef opened the door, checking traffic to make sure we could cross the busy street unscathed. The winter wind was bitter, and I scowled at the slushy, unkempt sidewalk outside of her grandmother’s building.
“Shit. Dad is supposed to shovel,” she mumbled.
The abject misery on her face tugged at something inside me—could it be my heart? I was not sure. It had been a long time since I felt anything like that.
“Nonna? Dad?” Sofia called as we walked inside past the front door with the broken lock.
The building was five levels, ten units, including a finished basement. Her grandmother owned the building, and all the apartments were supposedly rented to Sofia’s family members. But from what I could tell, the old woman was lenient, and her family took advantage. That was why the taxes were not paid and liens were heavy on the property. My people had even discovered a second mortgage, which had been taken out in Sofia’s father’s name.
I did not know yet if it was really him who took the money, but I would find out. Eventually. I flashed my gaze to Josef, and mind reader that he was, he nodded. I wanted the street cleaned, the front door more secure. And I wanted help for her father. But this was nothing I needed to worry Sofia’s pretty head about. She would not like my interference, but some things were a nonnegotiable part of my nature. I was not a saint. Never claimed to be.
There was arguing coming from inside the first floor apartment, as well as a wonderful smell. Someone was cooking, and the aroma was divine. My men sniffed loudly, and my own stomach growled. Fuck. That was why I hated skipping meals. Sofia looked at me over her shoulder, frowning as she pulled open the door.
“Nonna, I’m here. Frank, you stop right there!” Sofia yelled.
She pointed at a man in a velour track suit who was pushing a pen towards an older woman, her grandmother I guessed, as he stood menacingly over her. There was a younger female, mid-forties, sitting at the table. She looked haggard and dazed, clearly on something, as she smoked her e-cigarette and scrolled through her phone. She hadn’t even looked up when we walked in. The man, though. He noticed. His eyes bugged out of his head as I walked in behind Sofia with three heavily armed men and Josef.
“Sofia!” The older woman cried out and stood up to grab Sofia in a fierce hug.
“Nonna,” Sofia said, catching the old woman’s face in her hands and kissing each of her rosy cheeks.
I watched silently at the byplay, a sense of pride and approval filling me as I watched her put her grandmother at ease. She squared off with this uncle who shrugged and pretended to be the good guy.
“Sof, baby, you know I just wanna help Nonna out. I’ve been telling her this place is too, uh, big for her, but Uncle Fran can take care of it. Now, come on. Don’t be so angry. You know me, kiddo,” he said, and grinned at her.
I did not like the look on his face. It was not how an uncle should look at his niece. I stepped forward, getting right into the man’s face.
“Sofia? Who are these men?” Nonna asked.
“Oh, um, Nonna, everyone, this is Adrik, he’s m-my,” she stuttered, warm brown eyes flashing to me.
“Adrik Volkov,” I said, turning away from the foul smelling man to shake the old woman’s hand.
“Volkov? Hmm, I know this name,” Nonna said, pulling me into a hug with surprising strength. “Call me Nonna. And you are?” she asked, turning to Josef next.
I was stunned. Shocked that this tiny grandmother had not only pulled me and all four of my guards into a hug, but she was now scooping bowls of homemade pasta out and pushing them at us, insisting we sit down to eat.
“Uh, thank you, Nonna,” I said, while Sofia smirked at me from across the room.
“You know, Sof. We don’t need outsiders here while we talk family business.”
Uncle Frank walked across the eat-in kitchen and turned his back, like he was trying to cut me out of the conversation. The man did not know who he was dealing with. While my men sat down, bullied by an old woman, I joined Sofia and Frank on the other side of the room.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you will never get this building,” Sofia hissed.
“Don’t say never, baby girl,” he whispered, and before I knew it I had him by the back of the neck.
Frank squeaked as I clapped his shoulder with my free hand, pretending a joviality I was not feeling in the slightest. The woman, who I assumed was Frank’s wife, still did not look up. She paid us no mind, and Nonna was busy grating cheese over what smelled like a perfectly made plate of homemade cavatelli for Josef who was just smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
