Gilded Tears: A Russian Mafia Romance (Kovalyov Bratva Book 2)
Page 37
Diego is like an uncle to me, and I wish I could trust him as he’d be a valuable ally to have. Unfortunately, he has been a close friend of my father’s since they were teenagers.
“Vito was just reminding me of the time that he and I snuck in here when we were kids,” I reply.
Diego laughs, exposing teeth yellowed by decades of smoking. “I remember that. I had to come down and throw you both out on your asses because the bouncers were too afraid to deal with you.”
“Everyone was,” Vito chimes in. “Nobody wanted to be the one to give the twelve-year-olds beer, but Gabe knew how to throw his weight around, even then.”
“You two were always getting into trouble.” Diego leans back, grinning. He nods to me. “You were the king of the castle before anyone even handed you the keys.”
I chuckle. I guess nothing has changed.
The waitress comes by with our next round of drinks, and the conversation soon moves onto the upcoming boxing match. This divides the table as Vito backs the more experienced Russian powerhouse, whereas Diego and Dom maintain that the Bronx-bred newcomer will easily unseat Vito’s champion.
I don’t care much for boxing or sports in general. They are just distractions. A distracted man is an easy one to fool.
I glance over the balcony at the throbbing dance floor below. My gaze catches on a brunette in a sparkly silver dress that splinters the flashing strobe lights. I saw her face in the crowd earlier as I cut through the dance floor, and I remember thinking she was stunning.
I watch as she dances with wild abandon, occasionally swishing her long wavy hair into the faces of the other clubgoers, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. Even from this distance, I can see that her body is built for sin, and my cock stirs as I watch her hands glide over her cleavage and hips.
Diego’s voice cuts through my leer. “Gabriel, did you hear me?”
I look back to him, blinking. Who is the distracted one now?
“No,” I answer. “What did you say?”
He leans closer, glancing out of the booth to make sure nobody is close enough to overhear. “Your father wanted me to check that you know your role in the upcoming merger.”
We always speak in veiled terms when in public, and I understand his meaning.
I nod. “It is not complicated.”
My father’s plans never are. He lacks the elegance of strategy that my grandfather employed while consolidating our power decades prior. The don’s plan to harness control of the docks involves mostly muscle and firepower, the only strategy being to kill the Irish before they can kill us. I am meant to conduct this strategy from the north, while our other forces push in from the east and west.
“I know you have your misgivings, but this acquisition will weaken our competitors enough to push them out of business,” he says. “You’ll see.”
The only thing I will see if this plan goes ahead is a long and costly mob war. One is already brewing due to my father’s machinations, and attacking the docks will pour gasoline on the smoldering embers.
Luckily, before that can happen, I intend to meet with the Irish leader’s youngest son, Damien Walsh. We will strike a tentative peace while the Bellucis still have the upper hand that will hopefully bring a little order back to our streets. My father has wasted enough men and money on this already, and when I bring news of the arrangement to him, I am hoping he will have enough sense to see it is the best solution.
The trick will be in arranging this truce without drawing Damien’s suspicion. If he thinks an attack is imminent, it could spook him and make him unpredictable. I need him to be calm and malleable.
Before I can answer Diego, my phone begins to ring. I check the screen and my jaw tightens. It’s the big man himself.
“Excuse me,” I say, exiting the booth.
I make my way to the back alley, where it is quieter. I lean against the bricks and look at my phone, considering whether it would be worth it not to answer. No, I decide, I need to be on his good side.
“Hello, Father,” I answer.
“Where the fuck are you?” he growls.
“Fiamma.”
“Of course. Where else would you be? It’s not as if we have a war to plan, is it?”
I grit my teeth. “Do you need me?”
“I need you to remove your head from your ass and start acting like the leader you’re going to be one day,” he bites out. I can just picture his face turning purple, as it always does when he gets wound up. “I’m beginning to think that maybe Felicity is right. Maybe you’re not going to be ready to take over when the time comes.”
Felicity Harrow, that scheming witch. My father has been absolutely obsessed with the woman for the past two years, and you can pinpoint the decline in his senses from the second she walked through the door. My father has always let his dick do more of his thinking than any man should—Felicity was just the first woman to capitalize on it. She quickly moved from mistress to advisor, spreading her influence like a virus.
“I’m with Diego,” I reply, trying to keep my voice calm when all I want to do is scream at him. “We are going over the plans for the merger.”
That takes some of the wind from his sails. “Why didn’t you say that?” he grumbles. “I swear to God you take pleasure in pissing me off.”
I ignore his question. “Do you need me to come to your office?”
“No. Just wanted to check to make sure you weren’t fucking around.”
In other words, he was hoping I would be so he could flex his authority a little. We play this game often.
“Great. Tell Felicity I say hi.”
I hang up the phone and head back into the club, consciously trying to relax my jaw. How I am even related to that man is beyond me. He is shameless in his arrogance.
It will be his downfall.
Back inside, I stop next to the wall before heading back to the VIP section to quickly check my emails. With everything happening, it can be easy to forget that I have a lot of responsibilities besides keeping my father in check. He largely leaves the running of our legitimate businesses to me, claiming that he finds the work tedious and beneath him. In truth, he just doesn’t have the head for it. If he can’t shoot it or fuck it, he’s not interested.
My spine tingles and I glance up from my phone. My gaze connects with the girl I watched dance earlier, and her eyes widen as she realizes she has been caught staring.
I hold her gaze, heat flooding my bones. Her lips are a bold, juicy red. She is heavily made up, like all of the women in here, but she seems less comfortable in it somehow. Other women would smile at me, flutter their lashes, and try to lure me in to dance with them. She is just still, as though she hopes by not moving, I will not be able to see her.
Any other time, I would love to stalk that prey, to melt away her hesitance until she was putty in my hands. But not now. Now, there is business to attend to. She will have to remain a fantasy and nothing more.
I turn and climb the stairs for the VIP area, returning to my booth. I will ask Diego to reiterate the details of my father’s plan even though I know them already. That way, when the don asks Diego about our meeting later, he will corroborate my story.
The men and I talk for a little longer, but even Diego’s attention begins to stray towards the delights of the club. I have achieved my objective, however, so I dismiss them for the evening, and I decide that the best thing to do would be to go home and do some work. I could do work every hour of every day and still not get enough done.
Then I look down from the balcony and see her again. It’s the girl in the glimmering dress, but she’s not dancing anymore. She is at the bar, and it looks as though she is arguing with the bartender.
Interesting. I didn’t peg her as the fiery type, but from her irritated gestures it looks as though I was mistaken.
Perhaps what I need tonight is not more work, but a little distraction. And I know exactly how I am going to get it.
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