Page 34 of Wicked Union

I move through the night along the side of the buildings with my knife in one hand and my pepper spray in the other. It's been a long time since I've been in this part of LA after dark. A decade at least. We used to sneak out, Melody and I, and meet with Peter and his cousin. We'd kiss and do other things unruly teens do, and at one point, I thought I was in love with him. Until my father taught me the dangers of the Russian Family.

I feared Peter then, but I never needed to. Not then, at least. Now, it's a different story. I sent him our message, a code word that only the two of us know. I asked him to meet me here. His returned message stated simply,Petrovich is dead. I don’t know what that means, but I gave him instructions for this time and place—our place. A place we would meet almost nightly for a long time.

Not looking to rekindle the romance, I dressed very modestly—a black top that buttons to the collarbone and loose-fitting jeans. My heels and long black trench coat complete the incognito attire, but he'll recognize the hat, one similar to my favorite hat back in the day, a felt fedora with a very wide brim, black, of course, to help me blend in with the shadows.

I stand by the dumpster just out of the light of the street lamp overhead and wait. The time on my phone tells me he's late, at least ten minutes, but then he did tell me he was dead. I can only imagine that was his way of warning me off, trying to keep me from coming, but I have to do this. I'm still not sure whether Tito deserves my help. I instigated the trouble with Carlos for a reason, after all, but my father needs saving, and this is my only shot. If I don't reach Peter and beg him to stop this, his family may destroy everything.

"You came," a male voice says from the shadows behind me, and I reel around to see a broad set of shoulders moving toward me.

"You said you were dead…" My heart flutters nervously. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn't be doing this. It's so dangerous. Peter is an Uhkov. He's not loyal to my father or Tito. He could slit my throat in one swipe, but I have to believe the affection we once had for one another will keep him from laying a hand on me.

"The Petrovich you knew is dead,kotenok."

Kitten. The pet name he had for me so long ago. The instant I hear it, I'm put at ease. He remembers and he wants me to know he remembers. It wasn't my fault I never came back. My father’s insistence and my fear drove me to stay away. I think he knew that.

"Peter…" I whisper, a sudden rush of all that lost emotion overwhelming me. He moves toward me swiftly, cupping both cheeks. I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips as he leans in. He smells like whiskey and musk, the thick, heady scent almost enough for me to forget who I am and why I'm here, but my breath catches in my throat.

Before his lips can press against mine, I touch my finger to them, holding him back in a move that silences his affection and his advance in one fell swoop. He lingers there, eyes searching mine in light so dim I can barely make out the faint outline of a scar across his right eye.

"I'm married now, Peter." My confession doesn't shock him. His eyes never leave mine.

"Forbidden fruit is sweeter and juicier, isn't it?" he asks, and he leans in again, only to meet my resistance again. I turn my cheek, and he kisses me softly there before pulling away. "Why is it that you've come to me?" His thick Russian accent has never faded, not one bit. He slips into a few slurs that I can't understand and then releases me. "Do you know how I suffered? How my heart ached for you and you ignored me?"

There is anger in his tone, but he won't harm me. I can tell he still loves me. I put the knife and pepper spray into my pockets and sigh. "Peter, I was only a tool in my father's tool belt. I hadno choice. You have to know that." I reach for his hand and take it, and he lets me pry the fist open until his palm is exposed. I trace his lines as I continue. "I need your help."

"My family is at war with both of your families and you come to tempt me like a seductress? Did your father put you up to this or your husband? Who should I kill first?" His hand slides from my grasp and my heart clenches. This isn't the man I used to love. Life has hardened him. Pain has hardened him. Rejection… turned his heart to stone.

"You won't do either,tesoro…" My murmur pulls his strings and he loosens his shoulders. "You love me, and I can see it on your face. I need your help, please. You must help me."

He keeps his distance now, a man wise enough to know he's beat. "What is it, then?" he asks, and I know I have him right where I want him. Tito turns a blind eye on my plans for good reason. He cannot be found with red on his hands when his father sees what's been done. I have no problem with the guilty stains. I'm going to have to come clean, anyway. Tito will find out how I plotted, but he'll have no recourse. He plotted too. And I'm carrying the heir both to the Peralta throne and his own. How will he harm me? Anger, yes, but he will not lay a hand on me.

"What can I do?" Peter asks, and his tone is softer yet. If I were less of a woman, I'd give myself to him now out of sheer relief, but I will not disobey my father, not even now. And for some reason, I care enough to never cross that line with Tito.

"This is what I need…" I say, and my plan unravels before him like a map rolled out, showing the way to all who see it.

Now if Peter stays on board and Tito can manage to follow my lead, everything will work out fine. But that's a big "if". I can't even fathom the alternative. I won't even think it. Peter and I will fix this if it's the last thing we do.

26

TITO

I've spent the past hour speaking with Carlos and Sal about my father's concerns over what's happening with the Russians. When someone tries to move in and take territory, we have an obligation to push back, and maybe in his sickness, he's failed to see the threat Uhkov and his family present to us now. He lived in a time of peace, but I'm living with anything but.

"It's not like we can sit back and do nothing, Tito." Sal uses an open-handed gesture to accent his disagreement with my father's notion that peace should be reigning. "They moved on us first, and we all know it's because they're trying to dismantle our alliance. They want Hector Peralta to get scared and run. They don't want us to be strong."

"I disagree, and so does Father." Carlos angrily sucks on a glass of whiskey, eyes hazed and glassed over from drink already. "You could have stopped all of this."

I don't even want to speak with him right now. Aria never told me openly what is going on, but she insinuated that it has something to do with Carlos's hunger for my authority andposition. I'm reluctant to believe, even still, that my brother would form a plot against me with my enemies, but I don't put it past him to humiliate me in front of our father. It's anyone's game, apparently, though I believed myself to be the rightful heir.

"I've had enough for tonight." I stand, moving away from my brother before my temper gets the best of me. Six months ago, he would never have questioned my decisions or authority. What snake has come into my garden and tainted my tender vines? I rub a hand over my face and sigh as I hear the front door click shut.

"This can't wait, Tito. You know?—"

"Enough," I bark, cutting Carlos off. I turn my glare on him, and he scowls at me, defiant even though he understands what that will mean for him when I am the leader. And I will be the leader because I have no intention of letting go of my position. My men respect me, and the loyalty runs deep. Our family would sooner be split in two than follow Carlos. Everyone knows that.

"Let's go," Sal encourages, nudging Carlos with his elbow.

A hostile glare passes between me and my brother, and Aria steps into the living room, drawing all the attention. The wide, dark hat over her head speaks to everyone, and I get a sideways glance from Sal. Carlos's hands turn to fists, but he doesn't say a word to her. My men leave, and I am left with my wife who approaches me, removing her hat.

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