Page 95 of Dance of Madness

Dom, being one of my best and oldest friends—albeit one whodoesn’tshare my part-time affinity for adjudicating and sentencing the accused in a clandestine secret society—was obviously chosen by me to be myconsigliere. But I still call Aldo in when I can’t think through a problem or need some advice that only comes with decades of experience in this game.

Aldo pulls away from me and smiles as he embraces Dom, patting his back as well. We all move into my office, Aldo and Dom taking seats on the couches as I move to the bar cart.

“Drink, Aldo?”

“Sí, grazie,” he nods. “Fernet, please.”

“Dom?”

Myconsiglieremakes a face. “Literally anythingbutFernet, thanks.”

Hey, not everyone’s a fan of something that tastes like cooking herbs and Jägermeister served out of an asshole. But unlike Dom, I happen to share Aldo’s affinity for the admittedlyfoul-tasting Italian aperitif.

I grin as I pour Dom a whiskey and then grab the Fernet bottle for Aldo and me.

“Salute,” I say as the three of us raise our glasses. Then I settle in on the couch across from the two of them.

“So,” Aldo nods. “Leo Debolsky.”

Dominic glowers as I exhale slowly.

“Immediate thoughts?” I ask.

Aldo’s nose wrinkles. “He’s a prick and a drunk. With no class whatsoever,” he mutters.

Dom spreads his arms. “Exactly.”

“To be fair,” I say, “he’s apparently no longer a drunk. He’s sober these days.”

Aldo lifts a shoulder and grunts. “Still a classless prick.However…” He clears his throat. “The Debolsky Bratvaison the rise—considerably so over the last few years. Vladimir cashed in some favors and bought himself a seat on the Aviation Council in Moscow, which basically means he gets the privilege of policinghimselfin terms of exports.” Aldo snorts. “As you might imagine, this has made him an extremely wealthy and powerful man quite quickly.”

I nod, my brows furrowed. I don’t have any interest in marrying my fucking sister off like a bargaining chip. We don’t live in the eleventh fucking century. But Idowant Aldo’s take on this, because it could be that the Debolsky family wants to figure out a way to do business with us that doesnotinclude my sister having to learn how to speak Russian.

Aldo eyes me as he takes a slow sip of his Fernet. “You’re not really looking to marry Gabriella off.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

I shrug. “Would my father have?”

He chuckles deeply. “If Vladimir Debolsky had come to him with the power, influence, and money he has now?” He grins. “Maybe?”

Dominic scowls, slugging back the rest of his drink at once. “Nero’s not doing that.”

“Why don’t we let the king speak for himself, Mr. Caruso,” Aldo says quietly. “Maybe hedoeshave his mind made up. I will say, though, a partnership with the Debolsky Bratva would beextremelyadvantageous to this family. There’s even talk of Vladimir making a play for a seat on the Bratva High Council. I don’t have to tell you that is no small thing.”

He’s not wrong.

Various criminal organizations have a way of putting together their own pseudo-legislative bodies to keep the peace between the biggest fish, and guarantee that a rising tide lifts all ships. The Irish have their Council of Clans. Us Italians have The Commission, which I sit on with the Barone, Amato, Scaliami, and Marchetti families.

The Russians havetwogroups, because they’re fucking Russian and of course they do. There’s the Iron Table, which includes Kir with the Nikolayev Bratva, Yelizaveta Solovyova running the Solovyova Bratva, Roman’s father helming the Nikitin Bratva, Bane’s father at the head of the Antonov Bratva, and Drazen Krylov. There’s also the Bratva High Council, which includes Mikhail’s aunt Anastasia leading the Javanovic Bratva, along with the Kashenko, Volkov, and Tsarenko Bratva families.

…And the Kalishniks.

My thoughts are suddenly far,faraway from Leo’s absurd proposal to marry my sister.

And squarely onher.

Milena.

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