Page 15 of Isle of Pain

The heat of the Spring sun is stifling as I watch Alana Moretti and my cousin, Lisandru Pierce Bartoli, get married in the garden of the Moretti home, overlooking the astounding turquoise sea. The backdrop is like a movie withDolce Vitawritten all over it.

Yet, all I can think about is how droplets of sweat trickle down my back and chest uncomfortably under the shirt I wear for the event. I had to wash it a good five times so the fabric wouldn’t itch and make me want to murder someone whenever I’d touch it.

My face feels warm and the rays of sun burn my retina. I might be Italian but I was born and raised in the UK. This heat so early in the season isnotenjoyable. Heat in general doesn’t have my preference. The dampness of a rainy day does.

At least I’m glad we’re in a place I’ve been to before. I can stand and watch from the sidelines, blending in with the hundreds of bodyguards spread across the expansive estate and observing every invitee with the focus of a hawk.

The number of rows of white-silk covered seats is not a divider of three. Even the invitee count isn’t. I grit my teeth and hold the grimace that wants to take over my face as I keep watch. The whole elite of every major criminal organisations’ representatives in Europe is here. This is our Davos Summit. A joyous union of two important bloodlines. And a stepping stone to the brewing war with Moscow.

Aleksei Dobrev, the Head of the London Bratva and ally of my family for a decade, sits in the fourth row, stiff as a board next to his step-sister Irina, who never leaves his side. On her other side is Dante Ventura and that gives me pause.

The Russian and the Sicilians have been at war for generations over territory disputes in London. The development is—I know—all thanks to Lana who’s gathering her army to strike against our common enemy, Misha Petrov. It’s striking nonetheless.

Lana Moretti must be a chess player. She’s not only orchestrating the future of Kalliste and the European organised crime system, she’s setting plans into motion that will span lifetimes. All with the oldest mean at her disposal. Marriage. I wouldn’t be surprised if Dante Ventura and Irina Dobrev are tying the knot soon.

My attention gets swept away from the group looking at the two lovebirds exchanging vows when a head of dark locks turns to my direction, and eyes as green as the deepest forest ensnare mine.

Marie is the only one looking back instead of forward.

I tilt my chin to the couple in front of her to signal for her to watch them. The second seems to never end before she turns back. I don’t give a single fuck about what the officiant is saying. All I do is watch Marie’s shoulders, olive skin devoid of ink on display. I know she can feel my eyes on her and the thrill it shoots through my veins is like a drug in my system.

Since Christmas, I have been unable to stop thinking about her. Without a good reason, I didn’t contact her though I kept watching her by hacking into the security system of the Moretti household. Since my cousin is the one responsible for it, I’m sure he knows but I don’t give a shit. I had to see her.

It fed a new need instead of satiating it.

After the ceremony, everyone either surrounds Lana and her new husband, or Lisa, who seems to have finally decided to show her pregnant belly in a skin-tight knee-length pink dress. I don’t even have to search for Marie. I always know where she stands somehow, like I’m a magnet and she’s my centre. She smiles at the people talking to her but it’s frozen in place and her eyes are sad. Her wine-red off the shoulders dress looks gorgeous on her. I see how men look at her. I take note of lecherous gazes sent her way and mentally write their names on the bullets of my gun, hidden under my jacket.

Before dinner is served, Lana and Lisandru motion for our group—Ventura, the Dobrevs, Julian Bartoli, Andrea, Giulia and I—to follow into the Moretti home. We walk in terse silence into the patriarch’s office. Even bubbly Giulia doesn’t say a word. The relationships between us all have been cordial at best; this isn’t a celebratory moment between a group of friends. It’s a secret pact to take out a common enemy and set a new king onto the Bratva throne.

I’m the last to enter the room decorated with dark wood panels and a lavish beige rug. And I immediately feel her presence before Lana tries to close the door to her face. My shoulders tense up and I hold in a snarl.

“Go back to the cocktail party, Mimi,” Lana says in a placating tone to her younger sister.

“Don’t call me that,” Marie snaps and Lana huffs like she’s offended. I take note not to call Marie that and focus on the conversations even as I take in the way Julian, Lisandru’s half-brother, grins for no reason, already intoxicated, and Dobrev puts himself between our family and Irina, who does not seem pleased by his demonstration of care.

“I want to know what’s going on,” Marie demands.

The shift in Lana’s demeanour is immediate and bears no discussion. It’s not the older sister standing in front of Marie anymore, it’s the Head of the Moretti, and she won’t be challenged.

I grind my teeth. I don’t know why Marie isn’t part of this discussion. She should know what will impact her family. How we intend to go after Misha Petrov, get Lana's friend—and Julian’s husband—Igor back. She should know the peril everyone in this room is in. We’re not only going after another family. We’re going after an Empire that spans across generations and countries. Contrary to most underground systems in Europe, the Bratva has one king and minions in all powerful ports. The rest of us are pretty independent even though Ventura still reports into the Cosa Nostra for major affairs.

“We’re not talking about this right now, Marie. Go back to the party,” Lana says, unmovable.

“You’re shutting me out,” Marie protests, pain and resentment dripping through her tone.

“I’m protecting you!” Her sister counters. “And this is not a negotiation. Go back to the party before I have you removed.”

From where I stand, I bear witness to Marie’s pain, her eyes shutting down, the green turning thunderous. She sets her jaw and turns without a word, walking away in a cloud of rejection. I know what she’ll turn to now and the thought makes me want to go after her. But duty calls. As an angel of doom, I simply answer.

Lana sighs as she closes the door. “I’m sorry about my sister.”

“Maybe you should include her,” Julian chimes with a smirk. Lana rolls her eyes at him, the gesture a tell of their years of friendship. Putting an end to the sex trafficking ring that’s taking over Europe through Petrov’s enterprise is a noble cause but for both of them, it’s personal. I admire their devotion with curiosity.

I love my brother. I would do anything for him, for Giulia and my mother. I’m deeply intrigued by Marie, but I’m also not sure how to integrate everyone else within my circle of trust. There’s too many of them. So I’ll treat this as any other mission I have. With precision and attention. Like it’s my job, because it is.

Nine people form a circle in the well-lit office. The Dobrev-Ventura trio, Lana and the Bartoli brothers, and my brother, his wife and I. That settles me. I tap my right leg with my index finger three times, roll my tongue in front of my teeth, and repeat the process twice more.

A little more settled, I ask, “So, what’s it gonna be?”

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