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Enzo’s eyebrows lift. “Retirement? Is that some kind of bratva euphemism?”
“The Novalov family has land deep in the heart of Russia. We will escort him to a cabin we own and make sure he understands that he’s not to leave the property. I will hire local men to take care of him and ensure he’s as comfortable as he possibly can be in the Russian wilderness. The winters will be hard, but he’ll survive. We’ll leave him there, and one of you three will take over the business.” He lets that sink in. Enzo looks thoughtful and intrigued, but his eyebrows remain knitted tight. “However, you’ll swear fealty to my father. You’ll pay a percentage of your profits to our family, and the exact number will be negotiated later. You’ll run your business as you see fit, but you’ll also have the resources of the Novalov bratva at your disposal as well. Meaning business and political connections, bribe money, and soldiers to keep everyone safe and in line. It’ll benefit everyone.”
Enzo doesn’t speak. He looks at my brothers. Santo strokes his cheek, and Franco glowers at the grass. I can’t tell what they’re thinking, but it’s a good plan. The Novalov family can help my brothers grow the business beyond what we were ever capable of, and they’ll be rid of Papa’s toxic influence. My brothers can make more and become stronger if they ally themselves with Maxim, and all they have to do is give up a little bit of cash and autonomy in the short term.
“Will your father manage our affairs?” Franco asks softly, frowning and squinting at Maxim.
“No, he will not. I’ll ensure that you’re more like a client than an employee. You’ll have complete control of your day-to-day decisions, but you will be beholden to Novalov interests. If you choose to do something that goes against the bratva, you’ll have to pull back. We may also draw you into any confrontations we have with other rival groups in the future. But beyond that, your family will be your family, only stronger.”
“How do we know you’d stick to that?” Enzo asks.
“Because you growing stronger will benefit us. The more money you make, the more money flows into our coffers. My family has found that their clients work best when we give them as much slack as we can. This is not a new arrangement for us.” Which is true—he gave me a list of a dozen different families, gangs, and groups affiliated with the Novalov bratva in this way.
Enzo grunts and looks at Santo. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a tempting offer,” he admits, scratching his head. “Papa won’t love it, but I guess he won’t have much of a choice.”
“I don’t love this. I never wanted to go against Papa.”
“You know we don’t have a choice,” Franco says and his intensity surprises me. “Papa’s been unhinged lately. He’s pushing us to this.”
“Franco’s right. If this means we can unseat Papa and take over, we’ll all be better off.” Santo sighs and smiles at me. “I’m in, big sis.”
“I’m in too,” Franco says. His face is clouded with anger and he looks away, out toward the water. I remember something Enzo said, about Franco being Papa’s current punching bag. My heart swells with sadness over that. I can only imagine what fresh hell Franco’s been going through lately.
Enzo seems conflicted. He paces back and forth, shaking his head. “I want to do something, but to overthrow Papa?”
“Look at yourself,” I say, moving toward him. Maxim remains silent and calm, watching carefully for any signs of danger. “Look at the scars on your back. Look at how miserable you’ve become. Do you think things will improve? Papa will never make it better for any of us. He’ll get older, and crazier, and eventually it’ll be too late. He’ll run the family into the ground, and then where will we be? People rely on us, Enzo. Our soldiers and their families. Even the girls that work in our houses. We need to provide.”
He stops and takes a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I just hate it.”
“Then you’re going to hate this more.” I look at my brothers, and a certainty washes over me.
Something’s been bothering me about this plan. Not Maxim’s side of things—I trust him implicitly. If he says this will be better for my family then I believe him, even if that’s more than a little self-serving. I just believe he has my best interests in mind no matter what.
No, it’s not the deal itself—but what we do with Papa.
“He’s never going to stay in Russia,” I say softly. Santo gets it first. His face twists in pain and he looks away from me. Franco doesn’t react, but I know he understands too. I turn to Enzo last. “Papa won’t stay in exile. If we do this, we have to kill him.”
Enzo steps back, horrified. “No. Kill Papa? Removing him is one thing. But killing him?”
“You know we have to,” I say, walking toward him as he backs away. “Think about the beatings he gives you. Think about all the dead girls in the whorehouses all over the city. Think about the lives he’s ruined and how many more he’ll ruin if we don’t do something.”
“But Siena. It’s Papa. It’s our father.”
“She’s right, Enzo,” Santo says.
“I agree, she’s right,” Franco adds.
Enzo looks pale and sweat beads his forehead and his hands are trembling. “I can’t be part of that. Killing Papa? I just can’t.”
“Look at me. Look at what he did to me.” I reach up and gently remove the bandage covering the ugly, stitched-up wound on my face. Enzo recoils when I show it to him. “Because of him, Zita scarred me for life. Because of him, I was left for dead at The Velvet Rope. Maxim saved me, and now Maxim wants to save you, too. If you think Papa won’t do something like this to all of you then you haven’t been paying any attention. He’s sick, and he’ll hurt us until we’re all ruined. It’s not Maxim’s idea to kill Papa, it’s mine, because it’s the right thing to do. We have to kill him, Enzo.”
Enzo’s shaking. He grabs his hair and pulls it and I know how badly this hurts. I go to him and I hug him, and at first he tries to pull away, but I hold him tight. He releases a deep, horrible, animalistic sob from his chest, not quite crying, but more like a pained groan as I hold him and he rips at his scalp.
But slowly, he calms. He releases himself and stares up at the sky. His breath is ragged and fast, but it evens out as he brings himself under control. He closes his eyes and his hand finds mine. It squeezes tight.
“We’ll do it,” he whispers. “God have mercy on all our souls.”
