Page 15 of The Prizes We Win
Laughing, I make my way to him, grab him by the front of his shirt, and bring him close enough so my lips are brushing against his. “And I love the way you are.”
Before he has a chance to pull me in for what I’m sure would be a kiss that will lead us to fucking right here in this hallway, I pull away and walk toward the stairwell. I can feel the four of them standing there staring at me, so I call over my shoulder, “Come on, boys. We have shit to do.”
“God, I fucking love her,” I hear Enzo say under his breath before four sets of footsteps follow me upstairs.
11
Enzo
The five of us spent the next two days resting, trying to get a handle on the chaos ensuing at Vittori Enterprises, and coming up with some sort of plan.
Clara just about had a coronary when we told her she would be running everything in the office until further notice. And then, I’m pretty sure she actually had one when we told her what her salary increase would be. When she asked why, the five of us looked at her as if the answer was clear as day because, to us… it was. She’s the only one who remotely has any idea what the five of us do on the day-to-day.
Now, don’t get us wrong; she obviously can’t be a security guard, and Sebastian can do ninety-eight percent of his job from home. Nor do we expect her to do Luca’s, mine, and Josephine’s job as one person. But we trust her enough to ensure that the company will run smoothly in the interim. And if the companycan’t run without our absence for a while, then we haven’t done our jobs well enough in the first place.
Sebastian wasn’t able to get rid of that day’s events in their entirety, as too many people were witnesses to it, but he was able to do his job well enough that there are no longer clear images of our faces crashing cars and drawing weapons in the middle of the city. Be that as it may, word of mouth still spreads. So we called Pascal. He was able to talk the rest of the board off a ledge, and as majority shareholder, he assured them that the success of the company was not at risk in any way.
Once that headache was as dealt with as it was going to get for the time being, we shifted our focus on coming up with a plan for dealing with Andrei, Maxim, and the rest of the Bratva.
First and foremost, we decided we needed to understand exactly what we were up against and that the best plan of attack might just be the place they guard the heaviest, because that’s the place they feel the safest. Andthat’sthe place they’d least expect someone to ever attack. This is why Dante and I are currently on a boat just off the shoreline of Brighton Beach in the middle of the night. Dante strategically anchored the boat just far enough away that even if anyone in the house were to notice it, we’re far enough away to remain inconspicuous. Not to mention the small cruising boat has tinted windows around the cabin so they couldn’t see inside even if they wanted to.
Andrei and Maxim’s house isn’t what you’d expect the heads of the Bratva to live in, but it is exactly what you’d expect to find in the wealthy neighborhoods of Brighton Beach. The expansive European-inspired villa is easily the largest home for miles. The large hedges around the property do little to hide the outrageous amount of luxury vehicles parked in the driveway. Which, in and of itself, is ridiculous, because I know for a fact from the specs that Sebastian found that there’s a garage big enough for a dozen cars.
One would think that being the leaders of the Russian Mafia, they would want to fly a little more under the radar, but it’s abundantly clear that isn’t on their list of priorities.
Especially considering the fact that it looks as if every single light in the house is on, making it practically child’s play to identify how many of these morons are roaming around the house.
“No fucking OPSEC whatsoever,” Dante grumbles as he looks through his night vision binoculars.
I can’t say I’m surprised. The day they took Sebastian and Joe, they had no readily available backup team and no alternate plan. Just a half-cooked idea that led them to looking like a bunch of morons and making mereallypissed off. For an organization that’s as successful and feared as the Bratva, you would think they’d be a little more…organized. “And you’re complaining why?”
“Not complaining. Just observing.” He’s been like this since we left the house. Short. Quiet. Very… monosyllabic.
Which, I guess, for Dante isn’t uncommon, but I can tell something’s off.
“I’m going to ask you something, but you have to promise not to punch me in the face.”
“Can you not be so dramatic?” he replies without removing his stare from the house.
“Not dramatic. Just realistic.” Dante smiles softly. “You hit me at least twice a week.”
“Because you continue to antagonize me.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about… Big Daddy.”
Dante rumbles a deep laugh. The kind I only hear come from him. The kind where he doesn’t open his mouth to let the sound out, yet somehow you can hear it from the next room. The kind where the corners of his smile reach his ears, and even in thedark you can see his hazel eyes light up. The kind where, despite how much he fights it, you know it’s true and genuine.
Only a lucky few get to experience it.
Still grinning slightly, Dante puts down the binoculars and turns in his seat to face me. He scoots forward in his seat, putting one of his legs between mine and the other on the outside of my left and rests his forearms on his thighs. “I promise I won’t hit you.”
“Are you okay? You’ve been acting off since we left. Did I do something?”
Dante’s large hand pats the top of my thigh. And it feels as if his touch, even through the fabric of my pants, burns my skin. So much so that I can feel my breath still in my lungs for a moment. “Nah. Nothing you did, Enz.”
“Then what’s going on?”
Dante scrubs both hands over his face before answering. “I just… I can’t help feeling like I failed. Like I failed Joe. Like I failed Sebastian. Like I failed all of you. It was—it is my job to protect them. To protect all of you. None of that should have ever happened. After that afternoon with Joe in her office”—he swallows hard at the memory of his PTSD attack—“I promised. Ipromisednothing would ever happen to her. And it did. I fucked up. It’s my job, and I fucked up.”
