Page 58 of Pretty Little Toy

I give him a curt nod. “In the meantime, I’ll speak with the Marchettis to ensure no unrest has been triggered with them. I don’t think this is the work of our allies, but I think it’s time I get to know the Marchetti heir a little better, and now is as good a time as any.”

Well, before Nicolo found his pet in my club room probably would have been better timing, but I can’t put off my responsibilities because of it.

“Anything else to report?” I ask.

Fyodor shakes his head. “I’ll keep you updated on the whereabouts of the men–and what we turn up in leads.”

“Good.” I head toward the warehouse door once more, Erik and Yefim flanking me as we make our way back to the black Escalade.

This doesn’t bode well for our Bratva. It frustrates me that we’ve had such a short reprieve from war and violence. It’s hard to believe that we finally brought the last war to a definitive end less than two years ago. And my tension rises as I realize my freedom is about to be impinged upon once again. I was just getting used to filling my spare time doing things I like to do–like Whitney.

But if this turns into another conflict, I won’t be able to get away as often. If I want to see her, I might have to start bringing her down here. Hopefully, that’s a long way off and I can get ahead of it. This time, I know the signs from the get-go. I won’t be caught off guard like my father, left out in the open because I’ve grown complacent.

No, now more than ever I need to be vigilant. Sliding into the back seat of my car, I withdraw my phone from my pocket and dial Whitney’s number. Despite the early hour, she picks up on the third ring.

“Hey, is everything alright?” she asks by way of greeting.

I suppose this is an unusual time for me to call. The sun is barely starting to rise. “I need a favor,” I state, cutting quickly to the chase.

“Anything.”

“Your friend Anya, is she still with Nicolo Marchetti?”

“Yes?” Whitney’s voice rises in a question even in her answer.

“How soon could she get him to call me?”

“Oh, um. I’ll call her right now if you need. Ilya, what’s wrong?”

Always too perceptive for her own good. “It’s nothing. Just get it done. Please,” I add, realizing I’m talking to her more like one of my captains than I had intended.

“Sure. Okay.”

We hang up a moment later, and I’m confident that will be the fastest way I can get in touch with the Marchetti boy–and the least likely to cause a conflict. But as the SUV turns out onto the highway, heading back toward my family estate, I can’t help the heavy feeling in my gut. The one telling me that Nicolo Marchetti is not my enemy–in this case at least.

And as I ruminate over all the possibilities, my mind brings to the surface a haunting memory I’d buried with the death of the Temkin clan. The last words of the man I killed ring clearly in my mind, like an alarm blaring to life as they draw me from my sleep: “You can kill us, but you will never be rid of our Bratva. We’re coming for you, Ilya Popov. Whether it’s today or ten years from now, we will finish the job.”

My fist tightens around my phone, and the device groans in protest. This can’t be the Temkin. We annihilated them. My phone buzzes to life in my palm, and for a moment, I wonder if I squeezed it so hard I actually managed to break it. But then the screen lights up as an unknown number flashes across its face.

“Da,” I answer.

“Mr. Popov, I don’t particularly appreciate your tactics of ordering me about by means of my girlfriend. What is it you want?”

Nicolo’s smooth voice is icy and precise, far more measured and professional than the last time I heard him. Nice to know he understand what self-control is. A smile curls the corners of my lips at the small sense of satisfaction I get from knowing my tactic was both effective and irritating to him.

“I must say, your woman works quickly.”

“Well,yourwoman said it was urgent. Does this conversation actually have a purpose, or are you just trying to see which of my buttons you can push?”

I crush my unbidden urge to toy with Nicolo now that I can so easily get under his skin. He might hold more natural-born authority in his family because of the empirical nature of their hierarchy, while I had to earn my men’s respect, but he’s young, hot-tempered, and untested, and my natural inclination would be to put him in his place for speaking to me like that.

Taking a deep steadying breath, I rein in my competitive streak. “We haven’t had a chance to speak about our previous encounter, and I thought it well past time I properly introduce myself and clear the air.” Sometimes, all I crave is a world full of direct communication, like Whitney gives me every time. But diplomacy is a blight to my position in life. I can’t just ask Nicolo straight up if he’s taken my men and a decent chunk of my inventory out of spite.

“I don’t see what needs talking about,” he says arctically. “You didn’t touch Anya, did you? And from the sound of it, you might have even done me a small favor, so I had intended to overlook your presumption this time–assuming you’re not dense enough to try it again.”

I grind my teeth in irritation. The slick git knew he could throw in an insult without backlash because he’s already got the upper hand in this conversation. But what I really need to focus on is the fact that he didn’t break into my warehouse to get revenge. In all honesty, he actually sounds genuine in his grudging confession that I might have helped him somehow by including Anya in my scene with Whitney.

“Well then, you’re welcome, I suppose.”

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