Page 151 of Fallen Rook

“Yes. Kosta.”

Or Cash, I mused.

If only Slava knew that I, myself, had cracked his spine like a lobster’s to save Enzo from his own downfall.

“And did you get the proof you were after?”

“Not exactly.” Slava huffed, one of his legs bouncing over the other. “Enzo killed Cash and got rid of the body. But that, in itself, is proof, you see?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“I’ve had an open beef with the Ferrantes ever since Achilles broke off his engagement to Katya for that redheaded whore.” He was going in circles, with the subject always returning to his younger sister. “Stupid cunt,” he muttered.

“And yet you decided to break another engagement for her.”

“It’s for her own good,” he stressed. “These men are deplorable and not in her league. They’re animals! She deserves someone better. Someone who understands.”

“Did you ever ask Katya what she wants?” I inquired calmly. “Perhaps she knew about Ferrante’s alleged sexual orientation and was fine with it. Arrangements of convenience aren’t unheard of in your world.”

“I hate all three of them.” Slava ignored me, locked in a trance. “Luca, Achilles, and Enzo. But Enzo is the weakest link. He simply won’t do for my beautiful Katya.”

Placing my pen on the desk, I leaned back in my seat, drumming my fingers against one another. “Who would you pair Katya with, Slava?”

“Huh?” He let out a ragged breath.

“In an ideal world, if you were to match her in an arranged marriage, who would you pick from the underworld?”

“No one!” He swore in Russian. “No one deserves her.”

“No one but…you?”

Slava turned as pale as milk. The jig was up. He was in love with his sister. In love with her and unable to handle the idea of someone else touching her. It was perverted, twisted, and wrong, and yet he had the audacity to judge Enzo for being attracted to men.

“She’s my sister.” He swallowed hard.

“I know. Which is why you got yourself a pretty girlfriend. The perfect cover-up.” He stared down at his feet. I let him stew on my words before continuing. “Then you sent said girlfriend to tell the Camorra the Bratva was going to get a drug shipment in their territory, hoping it’d be enough to spark a war.”

“Hey, that wasn’t my idea,” he reminded me, stabbing his index finger at his chest.

“And what of your girlfriend?” I ignored his little hissy fit. “Even with all the Ferrante brothers in prison, she’ll be killed for uttering the lie by someone from the outside.”

Slava’s eyes hardened, and he yanked his ball cap off, tossing it on the table. He dragged his fingers through unkempt hair. “Are we done now? Can we talk about our plan?”

“Yes. Give me the details.”

“It’s going to happen on Wednesday night. Approximately two in the morning,” Slava said.

“Does the pakhan know?”

“No.” Slava’s eyes skittered to the ceiling; the signs of unrest kept piling up. “Alex isn’t as trigger happy as me when it comes to the Camorra.”

“Why?”

“He loves Tiernan, and Tiernan is married to that goody two-shoes Ferrante sister. The pakhan won’t provoke the Camorra so openly. He might still fight them, but he’ll fight clean. Too clean, if you ask me.”

“So all the Bratva soldiers at the port are going to be…what? Rebels?”

Slava’s jaw twitched. “Loyalists. I’m a Rasputin. I should be pakhan.”