I’m instantly reminded why I want this meeting to be over with as soon as possible.
One of Igor’s men approaches me. “Welcome, Mr. Dellucci. Mr. Metdner is waiting for you. This way.”
Good. I’ve had enough of waiting around.
He pivots and leads me to the far end of the room, where Igor sits on one of the benches.
When we’re close to Igor, his guard says, “Mr. Dellucci is here to see you, sir.”
“Marcello!” He chuckles as if we’re friends. It’s all about pretenses in our world. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. “Come, my friend. Sit beside me.” He pats the bench next to him. I take one last glance around as the guard retreats and disappears into the steam.
Leisurely, I move closer and take a seat as if I have all the time in the world. The corner of my mouth lifts as I turn my attention to Igor. “It’s been a long time. I trust you’ve been well?”
“It has,” Igor agrees, returning my fake smile. “As always, business has been well. And with you?”
I nod. “No complaints.”
“What brings you here, then?” he asks, getting right to business.
“I was supposed to purchase weapons from the Irish, but they got detained. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”
Letting out an amused chuckle, he says, “Ah, yes… the attack on the club.”
“Did you know I was there?” I raise a brow.
His lips part, but he pauses for a moment. “No. If I did, I would have instructed my men to hold off until you had left.” He clears his throat. “Believe me, Marcello. It was nothing personal. But the Irish deserved what they got.”
I frown. “Mind if I ask why?”
“You know how it works in our world. You don’t fuck with the Bratva and get away with it,” Igor replies, not giving much away.
I nod because it’s the same with the Italian Mafia.
“Business is business, Marcello. You get this.”
Letting out a chuckle, I say, “It is what it is.” I don’t want to dwell on it too long. Even though a Russian’s word is anything but trustworthy, I have other business with Igor that is more important than a hit on two lowlife Irish boys.
“So … what can I do for you, Marcello?” Igor asks.
“I need weapons,” I respond.
Igor turns his face away from me. “When do you need them by?”
“As soon as possible,” I answer, watching my enemy closely.
“I tell you what. Come onto my yacht this weekend. There will be an auction on Saturday at seven o’clock. You may find something you like along with the weapons you need.”
I grit my teeth, not liking the idea of being on his yacht one fucking bit. “I’d prefer to deal with you directly and privately, Igor.”
Shaking his head, he says, “It’s the soonest I can help you. Come on. We’ll have a drink, and there will be women for you to choose from. Have some fun while we’re talking business.”
The last thing I want to do is offend the Russian before I can get the weapons, so I agree. “Sure, why not.”
He claps me on the back. “This is excellent news. Well, then, business is done, no?”
“Yes. I’ll see you on Saturday,” I say as I stand, ready to be done with the stifling heat of the sauna. “Tell me this. How is your mother?” Igor suddenly asks.
At that, my blood runs cold. My fists ball up at my sides as a hot flash of anger surges behind my eyes. The fucker must have a death wish asking me something like that.
“Seriously,” I grind the word out between clenched teeth. “Do you really want to go there with me?”
There’s a tense moment of sizzling aggression between us, communicated wordlessly, head of Mafia to head of the Bratva.
Igor gives me an apologetic look. “I meant no offense, Marcello,” he insists. “Send her my best regards.”
Not trusting myself to remain calm another second, I nod and walk toward the door. There’s no doubt in my mind the war is coming. Fuck that, it’s already started, so I need to cover all my bases.
As I strip out of the bathrobe, I don’t even shower and pull on my clothes. I’ll fucking shower at home once I’ve instructed Claudio to contact the Polish about weapons.
And when I’m done with all of it … I’m going back to that fucking club to try to find that girl.
Harper
My eyes burst open, and I awake from my nightmarish sleep with a pounding headache. If you can even call it sleep. My brain is so buzzed, and I feel so out of it that I’m sure I must’ve been drugged.
Then everything floods back in again—the strip club, the Irish guys, Marcello … and the Russians taking me.
My body shivers as I try to sit up and look around. A fishy smell enters my nostrils, and the sound of waves crashing into something around me makes my eyebrows furrow.