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“You’ve done all that. I knew your family before you were born. They wouldn’t want you to be hurting yourself like this.”
“I could have saved them, Igor.”
“No, you fucking couldn’t. The bastards came at three in the morning and shot your mother before she even woke up.”
“What about Emilia? Or little Vicky?”
“How could you have gotten to them? You’d have been cut to ribbons trying.”
“I should have done something. I was supposed to protect my family.”
He slams his fist into the side of his chair. “There was nothing you could do. They killed your mother, your sisters, and your father, and you were blameless.”
“I was a fucking coward.”
“No, you were a drunk.” He taps the bottle. “And since you stopped, you’ve clawed your way to the top. Drunks do not make good fighters. Trust me on that.”
“I can fire a gun when I’m wasted.”
“Your father knew if you stayed, you’d both die. He got you out so someone survived to get revenge. That’s what this whole thing is about.”
“I was a coward.”
“It is not cowardice to obey a father’s orders.”
“I ran like a rat through that secret door.”
“He sent you through it and told you to make them pay. You’re about to do that.” He drains his glass and sets it down on the tray beside my empty one. “You’re going to force Mila Belucci to marry you. Doesn’t that feel good?”
“I don’t feel anything.”
“You’re not a robot. You must feel something.”
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe you. If that was true you’d have just killed Don Belucci and been done with this long ago. You’re playing the long game, getting revenge by getting his daughter pregnant, tainting her blood with yours. You need an heir and you force one from your worst enemy’s daughter.
“Only a true bastard would think up such an idea so don’t go telling me you don’t feel anything. I know you feel good that you’re taking Don Belucci’s only child from him. Leave him stewing over the fact his innocent little daughter is your wife, being fucked by you, Pakhan of the Volkov Bratva. The ultimate revenge for his betrayal. You deal with Garcia at the expense of the Italians. You win.”
I manage a smile. “Worth the wait.”
“Five years,” Igor says, cracking his knuckles, jolting me from my memories. “And he finally gave you the leverage you needed.”
“Easy when you own the casino Don Belucci plays in.”
He laughs. “Easy when you rig the games. How much does he owe you?”
“Enough to sell his daughter to wipe the slate clean. Made him shit himself when he heard he was going to be killed if he didn’t pay up.”
“Does he even know it’s you who’s marrying her?”
“All he knows is someone high up in the mafia is willing to clear his substantial debts in return for his daughter’s hand in marriage. He just doesn’t know it’s the Russian mafia.”
“How old is she now?”
“Twenty-one.”
He whistles. “Fifteen year age gap, you hound.”
