Page 147 of Vita Mia

She was helped from the car. Her escorts were now men she didn’t know. Men who always worked the darker sides of Giovanni’s business. Men that trained under Lorenzo and Carlo and were ruthlessly discreet and dangerous. She’d seen them before. After Giovanni’s shooting they lurked in the shadows of the hospital corridors and appeared whenever she ventured too far from her sanctuary in Sorrento. She was glad to meet each and every one of them today.

She followed two who walked ahead of her. Nico fell behind her. At first there was nothing to see, or hear. The alley was eerily quiet. But her men didn’t hide their intentions. Each held their guns out at their sides ready to take down anything that moved on them. And the shadows began to shift. Several men walked out of the darkness. Mirabella looked up to see others leaning out of windows with their guns trained on her entourage.

“We’re here,” Nico said.

A tall thin man with dark long hair tucked behind his ears and clear blue eyes approached.

“Donna Nera. At last we meet,” he said in an overly congenial tone. He spoke perfect English.

Mirabella had heard enough pillow talk to know this man wasn’t who she wanted to see. Tarzan was much more of a brute or thug.

“Ciao,” Mirabella answered.

The man looked her over and nodded his approval. She wore a black mini dress that only outlined her figure. Out of her respect for her husband she showed nothing but her shapely legs.

“Forgive the rudeness but I must,” the stranger said and stepped uncomfortably close.

His men came forward and disarmed them. Each man with her was searched. They didn’t resist but she could sense the tension mounting and feared the wrong move could trigger a reaction. She was searched by Mr. Blue eyes and his hands were slow when they slid down her hips and thighs. She could see the anger boiling in Nico as he observed. She, however, gave no objection.

“And you are?” she asked when he was done.

“Oh, forgive me. My name is Brian Smith. My father was Nikolai Kuznetsov. He was killed by Don Giovanni while I was still in my mother’s womb. She fled the Camorra and hid in America with me. In America, we changed our name from Kuznetsov to Smith. It’s commonly done.”

Mirabella looked back at Nico then at the young man before her.

“You’re wondering why I’m here?” he asked. “Not for an apology for my father’s wrongful assassination by your husband and his ice pick. I assure you. Please, come with me.”

She kept her clutch bag to the front of her. Something was wrong. Why would Tarzan have the kid whose father died from Giovanni and Lorenzo’s war against the Russians years ago greet her?

“Uncle Ludwig has been waiting.”

“Uncle?”

“Yes, he adopted me when I was thirteen into the family. And after I finished college in America I moved to Russia to stay with him. He’s the only real father I’ve ever known. I’m his counsel. I was invited to this meeting to help facilitate the business between you two. I think your husbands’ people would consider me his consigliere.”

“So, you’re an attorney?”

“Among other things,” he said. He stopped. He looked at her men then her. “I’m sorry but this discussion is private. You will have to come with me alone.”

“That is not going to happen,” Nico said.

“Consider him my consigliere. If you are here to facilitate so is he,” Mirabella said.

Brian’s gaze swept over to Nico. He then looked to her. She waited for him to challenge her. She would stand her ground. There was only one rule Giovanni hammered into her head over and over. It was very clear. She was never to meet with Tarzan alone.

“This is fine. I accept your terms,” he said with a polite smile.

“Thank you,” Mirabella said.

Brian led her and Nico through another door. The apartment home had been upgraded inside to fit the style of royalty. The squalor outside its doors was a perfect cover. She walked across polished floors and passed golden fixtures and expensive furniture into a living space that had a grand piano. A woman with long blonde locks and porcelain skin sat on the bench playing a very melodic tune. Mirabella entered the room to see only one man waiting. He sat on a white sofa with his feet propped on a glass coffee table. He was laughing and talking on his mobile phone. His gaze shifted to Mirabella and he said something in Russian to his comrade on the other end. He tossed the phone and stood.

“Donna Mirabella Battaglia. At last we meet.”

Ludwig Ivankov stood before her. He was strikingly handsome in his tailored suit. His blondish white hair was a bright contrast against his pale white skin. “I’m Tarzan, your husband’s friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” she answered.

“Please join me,” he said.

---