“The season is as good as over and with all the races I missed, I can’t make a top ten position anyway.”
Dinara nodded. She stroked her fingertips along the stubble on my chin and cheek. “So you’ll return to Vegas to celebrate Christmas with your brothers?”
Christmas seemed lightyears away, even if there was only a month until Christmas eve. “That’s the plan, yes,” I said slowly. “But I thought you could join me.”
Surprise crossed Dinara’s face. “You want me to spend the holidays with your family?”
“With me and my family,” I corrected. “Does it really come as such a shock to you that I want you at my side, even during the holidays. We’ve spent night and day together over the last few months, and to be fucking honest, despite all the brutal shit our adventure entailed, it was the best time of my life.”
“Then you should reconsider your life choices,” she said with a wry smile, but her eyes held tenderness. “It says a lot about me and you that it was also the best time of my life. We’re fucked up.”
“So what?”
“Once we’re done with the list, you’ll still be a Camorrista and I’ll still be the daughter of the Chicago Pakhan. Is there a way this can work?” Her lips brushed mine and her eyes held hope and anxiety.
“If we want it to.”
“My father doesn’t want war with the Outfit. That would hit too close to home, but if he agreed to a truce with your brothers, that might very well lead to a war declaration from the Outfit.”
“We don’t fight over the same territory,” I said. “Your father rules over the Great Lakes. We don’t have to declare truce to ignore each other’s existence.”
“You think ignoring each other’s existence is enough for you and me to be an official couple? Where would we even live? We couldn’t live in Chicago together because that would cause trouble.”
“Not to mention that the Outfit would have a field day if they got their hands on me again to finish what they started.”
Dinara stroked the scar on my forearm absent-mindedly as she continued, “And me living in Las Vegas would look just as bad. No matter what we said, people would consider me as part of the Camorra and suspect a truce between your family and mine, which would have the same result. War between the Bratva and the Outfit.”
The Outfit had strong ties to the political elite in Chicago and Illinois. Even if the Camorra and Bratva fought together to in attack it would mean a lot of unwanted attention. That wasn’t something we wanted or needed. But I wasn’t willing to give Dinara up over mob politics.
“I want us to be together. If we both want it, nothing can stop us.”
Dinara leaned her forehead against mine. “Let’s talk about this once we’re done.”
She still couldn’t say it. The last name on our list was Dinara’s biggest challenge.
“It won’t be easy. Maybe you can’t go through with it. And that’s okay too. That doesn’t mean you failed or that you’re still shackled by the past.”
“I have to do it,” Dinara whispered. “I have to kill her.”
I kissed her temple. Whatever it took to help Dinara, I’d do it.
Before I could go through with killing my mother, I needed to return to Chicago. Adamo was reluctant to let me leave, but ultimately, he understood and accepted my need to talk to my father.
I stepped into the foyer of our mansion. For a moment I only inhaled the familiar scent. I’d hated living in this golden cage and yet I always missed it. Or maybe I just missed Russia.
Dad waited in his office. Even the tsar couldn’t have had a more magnificent workspace. Dad looked up when I entered.
Bloodshed was his profession. I had no illusions regarding the atrocities he was capable of. If you wanted to become anything in the Bratva, you couldn’t afford a conscience. But I’d always been his little girl, a precious doll he wanted to keep away from the terrors of his business.
Now I’d shown my true colors. I’d tortured and killed. I was a Mikhailov.
He didn’t get up from his chair, only leaned back, regarding me closely. “You worked with the Camorra to dish out the revenge I could have dished out for you. Why would you ask the enemy for help but not your own father?”
Disappointment and anger rang in his deep voice. His eyes hit me with the full force of his disappointment. I walked toward him, my high heels clicking on the parquet. The Russian lady costume barely hid what truly lay beneath, a broken, messed-up murderer.
“Because you would have never allowed me to be part of the killings. My only chance to dish out revenge was to seek other allies.”
Dad hit the desk with his palm and shoved to his feet, towering over me. “Because I didn’t want blood on your hands. I wanted to protect you from the evil of this world. And the fucking Falcones throw you right into the abysm of hell.”