Page 88 of Savage Don

Not only does Domenico know who that is, he’s also clearly afraid that I now know who that is.

The revelation infuriates me.

It means this could have all been over if I had just managed to keep Artuzov alive. I could have made him talk. He would have spilled all of his secrets to me—like how it’s Domenico who has been feeding the feds info about me and my allies.

“Iskhak Artuzov?” Domenico asks, his voice strained as he tries to hide any sign of his surprise.

“That’s right. Do you know who that is?”

After a split-second of careful consideration, Domenico nods. “Yes. An old Russian spy. He runs errands for some low-level criminals in this area.”

“Why would he want Francesca?” I ask, keeping my eyes peeled on the squirming Italian.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Domenico demands, a flicker of rage tensing his jaw. “You’re the one who just got to see him.”

“Our conversation didn’t last long,” I say. “He’s dead.”

“You killed him?”

“I was trying to save your daughter.”

Something that looks like relief washes over the sweating don. His reaction only seems to confirm my theory all the more.

With Artuzov dead, there won’t be anyone to connect him to Domenico.

“And I thank you for saving her. I am forever in your debt,” Domenico says, grinding his teeth. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want answers.”

“You aren’t the only one who wants answers,” I respond sternly.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I want to know why one of my dons had his daughter taken from him by an ex-soviet spy. That shit can’t go unexplained.”

“I told you, I don’t fucking know why he would do something like that.”

“Have you ever worked with him?”

The quiet accusation makes Domenico stand up straight. He’s sweating. The bastard isn’t a good liar. But that doesn’t mean he won’t try. We both know I need hard evidence before I can do anything too drastic.

“Perhaps in the distant past,” Domenico says, his black eyes darting from side to side. “Everyone in this area has at some time or another. He was a man who could get things done. But why would that matter?”

“I’m just trying to find out what happened,” I shrug. “There must be a reason he took your daughter.”

“Maybe he was just going to use her to get some ransom money out of me,” Domenico sneers.

“Perhaps,” I nod, remembering all that I’ve heard about Domenico’s financial problems. “But why choose Francesca? Why not another mafia princess? To me, this job reeks of a personal vendetta.”

Domenico looks like he’s about to explode. It takes a great deal of effort for me to stifle another smile.

This is all going as planned. For as fucked up as Artuzov’s death was, I’ve always had a talent for improvising.

It only took the ride home from the airport to come up with an excuse for Artuzov’s death that also tied into Francesca’s disappearance.

If Domenico had truly been working with the old Russian spy, then he would have had to pay him. But Domenico clearly isn’t exactly flushed with cash right now. I’m sure they had some kind of payment plan set up—something that probably included rewards for when Domenico rose above the ashes of my crumbled empire. But I’m also sure that Domenico has found ways to squirm out of paying his fair share.

It’s in is nature to be a cheapskate. Why else would he still keep his family in this crumbling old mansion?

If my hunch is right, then Domenico probably now thinks it entirely probable that Francesca was taken by Artuzov, probably as a guarantee that the disgraced don would make his payments on time.