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"Fuck!" I exclaimed before hanging up the phone. The news had been annoying to hear, especially since I thought I had put the Bianchis behind me and I could now enjoy some peace and reprieve from all the war and death.
I was seated in my study, a novel resting in my hand while I leaned back against the plush leather of a reclining armchair recalling my previous conversation with Anton.
The soft glow of a candelabra lamp cast an intimate ambiance, setting the stage for the serious matters that Anton was about to discuss. It was a rare moment of reprieve in the midst of a world that perpetually churned with turmoil.
Anton’s voice cut through the silence, his words laden with the weight of responsibility. I gave a low groan and sat up straight. He went into breaking down the situation in the city, the aftermath of the Bianchi don’s demise. Despite their leader’s death, the rival gang continued to operate with a disturbing sense of organization. Their activities had become bolder, which was odd for a group who just lost their capo.
There had been more attempts—attempts to breach our warehouses and dismantle the chain of networks we had so meticulously built. But, as Anton reported, none had succeeded so far. Our defenses had held, resilient in the face of adversity,but their constant barrage of attacks caused me to spend more time away from Audrey and more on the Bratva.
“It’s as though someone else is pulling the strings,” I mused aloud, my voice a low rumble that echoed within the confines of the room. The notion gnawed at me—a mastermind orchestrating chaos from the shadows, a puppeteer manipulating the threads of our world.
Vlad leaned against the doorframe, a glass of Tempranillo held in his hands. “Fortunately, Sergei isn’t around. He’d have messed things up for sure,” Vlad remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Sergei—another one of my brothers, often prone to impulsive decisions and reckless behavior. I couldn’t help but chuckle at Vlad’s remark, acknowledging the truth in his words.
“Probably,” I admitted, a trace of relief in my voice. “Vanya must’ve set him straight.”
“Bless Vanya then.” Vlad’s gaze met mine, his eyes reflecting a shared understanding. He walked gently toThe Ouroboric Websculpture that stood in the center of the room.
“Don’t touch that,” I warned.
I turned my attention back to Anton, my thoughts refocusing on the matter at hand. “We need to find out who’s behind this,” I declared, my voice firm. “We can’t afford to be caught off guard.”
Anton nodded, a gesture of agreement and commitment. “I’ll investigate further and relay all information to you,” he assured me, and I motioned for them to leave me alone.
I rose from the armchair, the novel still in my grasp, and settled into a chair by the window. I turned my attention to the novel Audrey had gifted me. Novels had never been a pursuit I indulged in, but her effort to bridge the gap between us was not lost on me.
The Aosawa Murders,the title ran. I was about to open the pages and embark on a journey into a world of words and imagination, but Vlad was still there.
“Your mind seems elsewhere,” Vlad remarked, his words punctuating the air between us.
I chuckled, a rueful smile curving my lips. “It’s the job, Vlad. Always demanding.”
Vlad’s eyes bore into mine, his gaze unyielding. “I know you, Ivan,” he said with a knowing grin. “There’s something else on your mind.”
“You’re persistent, aren’t you?” I inhaled the smoke.
He shrugged, his expression unapologetic. “Someone’s got to be. Must be the lovely Mrs. Zolotov to be. I'm right, aren't I?”
This isn’t the first time he made such an implication and I was getting fed up with those little assumptions. I simply chuckled and walked silently away.
I had grown tired of the endless dance of power and dominance. The allure of the Bratva’s world had faded, replaced by a desire for something more—a desire to build a family, to create a sanctuary that was free from the chaos that reigned beyond these walls.
Tucking the novel that became a constant companion under my arm, I was determined to finish it and further delve into the realm that had captivated Audrey’s heart.
***
Yet again, we found ourselves away from the prying eyes of the world, discussing the intricate web of Mafia business that threatened to ensnare us all.
Anton’s presence loomed, his demeanor composed as he presented the fruits of his labor—his personal network of spies,the Aryol, had diligently gathered every piece of information about the Bianchi family. Their movements, their alliances, their ambitions—all lay bare before us.
“The Bianchis have crowned an official don, Mario Bianchi,” Anton began, his voice carrying a weight of authority. “He arrived from Sicily a week ago following his father’s demise.”
I listened, my focus unwavering, as Anton delved into the details. Despite the reveal of the Bianchis successor, the recent onslaught of attacks, the orchestrated chaos that had gripped our city, remained a puzzle yet to be solved. They couldn’t be explained by Don Mario’s arrival. There was someone else.
Anton’s words echoed in the air, and I found myself nodding in agreement. “I’m aware of Mario’s arrival and his preoccupations,” I interjected finally, my voice calm and resolute. “But the attacks we’ve witnessed weren’t ordered by him. Someone else is pulling the strings.”
A pregnant pause lingered in the room. They all knew this but no one had any answers as to who it was. I allowed the silence to stretch and then, after a measured breath, I broke the stillness.
