Page 67 of The Mafia Enforcer's Temptation
Or worse…
What if we were the real targets of the bomber at the wedding?
Not the guy who set it, but the one who made it.
There were people who knew we’d be acting as security for the event.
A deep chill settles into my bones.
Fuck.
“When the guy I killed in the grounds of the Romanov mansion came at me, he didn’t stop when I told him I was security,” I say. “Chances are he could have bluffed. A lost guest, a staff member? Or he could have just stayed still.”
Cal looks at me. “What are you saying?”
My jaw tightens as I look between my brothers. “What if, from the very beginning, someone was interested in getting rid of us that night?”
SIXTEEN
ava
I rubmy wrist where the long-gone fake tattoo was. The one I wore to stake out St. Jane’s Church. And for some reason, a tiny dart of guilt pierces me. I don’t know why.
For someone like me, if I’d wanted to give everything up, run away, and start fresh somewhere, it would have been the way out.
I run a brush through my hair.
But running isn’t in me, not really, and while I might have considered it, I knew I couldn’t leave Tatiana. I want her to know who I am. I want a relationship with my sister.
Besides, I’m part of the system. It’s in my blood. And I know I could do great things with Volkov.
Just like I’m aware that certain parties, like Romanov, like the Murphys, know what it really is, a gem that would enhance any family.
To me, it’s the small, perfect pink diamond I saw inset on that ring. And I think I could expand, clean up some of the routes, make it stricter, cleaner, and bring in more money.
Human trafficking is something I don’t think Dad dealt with. He didn’t want to. More than that, my mother wouldn’t have let him. But all it would take is for one member of the currentlist of clients to move unwilling human cargo, and the bratva’s reputation would go down the drain.
But it’s so damn protected that I don’t know. I won’t know, until we’re in there. Whenever that might be.
Things can move at glacier-like speed. If I were a man, or if Seamus was Russian? Things would be lightning quick. But not for a female, even the direct firstborn descendent of the last real Pakhan.
And the idea of a half-Italian female Pakhan is laughable.
But now I’m back, following the rules with a husband, and an Irish one at that.
It’ll still be slow, and we’ll have to prove we’re really married. They just might demand more than a year of marriage, maybe two. But that’s a hurdle I’ll deal with when I come to it.
I’m so close to it all I can almost taste the power and victory.
I also know that I should be polishing knives and loading guns for the moment Seamus turns on me when this is all over.
“Easy, Ava,” I mutter.
Maybe he’ll back off or even help me and I can call it even, leave him with nothing but a tiny part of the bratva. Maybe I can negotiate the Murphys down into being clients, of letting them use the routes for free.
Maybe—I should shut the fuck up.
With a sigh, I stand up and walk over to the dress. It really is gorgeous. His sister-in-law has good taste.
