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Even when I was challenged by Dominic Sabatini to stop our trafficking, I had not given it much thought. While we got along better than simple allies, uniting against issues with the Serbians and a motorcycle gang, Dom refused to work deeper together until my family stopped trafficking. I had not seriously considered asking my father to stop. Despite the money that could be made with the Outfit I knew my father would never consider it.
I challenged him, what was the difference between running drugs to running people?
His response was, “Drugs, liquor, and gambling are taking advantage of a weakness already there. Enslaving people is using the vulnerable, and there is no honor in it. Running anything—a large kingdom or small—comes with responsibilities that include taking care of those within it. If all a ruler did was take, eventually those taken from would rise up and fight. By taking care of your people, they will take care of you as well.”
In the moment I fought not to scoff at his words. Later I considered his words and the long, mostly peaceful reign of the Outfit in Chicago. Even more so than the mafia out of New York and Philadelphia, the Outfit was deeply embedded within the city with a symbiotic equilibrium I envied—especially compared to the Bratva.
My grandfather came to New York already a powerfulpakhanin Moscow, who was sent to America to take over for a leader of Bratva when he was killed. He was a cruel, money-hungrypakhanwho expanded to Philadelphia then into Chicago, greedy to chew up as much territory and make as much money as he could. He ruled his kingdom with blood and fear. There was little true loyalty—if anyone came along with a bigger stick, our soldiers folded immediately.
Once my father gave in to my getting rid of our interest in trafficking, I realized I would soon bepakhan. It was no longer a far-off goal—it would happen and soon. I also realized the way my grandfather and father ran things was no longer working. As I worked closer with Sabatini, I found myself studying the books Sabatini had around him.
He was not so trite as to read Machiavelli. Instead, I found myself studying Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. Slowly, I changed things, and it was as though I was handed a playbook to strengthen and secure my control and rule over my kingdom. I have yet to regret any of the changes I’ve made in business or myself.
Aleksander is waiting in my office. “I didn’t think I’d see you so soon. Losing your touch, brother? She was cute, seemed a little naïve. I thought she would be easier to pull.”
“Fuck off,” I growl as I sit down heavily at my desk.
The fucker chuckles. “Ah, she turned you down. This is something to take note of.”
My head goes back to study the Turner on the wall behind him. It’s a depiction of a clipper ship caught in a violent storm. “She is Carlo’s daughter. Which should make her untouchable.”
“Should…interesting choice of words.” He sighs. “So you’re getting married now? She seems a little young, but it will make her easier to mold.”
I cannot stop the laughter that comes out of me. “Celia is not the type to be molded. She is too fucking young though. Nineteen.”
Aleksander groans.
Closing my eyes, I nod. “I know. I fucking know. There’s also the fact she is desperate to continue with her studies—she wants to be a veterinarian. It would be longer than four years. And it’s not a degree she can get here in the city—she would need to go to Champaign-Urbana.”
Another groan. “That will never do for apakhan’s wife to be so far away from you. You would appear weak to indulge her in going to school. Why not take her now?”
Shaking my head, I sigh. “She would grow to hate me. It would not matter how many dresses I bought her or how high her allowance was, Celia would fight against me and our life. You should see how she changes when it comes to the kitten, or even talking about the cats she loves so much.”
“You think you can wait all the time it would take?” Andrei asks softly.
“I honestly don’t fucking know,” I admit. “I want her in a way I have never wanted another woman. If I didn’t know she would come to hate me, I would take her and pay Carlo far too much for her. Carlo doesn’t protect her. She walks everywhere, she doesn’t have a good phone, she’s broke, wearing clothes too old and no fucking hat. How the fuck can she be born in this city and not have the sense to wear a fucking hat in twenty-degree weather?”
I’m up, pacing at the thought of her going back to work in a few hours, wondering if she’ll wear a hat, if her coat is truly warm enough. Fuck it. I pull out my phone, I tell Peter to get Celia a car. I want her in the safest fucking vehicle on the road no matter the cost, and I want it at her home before noon when she has to go to work. Fix it so it’s hers, pay the insurance and ensure there is not a speck of dust on it when it’s delivered.
His eyebrows practically meet his hairline. “Mother is going to—”
“Celia doesn’t want me.” I shake my head. “I don’t know how it came out, but I told her I had to stop trafficking to work with the Outfit…you would have thought I admitting to tearing the heads off kittens with my bare hands.”
Aleksander groans. “Jesus, how the hell did that come up? Women shouldn’t know—don’t want to know about business and the dirty shit we do.”
“She had no problem with me being a killer, it didn’t seem to bother her at all. It was the trafficking she had a problem with. The revulsion on her face…” A shudder runs through me at the memory of her beautiful face twisted with emotion. Christ, I never want to see her look at me like that ever again.
“Then she gets time.” Aleksander sighs. “If a woman doesn’t have a problem with death, she’ll get we did it but we don’t do it anymore, and she’ll get over it. Or you could do something to make up for it the way I know you’ve always wanted to.”
My head comes up and I frown at him, wondering what he’s talking about.
His eyes narrow. “Father knew you were the one who killed the men and the delivery drivers. I knew it the minute you said it. It was the reason why he never let you get near the shipments—he knew you’d shut it down. I was grateful you had a fucking conscience. Set up a charity for survivors. Carlo mentioned his nephew in Vegas today, he created one. His nephew doesn’t let cargo get through Vegas, he stops the trucks and frees the women. Most of them can’t go back, don’t want to go back, so he houses them in shelters in Vegas and LA until they are able to stand on their own.”
“Are you fucking serious? Youallknew, this entire time?” I cannot believe no one has said a word.
He shrugs. “I figured if you wanted me to know you’d tell me. And not me, or any one of our brothers wanted anything to do with trafficking. You did what we were too weak to admit to. So now, do something about it. Trafficking is back in the news again. Start something like Carlo’s nephew did. It will give your woman another thing to consider.”
“She isn’t my woman.” I shake my head. “I cannot have her.” It is painful to face the fact. I do not need him rubbing my nose in it.
