Page 10 of His Passerotta

I try to focus my thoughts on the pitch I’ve prepared for Nikita, but they keep veering to the gray-eyed girl who left her sweet, vanilla scent soaking my nostrils.

The spot where she kissed me feels different from the rest of my face. Like she branded me with her lips, leaving behind a bright red mark that would explain the burning. I touch the spot absently then shove my hand back into my pocket and shake off the sensation.

I make my way to the underground tunnel beneath the building but halt when Settimo’s head appears, coming up the ladder.

Even before I see his hardened face, I can tell he’s angry. Can feel it. Settimo’s energy is a powerful thing; he can’t walk into a room without being noticed.

When his eyes find mine, he curls his lip with so much disgust, I can feel that too. My other brother, Lorenzo, appears next, his typically expressionless face not giving anything away if he’s pissed at me as well.

“You’re a fucking child,” Settimo growls, coming at me. He bumps me with his shoulder and continues the way I came.

My teeth grind, but I don’t retaliate. Don’t even open my mouth. If this was Sunday dinner, I’d clock him, but this is work. And at work, Settimo is my boss.

I turn to watch him kick an old desk chair over before storming out of sight. Only then do I turn to Lorenzo.

“That bad?” I ask, mildly surprised. Like I said, Nikita isn’t easy to deal with, but the joint investment we’re proposing will reap benefits for both our organizations.

“They didn’t show up.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “What?”

Lorenzo’s eyes move to study something on my face, as if he can see the invisible mark I feel. Coming from anyone else, that would seem absurd, but nothing seems to ever get past him. Not even the imaginary.

“What the hell is Nikita thinking?” I ponder, partly because I’m astonished and partly because I want to get the attention off myself. “The airstrip would benefit us both. The one the Russians currently use is forty miles farther?—”

“Yes, Anthony. I’m aware.”

There’s a chill in his voice that hints at irritation.

Ah, so he is pissed.

“Someone set fire to one of the Bratva’s grocery stores last night, after they’d refilled their supplies,” he continues.

Supplies means drugs. They’re big into using deli counters to deal.

“We think Nikita believes we had something to do with it.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I scoff and shake my head, although it really isn’t surprising. Nikita’s temper is even worse than Settimo’s. I’m sure we aren’t the only ones he’s questioning. Which means things could get messy if mature adults who don’t walk around kicking old desks or standing up potential associates don’t work this out.

“Mmm,” Lorenzo agrees.

My eyes roam as I consider what to do. The real question is who is best to work with? Nikita Petrov is a loose cannon when he feels challenged, so while speaking to him is most direct, it isn’t necessarily most productive.

Maksim. He’s a lieutenant for the Bratva, and from what I can tell, the only one who isn’t psychotic. He’ll do.

“I’ll call Maksim and set up a meeting to smooth this out.”

Lorenzo rears back. “The Russians disrespected us today. Shouldn’t they be the ones making things right with us?”

“Sure, if this is a game of pride.”

Lorenzo doesn’t respond. I may as well have spoken a foreign language.

I pull my hands from my pockets and cross my arms over my chest. “I think if our move is to sit by the phone waiting for an apology, we might as well gear up for war. The Bratva will take our silence as an admittance of guilt, and they’ll retaliate with a stupid amount of force.”

“And the alternative?” Lorenzo asks.

“We set up a meeting to assure them we weren’t involved in the arson and to offer our assistance in any way they need, making it clear that the perpetrator is a mutual enemy. That a threat to the Russians is a threat to us. We use this as an opportunity to strengthen our relationship, not strain it.”

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