Page 130 of Brutal Vows

“Yes.” Warmth fills my heart at his words. My Zoe. “Our little girl. We’ll stick to the story we built in the States to keep her real background hidden, but this is now a secret.” Just like Gabi was. I look toward the office door. “Milana just stepped out with her. Zoe was fussing. Didn’t care to meet the family for the first time over a video call.”

Dominic smirks. “Fuck, dude. Why didn’t you tell us?’

“It was complicated. And we couldn’t waste time.” I shake my head. We’re leaving a lot of details out. I’m not telling them what went down with Masha in Russia, either. I’m protecting Milana, and this is a secret I’ll be taking to the grave.

Matteo huffs as he drops his hands from his face and buries them in his hair, leaning back. “This is a lot for seven in the morning. Where the fuck is Ivan Petrov? He’s late for this call.”

“He’s here,” Steph says. “I was waiting for you all to blow your fuses before I let him in. You’re all good? Going to behave nicely?”

“Be fucking glad there’s an ocean and some serious logistics between us right now,” Matteo says, snark thick in his voice. “Let Ivan in. Tell us how deep in the shit we are as a collective.”

Steph shoots me a glance, and I shrug. I was with Milana when she broke the news to Ivan, but at some point, they started speaking in Russian. I only caught one word: Dimitri. Dimitri. Dimitri. And then the pain in his voice, and in Milana’s. This is their history, and I didn’t need to understand the language to get the agony my wife went through in sharing the past with her brother.

Ivan enters the call, and his face speaks volumes: he’s been hit by a freight train.

“So much for a fucking blood oath, eh?” he says, his voice dry, clipped. Despite everything he’s learned today, the man is in charge of himself.

“I suggest we go forward, and not look back to our quest in Russia,” I say, standing my ground, not planning to take any bullshit. I don’t need to explain my actions to anybody. My wife’s happiness was in my hands, and I would dive into hell again if needed to make—and keep—her happy. “Here’s what I’ve learned, Ivan. Russians, this Chertnikov, who are so keen to take over your operations for whatever trade they have or shit they have to move from Russia to America, are looking for our Italian nemesis, Franco Fiore. His name came up in a conversation I had with some Russians, but we know he’s dead.”

“Jesus Christ.” Matteo palms his forehead.

“What the fuck?” Dominic grunts with a shake of his head. “How? What ‘conversation’?”

Benedict just sighs. He’s heard it all already.

“You don’t say,” Steph says beside me, shooting me a glance, his eyes darkening with wrath. “Wouldn’t mind killing him again.”

“I bet you won’t. Let’s just say the conversation was part of my…uh…negotiations to get Zoe out of Russia.” I clear my throat. “I didn’t reveal anything I knew, and no information on us being in Russia will go any further, but Franco Fiore had dealings with Chertnikov and didn’t meet his end of the deal. Somehow, we’re now part of a—a…threesome? Shall we say? That we didn’t care to join.”

“Fuck my life,” Matteo grunts.

“Franco Fiore?” Ivan repeats. “Never heard of him.”

“Randazzo, maybe?” I prod.

“No.”

“Good for you. But fuck, we can’t stop hearing about either of them,” Matteo grunts. “Franco Fiore’s like a cat with nine lives, except he is very much dead.”

At this, Ivan quirks a brow. “By your hand?”

“Mine.” Steph proudly raises his hand in a little wave.

“How does this all fit together?” Dominic says. “There’s a link, but I can’t see it.”

“I’m on it,” Benedict says.

“What do you mean?” Matteo asks. “You found something?”

“It’s a gut feel, that’s all. It’s all a bit foggy. Fuck, dude, I haven’t slept for days. Couldn’t fall asleep until Luca was safe out of Russia. But there’s something there. Mom’s Bible. The murders in Italy. Now this. Franco Fiore and Chertnikov, the connection with Randazzo…” Benedict wipes a hand down his face.

Chiara Bellini. The one link he isn’t mentioning. The Mole. Still out there, primed to spread the word about Chertnikov’s girl being in the fold of Il Consiglio.

“A deadly combo,” I say. “We need to get ahead in this game we’re playing or we’re fucked.”

Benedict looks like shit, and guilt eats at me. He was worried about me. He probably still is. “You okay, bro?” I ask. “What can we do to help?”

“Haul your ass home as soon as you’re fit to fly,” he says on a grunt.