Page 25 of A Bride for the Mafia King

“Nico,” I say.

“That’s my suspicion as well,” he confirms.

“He hasn’t called,” I say flatly. “Because he doesn’t want to lie to me directly.”

Yaro gives a humorless laugh. “Or perhaps he knows he’s fucked you over and doesn’t want to bleed for it.”

I don’t respond. The heat behind my ribs rises slowly, evenly. Then I smile, a violent, unsettling smile that calls for blood.

“What’s your order?”

“Call the boys,” I say as I stand again, pulling my jacket on and buttoning it, then straightening my cuffs. “I think it’s time that my brother-in-law comes for a visit.”

“And if he declines?”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” I say, “tell him it’s a friendly visit. Invite him for dinner in Eva’s name. Even if he’s guilty, he won’t risk disappointing his darling little sister.”

Yaro lifts a brow. “Friendly.”

“Sell it. Don’t tip him off,” I command.

“Got it,” he says with a grin, pulling his phone out and dialing as he steps toward the door. “We’ve got the green light. Pakhan wants the Italian brought in—soft hands, but firm delivery. Don’t break him on transport, he’s expected to be in one piece when he gets here.”

I laugh at the enthusiasm in his voice. Low. Anticipatory. If Nico’s gone back on our deal, if he’s put my men in danger—if he’s dared to gamble with Eva’s place after all of this—I’ll be the one to put him in the ground.

Not because I want to hurt her. Quite the opposite. Because loyalty comes at a price. And if he’s sold me out … then he has a debt to pay.

Two hours later, the elevator chimes, sharp and loud in the quiet space. Eva’s spent the entirety of the day holed up in the spare bedroom that she and Mila have turned into a small art studio.

I just hope they stay there for the duration of the afternoon. I’m second-guessing my earlier thought to put a lock on the outside of the door to lock them in when the boys and I need to conduct bloodier business within the penthouse.

I’ve spent the entirety of the past two hours pacing. Remembering every moment Eva has looked at me with those doe eyes of hers. The way she’s finally begun to trust me. The feelings I’ve found that I’ve accumulated for her. Everything we’ve built in six short days.

All the things that will be broken if her brother has betrayed me. The things that will fall into splintered pieces, possibly never repairable, if his blood is on my hands today.

The doors open and Yaro gives Nico a hard shove into the foyer. He stumbles, glaring back at the Russian before brushing off the front of his coat. Turning to face me, he stands tall, proud, giving me a look like he’s still deciding if this is a misunderstanding or the beginning of the end.

“Out,” I command Yaro. My voice is cold and clipped. “Guard the garage. No interruptions.”

With a nod, he steps back onto the elevator and presses a few buttons. The doors close and he’s gone. Leaving Nico and me alone to settle our differences.

“Come in, Nico.” My voice is anything but welcoming as I retreat to the bar and pour myself a drink. I don’t offer him one; hospitality isn’t afforded to traitors. “We need to talk.”

“What’s this about?” he demands, following closely behind me.

“You tell me.”

I watch him as I sip my drink. The whiskey burns as it goes down, a sensation that I enjoy given the circumstances.

He blinks at me in confusion. “You dragged me here and I’m the one that’s supposed to start talking?”

“My men had strict orders to carry out a hit the night after the dinner party,” I begin. “Oddly, the target magically changed his normal pattern that night. Ring any bells?”

“What target? I don’t know what you're talking about,” he argues with building frustration.

“You redirected Giovanni. You’re protecting him,” I accuse.

“What?”