Page 31 of Brutal Promise

Kirill shrugs like it’s unimportant, but pride and impatience can lead to an organization’s downfall.

“What’s the Italian don like now?” I ask curiously, expecting Kirill to answer, but Alena chimes in first.

“I haven’t seen him in years. I hear he’s mean and someone you wouldn’t want your daughter married to. Good thing he’s getting too old to knock women around like he did back in the day.” Alena adds to the conversation, and I think she might know more than she’s letting on.

“You know this?” I ask to see if it’s a rumor.

“It was rumored—but credible. Women talk when we get together at charity events, weddings, and funerals. Mafia wives are kept on a short leash, so they look forward to anything that will get them out of the house. I hate all of it, but Dad makes me go.” She glances at Kirill as if she needs his permission to talk. Is she checking his temperament?

“Why did you tell Izzy to hide her tattoo?” I ask Alena, suspecting she knew it was mafia related.

She shrugs. “I wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence or not. I mean, I trust Izzy. She’s my best friend. You know how difficult it is for me to have a friend and live a normal life, right?” Our eyes meet, and I understand. As a prized possession, her life is already planned. She will be married off to a brigadier, or what some call a capo.

I grew up much differently, with a loving mother and a father who had to toss us to the streets at a young age so we could live in the black world my grandfather and father built after the collapse of the Soviet system. We monopolized on the madness and made enough money to buy everything but our freedom.

A thought hits me like a lightning bolt. Maybe, Izzy’s mother sacrificed a life of luxury, so she and Izzy could be free. Was her mother kept in a gilded cage? And if so, did she find a way out?

If I were trying to disappear, I’d change my name, move to an inconspicuous place, and work a regular job. She had to have known someone who could change her name and date of birth. That takes money.

I would be better at covering my tracks than Maria, but then again, I’m a professional. Someone was keeping her in a cage, and she escaped. This someone must’ve lived in New York, so Izzy was told not to move here. It would jeopardize her anonymity. This person must be connected and have power if her mother was that concerned. It’s all assumption at this point, but I have a feeling for this because I’m entrenched in this world, not Izzy’s.

Another question is, was Maria’s car accident an accident? Maybe Maria was a neighborhood girl who got knocked up and bought off. The Santinos have been around forever. There’s no end to what anyone with billions of dollars would do to make problems disappear. She might have been forced out of New York. Perhaps she embarrassed her strict father? It’s evident to me that Izzy has Sicilian blood.

My thoughts are interrupted by Izzy’s long sigh. She crosses her arms on the table and leans forward, burying her head in an elbow.

She’s not used to this, and today has been overwhelming, to say the least. I cautiously place my hand on her back, something I never do. I can’t resist the urge to touch her silky black hair, and I’m tempted to run my fingers through it like I did last night. I resist the urge to tug it like I did when I came so hard. I held onto the headboard while I pumped her full of cum. I want her under me again, with my hard cock pounding her tight pussy.

“You’re exhausted, Izzy,” I murmur.

Out of the corner of my eye, Kirill’s face changes as he reads the situation. He shouldn’t be surprised I’ve been interested in the gorgeous Italian he set me up with. I’m not looking forward to his comments the next time we talk. In our world, it’s all about anger, hate, and violence. Everything in between is non-important. Trust and love are reserved for a few.

“I think you need to rest. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah,” Kirill says, closing his laptop. He looks to Alena. “I need to get you to your father’s.”

“Sure,” she replies with a sympathetic look in Izzy’s direction. “Stay in touch and let me know how you’re doing. I’m sure Dmitry will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

We all stand, and the girls meet halfway around the table and hug.

“Thanks for everything,” Izzy says as Alena grabs her purse off the counter. Izzy busies herself, clearing the table of our shot glasses and vodka.

“Holy fuck, Dmitry, how are we going to handle this?” Kirill whispers as I let them out the door.

“I’ll call Nikolay. There’s only one way to protect her, and she won’t like it.”

“Sounds good. I’ll leave Anton downstairs tonight. He can get you food, anything you need.”

“Thank you both. Please don’t mention this information to anyone. We don’t know who we can trust.” I look at Kirill. “We need to figure out how Izzy is involved in all this. Until we do, she’s not safe. Alena, follow instructions. They might go after you to get to her,” I say.

Alena nods. She’s not the same party girl I met last night—the one who didn’t flinch at me stabbing a thug’s hand. Today she’s quiet and reflective. Her friend is in danger, and there’s not much she can do to help. I know how she feels. I’m not emotional, yet Izzy tugs at the part of my heart that holds a sliver of light.

“Later,” Kirill says as he opens the door, checks the hallway, and tells Alena that it’s safe to go.

I nod. At times, no words speak volumes.

When the door closes, I bolt the numerous locks. Then, I turn to Izzy and place my hand on her back. She’s so petite. I’m surprised I didn’t leave bruises on her neck last night.

“I’ll help you,” I softly mumble as I steer her into the condo and toward my bedroom.

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