Page 61 of Twisted Embrace

Enzo

I held the bottle in my hand for a few seconds, marveling in the artistry. “Clase Azul Tequila Masters Artisans,” I said more in passing than anything. Very little impressed me, certainly not a bottle of liquor; however, the harmonious blends of flavors and scents made the aging tequila discernable, worth talking about. “Did you know every bottle is meticulously hand-painted by local artists in Mexico?” When neither D’Artagnan nor Mattia said anything, I cocked my head, laughing bitterly.

“A lesson in tequila, my brother?” Mattia snarked.

He was no more my brother than the man on the moon, but we’d taken to calling ourselves the devious three after one particular night of surrendering to the power of intoxication. “Orange and berry with a woodsy finish. Considered one of the most expensive liquors in the world.” I poured a hefty amount, lifting the short-stemmed glass as I stared at the rich amber.

“Perhaps he’s feeling nostalgic,” D’Artagnan offered.

“Perhaps I’m not in the mood to take any bullshit,” I countered. There was no reason for me to be agitated. I’d just enjoyed fucking a woman I cared far too much about. Maybe that was the reason for my sudden irritation and the desire to sever heads. We’d left in a hurry instead of tracking down the assholes responsible for all three attacks, which to me indicated weakness.

The fact I was standing in what Mattia called his man cave annoyed me for no other reason than in everything he did he was over the top. Granted, the space was well hidden, a place you’d need to know the exact location of to find. There was no open button, no obvious location such as behind a bookshelf in his father’s office. Inside there was a force of weaponry, a communications system, and what had been termed by others a panic room.

For all practical purposes, this was a war room. Hell, we could likely launch nuclear missiles if necessary.

I rolled the glass across my forehead, cognizant of the fact Mattia hated air conditioning, often refusing to turn it on even while the sun boiled. Maybe he’d gotten used to scorching heat while serving time in whatever makeshift prison his father had sentenced him to. Even today, I wondered how he and D’Artagnan had survived growing up with Franco DeLuca as a father. Thank God I’d instructed Maria to have the unit turned on in the wing where we were staying.

“I don’t think any of us are,” he replied.

“Then what I’m about to tell you won’t improve your day,” Mattia stated as he leaned against the edge of his desk.

“Meaning what?” The aggravation continued to build, my words issued with continued anger. I wasn’t the kind of man who accepted defeat no matter the reason or how insignificant the situation. I moved to one of the leather chairs, sitting down and placing my drink on the coffee table. I needed a hot shower, a full night’s sleep, and a blowjob from my beautiful possession. And not necessarily in that order.

“First of all, the man I sent to infiltrate the Volkov organization arrived at my doorstep yesterday.” Mattia’s facial expression was unreadable.

“I’m surprised you suggested the estate for the meeting,” D’Artagnan hissed.

“Let me correct my statement. My soldier arrived in thirty pieces inside a crate. Give or take as I didn’t take the time to count them.”

I took a deep breath, turning my head in his direction. “Was there advance warning?”

“None. He’d managed to infiltrate their organization almost two years ago. He’d worked his way up from nothing more than an errand boy to a first-tier soldier. We’ve had two conversations, none of which resulted in any suspicious activity.’”

“That means you were careless, getting him killed,” I snarled. His smug look pissed the hell out of me.

“Let it go, Enzo. It no longer matters.” The exhaustion in D’Artagnan’s voice highlighted the change in his behavior. In my mind, he was too weak to remain the leader. “If you remember, we hadn’t formed our alliance and this was Franco’s idea before he died. At that point it was dog eat dog.” He took a sip of his drink, holding the liquor in his mouth before swallowing.

Fortunately, Mattia knew what I was capable of and didn’t push, only his eyes reflecting rage. “It still is,” I said as I released my hold. “What shit did he disclose during torture?”

“Ivan wasn’t the kind of man who broke under pressure. He certainly hasn’t been told about our inner workings since our alliance was formed.”

I laughed at his answer. “You obviously don’t understand the cockroaches the Bratva are.”

“I know exactly what they do, brother. I was forced to watch the repeated rape of a girl I went to high school with. She was fucking sixteen years old. That was before they pulled out their blades. I was the one required to take her lifeless body home to her parents.”

While I’d participated in hundreds of acts of brutality, none had been against women. For all the evil lurking inside of me, I’d always considered the female sex something to be revered. I didn’t need to ask why the Bratva had acted with such brutality. The answer was the same for all three of us. Because of our last names.

I looked away, shaking my head, my thoughts once again returning to Joy. Her black eye would be a reminder and a knife sticking in my side. I hadn’t been able to protect her. I’d allowed her to suffer. That would never happen again. I took long strides toward the table, yanking my glass into my hand, tossing back the remainder of the tequila.

“The Russians have been planning another invasion since they were defeated a year ago. My guess is that they learned something from your boy. You can’t tell me otherwise. If they hadn’t, they wouldn’t have shipped him back in such a creative manner.” I didn’t bother looking at either man after making the statement.

“Unfortunately, what Enzo is saying is correct. It’s entirely possible Ivan was turned on purpose, lured into their life, providing whatever he knew about the inside of our organization.” Dar eyed him casually.

“That’s bullshit,” Mattia snapped. “I know my men.”

I wanted to launch into him but at this point a plan was needed or the other Italian syndicates would begin breathing down our necks. “Enough arguing. We need to develop a plan of attack.”

“The Petrovs aren’t going to cross the Atlantic,” Mattia insisted, moving past me to pour himself another drink.

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