Page 36 of Relentless Refuge

“And so you think I should partner with you, then? Upheave my allegiance to the Romano clan and take you on as the new partner…” I act as though I’m pondering this new agreement in sincerity when in reality, I’m imagining blood running from his throat in the wake of my knife slicing across his neck.

This stress isn’t good for the baby, but holding in my thoughts is better for me physically. I can deal with bodily tension and high blood pressure. I can’t take the physical assault I know will come if I rebel against him. He won’t take no for an answer, so the only way I’m getting out of here is to play along.

“I think you will see the wisdom in my proposal.” He opens his palms toward me as if he is giving me a gift, and I rest my spoon on the dish and fold my hands over it, leaning against the edge of the table.

“Tell me why my Family should trust you over him.” I am serious about this point. To know Marco’s weaknesses from his enemies’ standpoint is to know how his enemy may attack or use those weaknesses against him. To know this man’s pride is to go before him and cause a fall.

“Our empire is global. The Romano empire only reaches to the States, maybe Canada. He has fingers in Europe, but we are everywhere.” He winks at me and takes another bite, but I stare at him, wanting more. In time, the D’Angelo empire may well supersede even the Russians, given the right leadership and opportunity. That part means nothing to me.

“And?” I ask, feigning boredom with his bragging. It’s not boredom I feel at all. It’s rage—pure, unadulterated, violent rage.

“I see you’re not impressed. Well, let’s put it this way. Marco Romano has a history of stabbing people in the back. You’ll find with us, you will remain firmly in charge of your own Family while we merely function as a conduit for resources and assets. Romano has been known to make similar agreements, not marriage, of course, but in business, and then pull the wool over the eyes of his partners, the rug from under their feet, and how do you say,vodit' za nos.”’

I scoff at his thick Russian and shake my head. “I live in America, Mr. Kozlov.”

“It means to lead someone by the nose, or to fool with someone.” He leans forward as storm clouds form in his black eyes. For thefirst time, I physically see why people fear this man, though my fear level is nothing compared to my anger. “He is a little fox in your garden, Isabella.” He tilts his head at me and smirks. “He will spoil the grapes and you’ll never see it coming.”

The room seems to take a chill. I’ve heard this warning from multiple sources now, and not once have I believed it. Yet, from this evil, wicked man, my heart feels doubt creeping in. I strengthen my resolve and think of my unborn child. Marco’s heir grows in my womb, and suddenly, it doesn’t matter if he or she takes my throne or Marco’s. What’s most important to me is getting back to his arms.

“Tell me more.” I play into his hand. I have to know what he’s talking about, what secrets he has against my husband.

“Romano murdered his own father.” The striking accusation slaps me across the face, and I feign shock, though I know this can’t be true. Marco mourns his father with a heavy heart. Sometimes, when I speak of my own father, I see it in his eyes, a grief that only one soul who’s borne the same pain can connect with.

“For the throne?” I ask, praying my acting is as good as my aim in the gun range. He doesn’t know me, and thus doesn’t know how I might respond to an accusation like this one.

“You’re starting to understand. You can trust me. You cannot trust Marco Romano.” ThePakhanleans back on his seat, dropping his napkin across his empty bowl, and I continue to play along. He needs to believe that I’m on his side, that I’ve taken the bait, and the only way to do that is to let my emotion show. So, I allow the tears to come.

Tears for my father.

Tears for my brother.

Tears for the child in my womb who will know only this life of crime and violence.

Tears for Marco, and my ache to be in his arms.

I use my napkin to dry them as quickly as they come, but they keep coming, and then comes my second round of vomiting. The tiny bits of soup I’ve ingested join the first pile of vomit on the floor, and I heave over the side of the chair. He snaps his fingers, calling someone in to clean this up, but I’ve sold my alliance to him in a way he firmly believes.

“Now, you should call your Family. You need to tell them to prepare for war. We must fight against the Romanos at once and take them down. The faster we move, the swifter the victory.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a cell phone, and as he reaches across the table, I see that it’s mine. “Do what you must, but understand, this means we are in agreement. You and I are partners now, and from here out, we fight against Marco Romano and his Family.” He holds the phone between his fingers, pinched there firmly until I nod.

“Of course,” I tell him, though in my head it is not any agreement at all. I pull the phone from his grasp and lean away from the sturdy-looking woman who comes in with a bucket and a roll of napkins. She looks tired and sad, not at all like Marco’s maid, and it’s just another nail in this man’s coffin. He can’t even treat his staff well.

I hold the phone, and my hand shakes. I can’t call Nicolo. If I reveal this to him in this way, the entire Family will be angered yet again. If I were to call my father’s brother, they would think I am weak. There is only one person I can call to send this messageto, only one of them who will understand the intent behind my words and see right through them.

My heart pounds as I punch in the numbers. I pray the Family isn’t upset that I’ve missed the meeting I called. I know that by now, Warren has told Marco I’m missing, and he’s called Nicky at the very least, who may or may not have informed anyone else. My only hope in sending this message is if my cousin has any heart left in him at all, if he remembers what it was like to be a child and run in the yard with me. We had such a strong bond once upon a time. I’m going to lean on that to rescue myself and keep my fingers crossed that it works.

27

MARCO

Owen’s face pales, the blood draining out of his skin as he realizes I’m not bluffing. His chest is puffed out, eyes glazed over. He knows what must be done to his brother who has no good intentions in him. Isabella is missing, and though they haven’t claimed credit for doing it, I know our enemy has her. This asshole can’t seem to understand what loyalty and family mean, and I have had enough.

“Nicolo, you can deal with this internal threat to your family.” I turn to the others and continue. “Or the rest of you can decide what to do with him. But so long as he remains uncommitted to your leader, you should consider him a traitor and do as your former leader, Mr. D’Angelo, would have done.”

Chase glares at me and clasps his hands in front of himself with arms hanging. He’s confident none of his Family members will move on him, almost as if he runs the Family and Isabella is nothing more than a talking head.

“Look, I’m just sayin’ she is only going to fail at this. Look at how this turned out… You warned her to stay put, right?” He glares at me down his nose, as if her being captured is my fault.This is where I draw the line, but he continues. “And she ran out anyway. So either you failed at your job, or she is directly rebellious to you as a husband and the leader of your Family, the head of the alliance, and?—”

“Enough!” I boom, stepping forward. Our chests press together in a tense standoff. I can feel his breath on my face as he refuses to back down, and I sense movement on the periphery of the room. My men inch closer, and we are outnumbered ten to one. Nicolo is faithful to Isabella. I know if this blows up, he will attempt to rein them in, but not before damage is done.

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