Page 58 of Arranged Mafia Marriage

I nod, processing the information. The protection rackets in Brighton Beach are a significant source of income. Losing them would be a severe blow to our operations, and having these types of weapons in Damiano’s hands to use against us is worrisome.

“Increase security at all our key businesses. I want our best men on high alert and prepare for a preemptive strike on Damiano’s weapons cache. We can’t let those arms fall into his hands.”

“Yes, sir. What about Isabella and Tony?” asks Viktor quietly, and it’s clear he’s developed a fondness for them too. Has everyone in my operation gone soft, me included?

The question hangs in the air. I turn to look out the window, watching the bustling city below. The image of Tony’s innocent face flashes in my mind, followed by Isabella’s wary but gradually warming demeanor.

“Be prepared,” I say, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. “We may need to use offer proof that we have them, and if we do, the image should disturb Damiano.”

Viktor hesitates. “Sir, if I may, are you sure that’s wise? They’re civilians.”

I whirl around, fixing him with a hard glare. “You think I don’t know that? You think I want to involve a child in this?” My voice rises, and I force myself to breathe deeply. “We don’t have a choice. Damiano’s left us no options.”

Yuri has maintained a neutral expression during my exchange with Viktor. “I understand, sir.”

As he turns to leave, I call out, “Yuri, if it comes to that, make sure they’re treated well. No unnecessary discomfort. It should be for show.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Show or not, it will still damage their trust in you,” says Viktor before leaving without another word.

The door closes behind him, and I’m left alone with my thoughts. I pour myself a glass of vodka, downing it in one swift motion. The alcohol burns, but it does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach. I pick up my phone, dialing Felicity’s number. She answers on the second ring.

“Kiril? What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk,” I say, my voice gruff. “It’s about Isabella and Tony.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “I’ll be right there.”

A few minutes later, Felicity walks into my office. She scowls when she takes in the scattered photos and my tense posture.

“What’s going on?” she asks, closing the door behind her.

I gesture for her to sit to explain the situation with Damiano having military-grade weapons and a plan to retaliate against our businesses for what we did to his nightclub and last weapons shipment. As I detail our plans, including the potential use of Isabella and Tony, Felicity’s expression changes from concern to shock to anger.

“You can’t be serious,” she says through gritted teeth. “They’re innocent, Kiril. We promised to protect them, and this is the exact opposite of that.”

“We will keep them safe, but we might need to use them to keep Damiano in check. It’s just a precaution, and you knew about it all along,” I explain.

Felicity stands, her eyes flashing. “A precaution? They’re people, not pawns in your game.”

“This isn’t a game.” I slam my hand on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. “This is war, Felicity. Damiano’s coming for us, and he won’t hesitate to use any advantage he can get. Don’t pretend you didn’t know the reason we brought them here, the reason your father told us about them.”

She closes her eyes, flinching. When they open, she looks like an avenging angel. “Fine. I understood the possibility, but now that I know them, I reject it. We can’t be like that.”

“We’ll do what we must to stop Damiano. He’s dangerous.”

“So that makes it okay for us to do the same?” She shakes her head. “I thought you were better than this, Kiril. I thoughtwewere better than this.”

Her words cut deeply, and I struggle to maintain my composure. “We don’t have a choice. If Damiano takes Brighton Beach, it’s only a matter of time before he comes for everything else. Including you and our child.”

Her expression softens slightly. “I understand the stakes, but there has to be another way. We can’t sacrifice our humanity in the name of survival.”

I curse with frustration. “What would you have me do? Let Damiano waltz in and take everything we’ve built? Let him put you and everyone else we care about in danger?”

“Of course not,” she says, her voice softening, “But using a child as a bargaining chip is going too far. Using his mother is unacceptable too.”

I slump into my chair, suddenly feeling the heaviness of every decision I’ve ever made. “I don’t want to do this. The thought of it makes me sick, but I don’t see another option.”

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