Page 80 of City Of Thieves
“Mafia, Bratva…”
“Bratva?”
“Rick.” Mom shoots him a warning look. “Go easy—”
“Konstantin Belov.” I slide my gaze away from the burning heat of his. “That’s who raped me when I was eighteen, and that’s who has Anastasia trapped in Moscow.”
It’s like I just dropped a dirty bomb on the room.
My mother reels away from me in shock as my cool and restrained father throws his glass at the wall with an angry roar.
Striding over to the phone on the desk, he starts dialing a number. “Is Marchesi involved in this, too?” His eyes are the same hollowed-out gray as the night I left.
“Why? Who are you calling?”
“Santi Carrera. He’s the fucking cartel kingpin in New Jersey, so he can put a bullet in Marchesi’s head. As for Belov…”
“No!” Rushing over to him, I wrench the phone from his hand. “You want to order a hit on anyone, order it for Belov, not Renzo. He saved my life.”
He’s still saving it.
We glare at each, but this is one battle I’m not backing down from.
“I need you to be honest with me,” I say, fighting for a steady breath. “Belov destroyed my life for a reason, and judging from your reactions just now, you know damn well what it is.” I slam the phone down on the desk. “No more secrets. I was a pawn in a game I knew nothing about for five years. I’ve suffered for this. Mydaughteris still suffering for it…” I glance at my mother, who’s staring at me in horror. “The reason Belov subjected me to hell… Seb’s forgery of the ‘Atonement’… It’s all connected, and now Anastasia’s life depends on the truth.”
“Who says that’s the only painting I forged?” comes a languid voice as my twin brother appears behind us. He slides a measured gaze to each of us in turn, surveying the emotional carnage. “Welcome home, sis. I see you brought the tsunami with you.”
“I think your fucking grandfather started that.” My father circles the desk and pulls open the top drawer. Taking out a small square envelope stained with age, he places it in front of me. “Trust the older generations to screw it up for everyone else.”
“What’s that?” I say, feeling like another bomb is about to drop.
“Reasons,” he answers grimly, looping us back to our earlier conversation. “The rare ones thatdon’tget my one-finger salute.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Renzo
I’m navigatingI-80 West like I’m racing the Indy 500, switching lanes at break-neck speed while wading through a river of contradiction in my mind. For the first time in my life, loyalty and revenge are running in two different but equally urgent paths.
Tatiana.
Nero.
It’s already eight forty-five p.m., and time is ticking faster than I can outrun it. The underboss ceremony is set to start at nine-thirty in North Caldwell, and I’m at least twenty-two minutes away.
Still, a part of me wants to turn the car around. I want to drink in her surprise when she sees the bargaining chip I offered her that first night was never truly in play. I bought the painting to catch her attention. I never had any intention of keeping it. Somehow, I always knew they belonged with each other.
Who the fuck am I? That’s a two-million-dollar kiss.
How did a week and two transatlantic flights flip every black and gray code I adhered to on its ass?
I trust you.
I believe you.
My foot hits the gas as her voice echoes in my head. Six words spoken with enough fierce conviction to persuade a man living for hate to live for something else. Even though I warned her I wasn’t her savior, only a sinner who’d crawl back from hell for her...
And then crawl straight back.
