Bitter Pledge (Falsone Crime Family)
“None of this was my idea,” I said finally.
He accepted that with a nod. “That’s as close to the truth as I’ll get. But don’t worry. I won’t tell your father. Not yet.”
“Thank you.” A moment of mild relief.
“But I can’t string this along forever. You should find a way to soften the blow when it comes.”
“I’ll try my best.”
He looked at me and nodded. “Your bruises are better tonight. Either that, or your father’s getting better at hiding them.”
I looked away, down at the water again. “You’re better off not getting involved with me.”
Maxim turned and faced the same direction, his shoulder against mine. “Why’s that?”
“My father’s a sick man. He’s dangerous. And I’m afraid he’ll just drag you and your family down with him.”
“You’re right that he’s dangerous, but you’re wrong that he has the strength to hurt my organization.”
“He took down Falsone. They owned San Antonio for decades.”
“That’s true. But right now, your father is like a baby lion. He’s small and vulnerable. One day, he’ll grow up, and he’ll have big teeth and sharp claws, but not yet. He’s still weak.”
“What are you then?”
“I’m a full-grown animal.” He showed his teeth, as if to demonstrate his point. “But I’ll keep what you said in mind.”
“Do you want to still have dinner?” I tilted my head and smiled. Maxim wasn’t so bad. Yes, he was a gangster, and yes, he was terrifying, but he wasn’t interested in forcing me to be his wife. That had to count for something.
“Might as well, since we’re here. Besides, maybe you’ll change your mind. I’m quite charming.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ll ever want to marry you.”
He clucked his tongue. “Pity,” he said. “Is there someone else?”
“More than one, actually.”
His eyebrows raised. “You’re an interesting girl, Capri Balestra.”
“No, I’m not. Just a tragic story unfolding in slow motion.” I pushed off the railing. “Come on. Dinner’s on my dad. Let’s eat and drink too much. I’m thinking two bottles of—” I took three steps toward the crowd and stopped.
Maxim stopped next to me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice hard.
He stood twenty feet away, half obscured by a pillar. He leaned against it, watching me with those eyes. Those dark, beautiful eyes. His lips tugged down with worry. Beautiful lips.
Mal. My killer. He wore a tight black shirt and a light black jacket and a pair of dark denim jeans. He looked like a pit viper. Such a contract to Maxim’s clean suit and perfectly trimmed hair.
I couldn’t move. Mal had me pinned there. I didn’t know what to do. Maxim noticed and followed my gaze. The men watched each other, neither of them moving.
“That’s one of them, isn’t it?” Maxim asked quietly. Barely moving his lips, like he knew a sudden motion might set Mal off.
“That’s the living one, yeah.”
Maxim glanced at me, frowning. “Go ahead. Go talk to him.”
“But dinner. I don’t want to be rude.”
“It’s not easy for you to talk to him, is it? Otherwise, he wouldn’t have followed you here.”
“No, it’s not easy.”
“Then go. I’ll get our table and wait. We’ll have dinner and talk about boring things. Does that sound good?”
“Thank you, Maxim. Why are you being nice to me?”
He considered that for a moment. “Because there are a lot of shitty people in my line of work, and sometimes it feels good to be decent for once.” He turned away and headed toward the restaurant. “Don’t worry. I’m not always so kind.” He waved a hand toward Mal and disappeared into the crowd.
I didn’t move. Mal’s eyes drew me in like the center of a hurricane. I craved him so badly it hurt worse than the bruises that dotted my hips and torso and legs.
But I didn’t deserve that smoldering need in his gaze. I didn’t deserve his lips or his hands on my skin. I was the problem. I was the cause of this nightmare.
He pushed off the pillar and tilted his head. He smiled and motioned me over.
I put one foot in front of the other, completely lost to him.
Chapter 19
Mal
The Maxim guy was big. Almost as big as me. He wore a slick suit and his pale eyes took in everything. I let him see me, and he didn’t seem surprised.
There was no security detail. I expected some heat—a few Russians, maybe a few of Balestra’s cartel guys—but there was nothing. Nobody trailing them. Nobody watching.
It was strange. Eerie, almost, that this big-time mafia Russian wouldn’t roll around with an entourage. Made me respect him. Made me almost like him.
But most of all it made following them from the Balestra compound easy.
They talked. Stood next to each other, leaning over the railing. He gazed in my direction and I gazed right back. I didn’t bother hiding. I wanted him to know I was there.