Page 38 of Mob Bride

I ease it open, having sprayed some WD-40 on it just a few days ago to make sure it doesn’t squeak. I count to thirty before I ease the door open enough to look down the whole hallway. I count to thirty again before I step out.

I ease the door shut behind me before I creep along the landing and tuck myself away in a nook I’ve always thought aman must have designed because it’s nothing but wasted space and a perfect spot to collect dust.

I strain to hear what’s going on. I can put a face to the voice. Andranik Derian. He’s the Armenian boss. What the hell are they doing together if Bartlomiej was supposed to have a deal with the bratva? Is that why it fell through? Because they know about Bartlomiej and the Armenians?

The Polish might get along with the Armenians for now, and they might get along with the Russians, but the Armenians and the Russians aren’t on any better terms than the Russians have been with the Albanians for a couple years now. I know tensions in their motherlands aren’t as high as they are here in New York.

“You were supposed to get us that shipment from Bogdan. Instead, it’s been days. We hear nothing from you. We know you lost that fucking shootout. We know you never got the product. So, what are you gonna do, Bartlomiej? How are you gonna make it up to us?”

That’s what they were really there for. Does that mean the Kutsenkos found out Bartlomiej was doing a deal with the Armenians, and that’s why they shot at them instead of following through?

“Look, I told you the last three times we talked I’m working on it. It’s not like I can make that many kilos appear out of thin air. It’s going to take me a while.”

“You’ve had a while. If you don’t get it to me by the end of this week, you and I are done.”

Bartlomiej takes a step forward, not appreciating the threat. The two guys are matched in size. Bartlomiej puffs out his chest, and Andranik’s man steps forward. The guy looks ready to push Bartlomiej away. His hands are at his sides. I know he’s restraining himself.

“Back up, Bartek. I’m already pissed off at you. I already know what happened to your brother. Do you want to wind up like him, but in your own home?”

Bartlomiej laughs. “You don’t have enough men for that.”

“So you think, but it only takes one bullet. Whether you have a lot of men or none—whether I have a lot of men or none—I’ll still kill you.”

Bartlomiej’s men appear like specters out of the night. They surround Andranik and pull him backwards. He can’t do shit since Bartlomiej’s men would have searched him for guns. He probably has at least one knife with him. He has no way to put a bullet in Bartlomiej, unless he thinks he’s going to pound it in with his fist.

“End of the week, Bartek. I’m not joking. That’s all you’ve got. If you don’t take care of it, then I’m going to the Mancinellis and getting it from them. I’ll make sure they know exactly why I chose them over you.”

“You’re going to let them know you need them more than you need me? That’s how Salvatore’s going to see it. He won’t look at it as you picked them. He’s going to look at you like you came begging because you can’t take care of your people’s needs anymore. So go ahead. Go to Salvatore. I don’t care.”

He does because he needs the payment. He definitely wants the money that would come from however many hundreds of kilos of coke he was expecting to sell. I scoot back as I wait for the Armenians to leave, but they don’t. Instead, Bartlomiej turns and walks into the living room, nodding for his men to let Andranik follow him.

Just a lot of posturing. Now they’re going to get on with negotiations. I wait for the guards to disappear again. This time I know they aren’t lurking because I hear doors shut. I ease my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. The blessing of this being an older home is it’s not open concept. I can get intothe kitchen and get as close to the living room as I can. They switch to Armenian, which I didn’t know Bartlomiej spoke. The languages are nothing alike, so I understand nothing. I consider going back to the bedroom, but there’s a chance they could switch back to English or even Polish. Then I could follow along. Fourteen months of intensively learning Polish to prepare for infiltrating the Polish mob made me nearly fluent.

Because I don’t understand what they’re saying, the meeting wraps up sooner than I expected. I hear Bartlomiej say goodbye. Fuck. I’m trapped in the kitchen because the stairs up to the bedroom are by the front door. I rush to open the fridge as I hear Bartlomiej’s voice getting closer.

“Kaja?”

I twist to look over my shoulder. “Hi.” I look back in the fridge.

“What’re you doing down here?”

“The Chinese we had tonight made me so thirsty, so I came down for a drink. I remembered your mom dropped off that cake, so I planned to snag a slice. But it’s gone. You didn’t leave me any.” I aim for playfully petulant.

He walks over and wraps his arms around me, drawing me back against him. I feel him harden, and I want to jerk away. I shift to close the fridge door, which forces him to step away.

“You know you’re not to come down here when I have people over.”

I exaggerate my wince. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear any voices until I got in here. Then I understood nothing, so I grabbed the drink. That’s when I thought of the cake.”

Luckily, I had a glass I used earlier for water. It irritated Bartlomiej in the beginning, but I insist people use the same glass throughout the day if they’re drinking the same thing. It happened after he implied I should do dishes when I’m here. I told him the only way I’d play maid is if there was nothing forme to wash. I suggested the one glass rule which he rejected. I took so long doing the dishes the next time—drawing out the time, then insisting it was because there were so many glasses and mugs to rinse then load in the dishwasher—he instituted the rule. Little things like that make him think I’m a girlfriend who plans to stick around.

“Do you want anything, sweet one? There’s no cake, but I can make you a sandwich. You ate little today.”

“I had plenty at Stella’s. I was saving room because I knew we’d have snacks along with dinner. The cake just sounded tempting.”

“I’ll have Mama bring one tomorrow that’s just for you.”

“No. That’s unnecessary. It was a moment’s temptation.” I pretend to stifle a yawn.

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