Page 79 of Mafia Target

“Va bene. Let’s go.”

I released him and strode for the salon. This couldn’t wait. Nikolai had pushed Alessio . . . but I was about the push the fuck back.

I removed my sunglasses as we entered the salon. Theo and Nikolai were on the sofa, speaking quietly. Theo glanced up at our approach. “Bello? Is everything okay?”

“I need a minute alone with Nic.”

Nikolai’s mouth tightened, while Theo’s head swiveled between Alessio and me. Then over to Nikolai. “Mon grand?”

Nikolai helped Theo to his feet, then pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s fine, luchik. Give us a minute.”

Theo moved closer to me. I could tell he was worried. “Should I stay?” he asked quietly.

“No. We won’t be long.”

He transferred his attention to Alessio. “And I assume you’re staying, too?”

Alessio nodded. Theo patted his arm and then went out on deck alone.

“My office?” Nikolai asked.

“Yes,” I said. I didn’t want Theo overhearing any of our conversation.

Nikolai began walking out of the salon. I started to follow, but Alessio put a hand on my arm. “What are you doing?”

I was good at negotiating, at dealing with criminals and thugs. I wasn’t worried. “Relax, assassino. You’ll see.”

The three of us wound through the tight corridors decorated with teak paneling and brass fixtures. Modern abstract artwork decorated the walls, no doubt all original works worth a lot of money.

Nikolai led us to a closed door, which he unlocked and held open. I walked in and immediately went to the sofa against the wall. He strode behind his desk, obviously thinking it a position of power, and Alessio stood somewhere in the middle of the room. The door had barely closed when it opened again, and Nikolai’s man appeared. He hovered by the exit, as if blocking it, but I ignored him. Instead, I focused on my opponent.

I had watched my father do this hundreds of times. I myself had done it in the last four years when dealing with dangerous men. The Russians might have us on pure strength, but the Italians couldn’t be matched when it came to style.

The first move?

I sat in the center of the sofa and crossed my legs, then draped one arm across the back. I wore no shirt, so my inked skin and various scars would tell another story without me needing to verbalize it.

The second piece was to employ silence. So I twirled my sunglasses and pretended I was totally at ease. No cares, no threat.

Nikolai tapped his fingers on the wooden desk, watching me. His face resembled chiseled granite, cold and remote. His gaze was icy and intense, like good Russian vodka. A man used to getting his way.

But I held off on speaking. We would see who broke first.

“You are Giulio Ravazzani,” he said after a long minute, and I could now hear the Russian plainly in the way he spoke.

“You have heard of my family?” I made sure my accent was thick, too, every syllable meant to remind him who he was dealing with.

“I know of your father, yes.”

“Good. This saves us some time.” I cocked my head. “I was raised by my father to take over his empire. I saw many things in my eighteen years under him. I learned when men were lying, when they were telling the truth. And do you know what else I learned?”

He didn’t speak, so I continued. “I learned when I was being taken advantage of.”

I let that linger.

“Allora,” I said after a long beat. “You told Alessio he owes you a favor. I am revoking that promise. He owes you nothing.”

Nikolai’s lips curled into almost a sneer. “Are you so eager to become fish food?”

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