Page 28 of Owning Nicci

I’ve been waiting to fuck her until the need no longer feels as urgent, until I feel like I have control over the where and when. Until it no longer feels as if I’m going to lose myself in her the second I’m inside her. But my self-denial seems to be having the opposite effect. Instead, all I can think about is sex—in a way that I’ve never felt before. I’ve always enjoyed it, certainly, but I’ve never felt this driving need, this near-primal obsession with the thought of claiming a woman.

She’s already mine. I don’t need to fuck her for that to be true.

The best I can do is ignore her for the day and focus on what needs to be done. After last night, I have no intention of taking her for training or workouts today. She needs to rest, and I clearly need space.

Instead, I go work out alone, and then come home and shower again, before changing into a suit. I have an afternoon lunch meeting with Dimitri Yashkov, and I intend to look my best for it.

I have no idea if he’ll listen to what I have to say, but I also have no intention of being underestimated. Not after all these years.

My driver takes me to the Russian Tea Room, where Dimitri instructed me to meet him. I’m escorted into a back room by two of his security, where I see Dimitri sitting alone at a table, caviar service in front of him and an empty place setting on the other side.

He looks up as I approach. “Sit,” he says flatly.

My jaw tightens. “It’s been a long time since I’ve taken orders from anyone,” I tell him, in that same flat tone. “I still don’t have a taste for it.”

“Oblige me,” Dimitri says dryly. “And then you can explain why I shouldn’t have my men shoot you on sight, Savio Valenti.”

I drop into the chair opposite him, looking at the bottle of white wine in a bucket of ice next to the caviar. “Should I drink that?” I ask, bitterness lacing my tone, and Dimitri chuckles. He looks older than I remember him, more polished, the weight of the responsibilities ofpakhanhaving honed his edges.

“Poison is for cowards.” Dimitri pours himself a glass and then one for me, taking a sip of his before inclining it towards me. “I may not be as bloody as my brother, but I would still kill a man to his face if I were going to do it.”

“Your brother.” I swirl the wine before taking a sip. It’s crisp and dry, and I’m sure a perfect companion to the caviar in front of us. “I heard he was back.”

“As are you. It’s going around, clearly.” Dimitri reaches for an oyster from the tray between us, adding caviar to it. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Just as you are not your brother, neither am I.” I shift in my chair, ignoring the food. I didn’t come here to eat—I came here to make my intentions known. The wine, too, I ignore past the first sip. I want my thoughts clear. “There’s no part of me that regrets Barca’s passing. Nor do I blame you for killing him. I heard what he did.”

Dimitri’s jaw tightens. “He tried to have my wife killed. He deserved his end.”

“I won’t argue that. My point is that I bear no ill will against your family. As you said, Barca’s choices dug his grave. I won’t repeat his mistakes.”

“Then why are you here?” Dimitri frowns. “You must know the families won’t appreciate your presence. Your father andbrother are both dead. Your family has been wiped out, except for you. Do you not think Antony Gallo will want to end you as well, to ensure that the Valenti problem is finished for good?”

“Maybe.” I reach for the wine, taking another sip. “You have a truce with the Gallo family, correct?”

“My father did. I’ve upheld it.” Dimitri’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“If there were to be—a change, let’s say—in the hierarchy of the Italian mafia in New York, would you feel a need to step in? To uphold your father’s truce if it came to a potential war? Or would you step aside and let the mafia’s business be their own?”

Dimitri straightens in his chair, and I see his men shift out of the corner of my eye, clearly in tune with their boss’s body language. I can feel the tone of the meeting shift, see the way Dimitri’s expression goes cold, and I know that this conversation won’t last much longer.

If I’m careful, I can leave and regroup before it becomes violent.

“I’m a man of my word,” Dimitri says coolly.

“And a man of your father’s word? Or would you prefer to keep your family and your men out of a conflict that could become violent—and make a new truce with the new don?” I’m careful not to reference myself directly. Not to give Dimitri any reason to be sure that I’m talking about my own ambitions, even if he might be able to infer it.

“The truce stands,” he says, his tone more frigid than before. “And I will be obliged to back Gallo, in any conflict. Because I don’t wish for there to be one, I won’t tell him about this conversation today, Valenti. But I suggest you leave town. You’re not welcome in Manhattan any longer.”

With that, he stands, motioning to his men. Two of them are flanking me in an instant, and I stand up smoothly, keeping my expression blank as I nod to Dimitri.

“Thank you for the meeting, Yashkov. We’ll speak again soon.”

Dimitri doesn’t so much as flinch. “For your sake, Valenti,” he says, his bearing rigid and his face cold, “I hope that we don’t.”

10

NICCI

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