Page 92 of The Councilor

I tapped my index finger on my forehead, gritting my teeth. “I don’t care. I want this over with quickly.”

He chuckled as he headed out of Brighton Beach. “You got it bad, buddy. I thought this was an arranged situation.”

“It is!” My harsh snap was telling on its own.

His chuckle continued and there was no reason for it to irritate me.

“Just let it go.” Why? The arrangement was real, the adoration for her increasing. Maybe I really did have it bad.

After rubbing my tired eyes, I wanted to keep them closed, but that wasn’t the best thing to do. I continued to think not only about how many times I’d taken her the night before but also the silliness she’d brought to the evening.

But it was the mental images of the woman on her knees in the moonlight that was driving me batshit crazy. The fact she’d let go around me was… special.

Fuck me. I did have it bad.

It was fascinating to me that things my father had tried to teach me from an early age were suddenly flowing in my mind.

When you least expected an attack, it always happened. It had been proven true more than once during my life. Not that I’d paid attention.

I wasn’t unlike any other kid who was ready to take on and beat the world. I’d thought I was invincible, wearing some kind of hero cloak. As if I wasn’t a bad man. As if I could be anyone’s hero.

Which is why my thought of protecting Raphaella continued to weigh so heavy on my mind. Leaving her alone, even for a short period of time, was making me more anxious than usual. I’d checked the security system before leaving myself, the cameras showing nothing. No odd activity. No strange people walking by the front or back of the house more than once. Yes, the area was more protected than just about anywhere else in the state.

The fact I’d been greeted as if some revered god had surprised me. It would seem my reputation had preceded me. That meant hundreds of residents would have my back if called upon. However, putting them in danger wasn’t what I’d intended on doing.

And just thinking about Raphaella, the passion we’d shared the night before continued to drive my cock to the aching point.

Too many times.

Hell’s Kitchen was approximately the size of Brighton Beach, the quaint area established generations before. Various immigrants had settled into different, downtrodden areas, making them their own. Over the years, the imaginary lines indicating the size and location had been used by the five mafia families after the first wave of brutal men had made the area their own.

Everyone usually honored the rules laid down by the different cultures and mafia leaders. The areas brought safety and sanctity to so many just trying to make ends meet. Brighton Beach was no different.

“Stop worrying,” Ivan said from beside me. He was driving, which he’d insisted on. Kristoff was in another vehicle with two other soldiers but they were under strict orders to remain outside the meeting place.

“Yeah, it’s in my nature to worry. With Tillman being shot, and a goddamn threat making it seem like other exterminations are right around the corner, I can’t let my guard down.”

“Fine. Kill the Irish bastard.”

Of course he was joking since doing so would start a war. I knew Vadim well enough to know that wasn’t his intention at all. He was trying to make peace, to establish boundaries while enlisting their help. The Armenians were next. The Italians? I was ready to laugh. Luciano wouldn’t lift a single finger to help anyone, including his own family.

The smaller drug cartels who’d attempted to move in were not yet on our radar. They had only established small areas that hadn’t been claimed. However, they were the up-and-coming bad guys.

“You know better.” I glanced over at him as he headed closer to Hell’s Kitchen. The small restaurant selected as a meeting place was typical. Mafia leaders often found a more neutral territory, so everyone felt more comfortable.

Back in the heyday when the five families had full control of the city and surroundings, they secretly met on a regular basis at various family-owned restaurants, only allowing their closest soldiers to learn any details. It was one reason the heavy bloodshed had all but stopped.

They broke bread, drank wine, and made an unwritten pact not to interfere with the other. That allowed them better controlof the non-family members including law enforcement. When everything with the five families started to break down, the Feds coming on strong and able to make arrests, the alliance had ceased to exit.

I’d spent time studying the world of mafia, mostly because of the men and women I’d defended over the years but also because of my position with the Bratva. I’d already understood there were protocols when meeting with an opposing force. Breaking bread was more calculated than people realized.

What I’d learned and shared with Vadim had made him a great leader in my mind. Maybe this meeting was more appropriate than I cared to admit, the limited alliance good for both parties. Well, in truth the entire city. Few innocent people knew how fragile their world could be.

“Interesting area,” Ivan said in passing. We might as well be in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen we were so close, but I refused to be worried.

There were both wide and narrow streets located within the five hundred plus acres of land, the location as busy as all the rest. We found a parking place on the street about a block from the restaurant. Or I should say a pub complete with Irish music. I had a feeling Shane was ensuring we knew Hell’s Kitchen was owned.

Once we parked, the five of us regrouped, checking on the plan we’d talked through. Which was essentially no action, especially violence of any kind unless absolutely necessary. Shane and his men weren’t stupid. They knew we were coming to the table with information.

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