Although his jaw gains an involuntary tick, his expression remains somewhat neutral. “I’ve heard of Isaac before. He’s not of interest to me.” His approval is shocking. However, it has nothing on what he says next, “If you heard any of his conversation with Albert this afternoon, you’d know why.”
It isn’t what he said that shocks me. It’s how he said it. It had a protective edge to it. It could be because he believes sheltering Isaac will keep his long-lost sister safe, but I have a feeling that’s only part of his reasoning.
“It isn’t Isaac I’m warning you about. It’s his baggage.” The altering of his facial features I was seeking earlier occur this time around. I’m not surprised the shockwaves of a mafia princess’s death spread across the globe like wildfire. It’s why even without proof of life, I’d still know Fien is okay. Women in this industry are valued as useless until they’re being torn between two men. Then it’s a free-for-all. Nothing is off-limits.
Deciding it isn’t my place to make my sworn enemy’s jobs easier, I get back to the reason Rico is surrounded by over a dozen men with body-maiming weapons. “Meet-ups without prior knowledge isn’t something I take lightly.”
Rico smiles as if my tone didn’t have an ounce of bitterness. “We advised of our arrival. Your father suggested for it to occur in Hopeton.”
I want to call him out a liar before showing him exactly what happens to men who double-cross me, but there’s too much honesty in his eyes to discount. He has the eyes of Satan. They’re just minus the pure evilness his father’s have.
“What was the business about?” We’ve talked shop the past two hours, but since Rico’s focus was solely on my father’s trek across the country to rile Vladimir about having contact with his favorite whore’s daughter, Isaac’s meeting with Vladimir’s number two went unmentioned.
My jaw almost cracks when Rico replies, “Nothing that concerns you.” As he stands from his seat, he does up the middle button on his business jacket. “Don’t get up. I’ll show myself out.”
He laughs like his life isn’t on the line when Clover forcefully places him back into his seat. His chuckles sound fake, but the mask he’s wearing is anything but when he threatens Clover with the edge of a psychotic man. He’s young, but this industry has aged him as much as it has me. “If you think Dimitri is the only one who removes fingers when you touch something you shouldn’t have, you need to be taught a lesson on how my family operates.” He cranks his head back to face Clover. Considering he’s seated, and Clover is standing, there should be more distance between them than there is. “But since this isn’t my turf, I’ll offer leniency. Don’t expect another one.”
Like the paid soldier he is, Clover continues pinching Rico’s shoulder until I advise him otherwise. Several men circling us should take note of his obedience. They’re getting thirsty for a bloodbath, which also means they’re becoming ignorant of the rules. I’d pull them immediately into line if their disrespect didn’t come with benefits. It’s amazing the tales men tell when they’re coked out of their minds. They are almost as perverse as a mafia man unknowingly dropping information he didn’t mean to give.
“Guy’s punishment was handled in-house…” I walk around my desk, then prop my backside on the edge. I’m close enough to Rico, I could kill him with barely an effort, but not quite close enough he can smell the annoyance pumping out of me. “So how do you know about it?”
Guy wouldn’t be game to go against me, and a majority of the bidders had left before his punishment, so I’m eager to discover exactly who tattled about an in-house operation.
I shouldn’t have bothered keeping my distance. Two towns over could smell the putrid scent excreting from my pores when Rico cocks a brow and says, “You don’t really believe your sweet ole Pa traveled all the way to Vegas just to rub salt into my father’s wound, do you?” Although he’s asking a question, he continues talking as if he didn’t. “Rumors are there’s thirty-million dollars on the table over this side of the country. He only wants ten percent for a finder’s fee.”
If it were any other man but Rico sitting across from me, I would have taken the humor in his voice as a threat. The only reason I don’t is because thirty-million dollars is chump change to him. This kills me to admit, but the Popovs are riding the high of not being saddled down with the shit my father doused our family name in decades ago. It also gives reason for Nikolai’s lack of interest in his true birthright.
My voice is almost violent when I switch tactics for the third time today. “Theresa Veneto organized Isabelle’s placement in Ravenshoe because she has similarities to my deceased sister.” With Smith on the ball, I show Rico a side-by-side comparison of Ophelia and Isabelle. Excluding their hair, eyes, and skin tone, they don’t have much in common, but I’m hoping Rico is too bogged down with revenge to notice. “Isabelle was supposed to persuade Isaac into spilling secrets. Instead—”
“She fell in love. You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already heard,” Rico interrupts, his tone bored.
“So you know about Theresa’s plan to go after Isabelle?” I’m bluffing. I haven’t had contact with Theresa in weeks. I’m just assuming that will be her next move since all vindictive cows operate the same way. “We can only hope things don’t end as badly for her as they did your mother.”
Now I fucking have him—hook, line, and sinker—although he tries to deny it. “My mother died of an overdose.”
“If you believe that, I guess you also believe your father’s claims he’s a king.” Rico watches me with unease when I move back to my side of the desk to gather a set of documents from the drawer. They’re the sworn testimonies the film documentary producer lodged with the Bureau years ago. He swore until he was blue in the face that Felicia wasn’t a drug addict. “Your mother didn’t have a single track-mark on her arms during filming. The documentary was filmed only months before her death.” I show him stills of the footage that proves what I’m saying. “The coroner’s report states—”
“Coroner? What fucking coroner? Other than moving her off the kitchen floor days after her fucking death, Vladimir wouldn’t let anyone touch her.” The violence in his roar exposes his agitation, but it’s also proof he’s looked into his mother’s death before. He wouldn’t do that unless he were suspicious his father wasn’t telling the truth.
“Your mother was murdered, Rico, and I’m reasonably sure I know who did it.” I’m once again stretching the boundaries of truth, but when you are desperate, you’re desperate. I’m fucking desperate. “However, I’m not going to tell you a thing until we’ve reached an agreement.”
“Only a fool sides with his enemy.”
I brush off his anger as if it doesn’t have any sting. “Not when it’s for the greater good. This is for the greater good.”
The fret on Rocco’s face when I laid down my first set of cards weakens as I reveal my final hand. It isn’t an image of the person I believe is responsible for Rico’s mother’s death, it’s a photograph of my daughter. If her angelic eyes and face can’t prove to him this is bigger than anything we could have ever imagined, nothing will.
“That’s my daughter, Fien. She will be two in a little under three months, and I’ve not yet laid my eyes on her in person.” Before he can voice one of the questions I see in his eyes, I add, “Because she was taken by the same man who killed your mother.”
It’s the fight of my life not to rip Fien’s photograph out of Rico’s grip when he lifts it off my desk, but I manage—somewhat. I’ve tried every angle I can the past twenty-two months. I’m running out of options. My desperation could backfire in my face, but would the blow-on effect be any worse than what I’m currently facing? I doubt it, so I’m willing to give it a shot.
After staring at Fien’s chubby cheeks for a couple of seconds, Rico raises his dark eyes to me. “What do you need?”
Twenty
Dimitri
While grumbling about the brutal crunch of his gearstick as I shift from second to first, Smith shuts down the equipment he had utilized the two and a half hours of our trip. He isn’t a fan of road trips, but when it forces him away from equipment he’s rarely without, he fucking hates them.
