Wife For Him (Volkov Crime Family 3)

“Yes, they did.”

“And they stole money from me.”

“They sure did.”

“So why in the seven fucks would I ever negotiate with them?”

“Because what else can you do?”

I shook my head. She didn’t get it. In her world, negotiating was a possibility, but that wasn’t something that happened in mine. When a man shot you, you didn’t turn around and talk to him the next day. No, you shot back, and you made sure you didn’t miss. That was how it worked on the street.

Except in this instance, that was exactly what I didn’t want. Dropping more bodies after what happened yesterday would be a nightmare. I was already in deep shit with Hedeon and waiting for the axe to drop there—his silence was as deafening as those gunshots. I couldn’t start shooting back and risk making another scene. That might set the whole damn city on fire.

“I can’t negotiate,” I said. “But maybe there’s another way.”

“He came after you for the money, right?”

“Jarvis has always dreamed big.”

“So for money and to make himself stronger. That’s not something you can back down from, but maybe you can offer him something that’ll make him happy and at least leave you alone for a while.”

“I doubt that exists.” I shook my head. “Sorry to say it, little wife, but I can’t take half measures here.”

Before she could argue, her cell began to ring. She took it from her bag, frowned at the screen, and turned it to me.

It said VINCENT.

“Answer,” I said.

She held the phone up to her ear. “Hello?” She silently listened and her frown got deeper and deeper. I felt anxious, shifting in my seat. Vincent would be as mad as Hedeon, if not even worse, and I could only imagine what he was saying to her. Probably telling her to divorce me right now and bail out before shit got worse.

She hung up the phone without saying another word. “He wants to see us.”

“See us?” I raised an eyebrow. “What’d he have to say?”

“Just that he wants to see us.”

“You were listening for a while. I kind of doubt that’s all he said.”

She glared at me. “He might’ve been reminding me what I have at stake in this little marriage.”

I barked a laugh. “Already threatening you. Smart man.”

“Fuck off.” She shoved a bunch of fries in her mouth and swallowed them with wine like a fist-full of pills then got up. “Come on. He wants to see us right now.”

“And if I’ve got something better to do?”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s go.”

I watched her ass sway across the bar in those tight jeans before getting up to follow. I might as well see this thing through, even if going to see the Leone family boss was about the last thing I wanted in the entire world.8CoraI hated coming back to the Leone family mansion.

It was a huge building that dominated an entire city block. From the outside, it looked as though it was a normal row of brick-front houses, each with its own stoop and front door—but anyone that knew anything about the Leones knew that it was all a facade, a front, a fake. There was one door that actually worked, and the rest were barricaded from the inside.

The mansion was enormous and it hid right in plain sight. Only people in the know ever realized that a mafia owned such a large section of Philly real estate and used it as a home and clubhouse. It was one of the most extravagant things about the Leone family—and they weren’t a family known for being modest.

Reid parked out front and stepped onto the curb. I marched up the stoop in front of him and knocked on the door. He said nothing, only lingered on the street with his arms crossed, a look of mild annoyance on his face. The door swung open—and Dante stared out at me, a crooked grin on his lips.

Dante was the second in command of the Leone family left in Philly. He was a tall man, handsome, dark hair, dark eyes, and a killer through and through. He was my cousin’s closest friend and I’d known him for a very long time—but we never quite got along.

“What are you doing here, asshole?”

He laughed. “Good to see you too, Cora. I had fun at your wedding.”

“Whatever. Where’s Vincent?”

“Waiting inside.” He looked around me. “Reid, glad you could make it.”

“Dante. Nice place.”

“Come check out the inside.” Dante stepped back and waved us through. I walked into the grand foyer with its tile mosaic and the absurd chandelier hanging over the sweeping central staircase. Little flecks of dried concrete were scattered around, but otherwise the place looked immaculate: wood-paneled walls, oil paintings, muted lighting, every trapping of wealth and power imaginable.

Reid looked around and seemed unimpressed. “I bet that chandelier costs a fortune to light.”