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Then again, was what my father had done years before really any better?
My father sighed, murmuring in Russian as he always did when he was frustrated. “The deal was important to both families.”
“At the expense of a young woman’s life.”
“This is an arranged marriage, not a death sentence.”
“That’s a matter of opinion, Pops.” My need for Giada aside, I remained incensed that I’d been chosen for the task instead of Alexei.
“You’ve bitched about your life since I could remember, attempting to avoid going to the university when your brothers had no problem fulfilling their duties. You balked against the territory I selected for you to run, even though you were told you could handle business how you saw fit.”
“So you’re saying this arrangement was punishment.”
He laughed. “My methods of punishment and yours are entirely different, my son. This was about teaching you humility, reinforcing that you are nothing special.”
I’d figured that out years before. I remained quiet, which also irritated the hell out of him.
“Call the man, Sevastian. Assure him that his baby girl is luxuriating in the tropics, a pre-honeymoon of sorts. That way he’d get off our fucking backs.”
Maybe the asshole did care after all.
“Fine. Have you found any information about who torched my restaurant?” Every time I challenged my father it pissed him off. The mood I was in, I was ready to take on a goddamn bear in hand to hand combat.
I could still hear him grumbling. “We’ve ruled out the Poles, the fucking Armenians, and the Irish.”
“Well, isn’t that special?”
“Don’t lash out at your father.”
“We’re not having this argument.” I was ready to pitch the phone across the room. My father always managed to do this to me.
“Call Cesare. I’m sick of hearing from the bastard.”
“You should have thought of that before you went to bed with him.” I ended the call before he could leave a retort. Then I held the phone to my head. Perhaps it was a good idea to keep Cesare out of our hair.
I moved to my laptop, navigating to my private site and tracking down Cesare’s private mobile number. It pained me to make the fucking call. At some point, I’d express my displeasure in Cesare’s treatment of his daughter to him personally.
Given no one outside of the family and certain soldiers had been provided with this number, he answered gruffly.
Then he made a fatal mistake.
“I’m going to fucking tell you this for the last goddamn time. Your threats mean nothing to me, your worthless prick. I’m finished playing games. We are not in business together. Period. Get it through your worthless rat-infested brain,” Cesare hissed, his breathing strangled.
He had no idea who’d called him, assuming I was the person who’d spent time tormenting him.
Bingo.
My lovely bride to be had been right about the threats. He was enraged to the point his voice was shaking, but it was the tone that provided more information. It also surprised the hell out of me.
Cesare’s tone reeked of desperation and fear. Perhaps the man really had sold his soul to the devil. This could prove to be an interesting phone call.
“Cesare. It’s Sevastian Kozlov. I understand you wanted to speak to me.”
I didn’t need to be in front of him to see the dire expression on his face, the green forming around his gills or hear the hard thumping of his black heart. This mistake could cost him, and he knew it.
“Russian. It’s about fucking time you called me. Where the fuck is my daughter? Do you know how her mother and I suffered after learning about the fire?”
His tone was almost believable.
