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“I got my Club name, thanks to the fact I’m good with a blade. The knife is my tool of choice because I can get more out of using one. Did you know that?”
“I’ve seen you using one, Bruce, so, yes.”
“Good, so you’ll understand when I say that I don’t give one fuck about who you are. The only reason I haven’t done anything is because you did right by those boys, and they need you right now.” Then, standing up, he pointed at me.
“When this shit’s over, if we don’t have the answers we need, I’ll make a point of forgetting about that last fact, and show you exactly what my name means I’m capable of.”
Then, not saying anything else, he walked out.
If anyone else had spoken to me like that, I’d have snapped their necks, but I had to take it from him because he was right. I needed to talk to my father about letting the Hamiltons and the Road Kings in on why I did what I did.
Until we did, I wouldn’t be able to have all of Nell. And that was unacceptable.
I just hoped she understood and forgave me once she knew everything.
Dinner had been quiet, given how much we all had on our minds. After it, Lena had taken the boys to her room for a while, and Hunter had disappeared with Bruce. So I finally had Nell to myself.
I just didn’t know what to do or say after her comment earlier and the conversation with her dad.
There was an Omertà, an oath of silence, that we all followed, and it very rarely had to be stressed not to discuss something outside the Bratva, unless ordered to. The details of what’d happened with Donna could potentially show our hand if they got out, but I didn’t want to leave Nell in the dark anymore.
Leading her up to the room, I steered her to the bed, and sat down beside her. “What I’m about to tell you, moye serdste, has to stay here until Dad breaks the silence to your dad and brother. Do you understand?”
Her eyes widened, realizing I was breaking the code. “I don’t want you to get into trouble if—”
“No,” I mumbled, then kissed her. “I won’t, and Dad will understand when I explain it to him. But for all of our safety, you can’t repeat it until he tells them, okay? Not even to Lena.”
Looking unsure, she chewed on her lower lip, then nodded. “I promise.”
Words were cheap, but actions helped us prove things. That’s what she’d said earlier. Hopefully, by telling her this and understanding how serious it was, it’d be an action that helped me prove how much I loved her.
“When we first got together, I had no idea Donna’s father had approached mine about a marriage alliance between our families. Initially, Dad rejected it before it got too far, but then there was a meeting that Donna also attended, where they mentioned some particular syndicates that had an issue with us, as well as some business deals that were stalling.”
“Okay?”
“The business deals anyone could have known about, but only certain within our Bratva knew about the problems with some other syndicates, because they were more simmering tensions rather than outright issues.
“The problem with it, though, was that the way Makar Azarov, Donna’s father, phrased it, led us to believe—and rightly—that he was behind those problems. We’d been working on smoothing out the tensions, because if they’d led to war, a lot of people would have died.”
Scooting forward, she looked around the room, then whispered, “How many is a lot?”
“Hundreds, maybe even thousands. That’s how big those families are, and it wouldn’t have just been on American soil, but overseas as well. Bratva’s stretch far, and they’re big organizations.”
“Holy shit,” she breathed.
“So, you see why diplomacy was our priority?”
She looked worried but nodded. “I can see that. And to keep quiet, you had to marry her?”
This was the piece of the story that could lead to her inadvertently telling her dad what I was saying.
“No, I did it to keep your family and mine alive.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she stared at me. “What? Why my family?”
“After the meeting, we began to receive photos. Whoever was sending them knew how good our IT team was because they sent them by normal post, and the only fingerprints were from the man who normally delivers the mail. They started off with the normal threats to us—”
“Normal threats? What do you mean? You get threats like that all the time?”
The answer was an unequivocal yes, but judging by her expression and the frantic beating of the pulse in her neck, it wasn’t a wise choice to divulge this to her.
So I skirted around it. “But when I started getting ones sent to me personally, with photos of your car, your old house, the Club through the gates, and ones that were aimed at you, that’s when I sat down and discussed it with my father.
