Armani brushes past me as he walks into the room, his finger on the trigger.
21
ARMANI
“I toldyou to come over—I didn’t say bring a gun!” Candi yells.
Ignoring her, I incline my head at her friend.
“Put the purse on the bed and step away from it,” I order.
Candi moves to my side, still frantic. “Please. Put the gun down, Armani.”
But I don’t move a muscle. The woman, Juliana, quickly assesses the situation and then sets her bag—with the gun still inside—on the bed, as I instructed. Smart girl.
Palms in the air, and never taking her eyes off me, she steps to the middle of the room. Only then do I move to retrieve her weapon, tucking it into the holster at the small of my back.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Candi says, sounding like I’ve betrayed her.
Maybe it feels like a betrayal to her, but Juliana Guerra is the key link between the Brunos and the Russian mafia—and the alliance that could destroy all of our lives. I don’t trust her, and neither should my wife. I don’t care how long they’ve been friends.
I’d immediately gone on high alert when my wife texted me earlier, inviting me to meet her at the B&B on the Abbott property to talk to Juliana. Of course, Candi immediately followed that up with a plea that I not hurt her friend or cause any “major drama.” The last message she sent had said that she was trusting me to do the right thing.
That’s all good and well, but Candi has proven time and again that she’s simply too kindhearted and, frankly, naïve to make the right decisions when it comes to her interactions with the mafia. In my line of business, true friendship is never guaranteed. And nobody gets the benefit of the doubt. Especially not someone who’s already agreed to marry into the Bratva for the sole purpose of taking my family down.
“Stop acting like she’s not dangerous when it’s her fault you got dragged into this war in the first place,” I tell Candi harshly.
My gun is still trained on Juliana, who regards me with a look of disgust.
Notwithstanding, I’m struck by how much she looks like my mother, even more so than in the recent photo that Candi showed me on her phone. Even the tone of her voice is familiar—it’s uncanny and unsettling. The shape of her mouth reminds me of Marco’s, and the prominent line of her jaw is pure Dante. It’s true, she resembles my family. It can only mean one thing.
That Sergio Bruno did a bang-up job picking her out for this. Either that, or his plastic surgeon deserves a goddamn award for the amount of work they did on her. Sure, there’s still a slight chance she could really be a Bellanti. But I’m not stupid, and I’m not falling for shit without irrefutable proof.
“Sit down,” I command, gesturing to a chair in the corner.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Guerra’s voice is crisp and sarcastic as she sits.
Quite the attitude on this one, which aligns with the personality that Candi described.
My wife looks between me and Juliana as if she’s not sure what to do. Juliana wastes no time breaking the silence.
“I can’t believe you told him to come over here, Candi. Youset me up. How could you?”
Candi shakes her head. There’s anguish on her face as she hurries to her friend.
“I didn’t. I did not set you up, Juliana. I swear. I was just hoping you two could talk.”
Juliana scoffs and leans her head back against the chair.
“Talk? My God, when are you going to wake up? He’s a fuckingmurderer.”
Candi has no reply to that. Because obviously, the statement is true.
Both women look over at me, as if waiting for me to jump in and defend myself. I don’t bother. It’s not important what they think about me. The only thing that matters right now is that I have Maxim Orloff’s fiancée in my possession, all thanks to Candi’s well-meaning rescue attempt. I’m impressed, even if she didn’t do it for the right reasons.
“Where did you grow up?” I ask Juliana.
Her lip pulls into a disbelieving sneer at the question. I’m sure she was expecting me to start grilling her about her connection to the Bratva, and what her uncle’s war plans are.
