Page 67 of Twisted Embrace

“Ital’yanskaya mraz’.”

“You seem to forget I know Russian, Misha. While I might be Italian scum, I’m the piece of garbage who saved you and your family from the vultures. Or did you forget that over these last few years?”

His laugh was far more jovial than I would have expected. “Still a merciless son of a bitch, I see.”

“I do what’s necessary. If the information you provide is a full dossier, then your debt will be cleared. Anything less and you’ll still owe me.”

“Fine, Lazarro. Just remember that Russians have long memories.”

I never forgot anything either. I tossed my phone on the desk, contemplating where we were in our endeavor to seek the truth.

If there was such a thing.

There was no doubt what I was asking of him was dangerous for him personally, but he did owe me the life of his daughter after all. In tasking him to try to uncover Joy’s birth mother as well as see what scuttlebutt he could find on Grigori Volkov’s plans, he could potentially place his family in harm’s way for a second time. However, the man was clever, enough so I believed he would eventually find answers.

I only hoped it would be prior to Volkov making his move.

Four additional days had passed without incident, although there were whispers on the street, informants going off the grid into the shadows. All of us had become antsy, eager to resume normal business. We’d had several conversations, determining two courses of action. Both were dangerous.

After making several calls, including to the Don of both Sicily and Sardinia, I had what I believed to be proof that the Volkovs were behind the shell corporation attempting to fund the bridge from Italy to Sicily. Building plans were ready to be filed. If the Bratva greased enough hands, it was entirely possible they would be approved without a single hiccup. In addition, I was certain the recent influx of purchasers for dozens of aging properties listed at a low cost in hopes of attracting foreign buyers were Russians disguising themselves as Americans and Brits.

In my mind, the corroboration added credence to my belief the Volkov and Petrov Bratva were closer than they wanted anyone to believe. Either that or the Petrovs were being used as muscle, mercenaries in a treacherous game. What the fuckers didn’t know was that I was a master chess player, capable of lying in wait if necessary.

While not traditionally patient, I’d convinced myself being prudent was the best course of business in order to receive the desired results. I almost laughed at the sentiment. I wasn’t certain who I was kidding. Once I had the opportunity, as many Russians as possible would die.

I’d remained inside the wing of Mattia’s house, setting up a private office in one of the rooms. I’d spent several hours attempting to piece together the limited information Igor Petrov had provided, using the powerful computer system that I’d set up after the Lazarro–DeLuca alliance to search for further confirmation of Joy’s heritage. Given my ability to hack into almost any secure system, including the one used by the CIA, I’d been certain I could find something substantial. Including the name of Joy’s birth mother.

However, as with every aspect of the Bratva, no matter on which side of the pond, they had notoriously tight security systems set in place. There were very few documents on Bratva members, births, marriages, or any other personal data that could be used by enemies. Igor Petrov had served time in one of the most brutal Russian prisons for murdering a popular Parisian politician. My guess, given the man’s age at the time, was he’d been used as a fall guy. That could be the rationale for why he betrayed his own family.

It would seem before he’d accepted his perilous penance, he’d arranged for the Levins to care for Joy. That also made sense. But I wondered why her birth mother had never been involved.

After Igor had been released, he’d all but disappeared. I drummed my fingers on the desk, scrolling through the same documentation for a fifth time. My eyes were tired, but my body was wired. I’d made a decision that being seen in the closest small town would be a good way to drive the Russian bastards from under their rocks. It was risky, especially since I was taking Joy with me. It was almost time to announce to the country that a very special union was in the works.

Granted, I’d hoped of learning her mother’s true identity before making an announcement, but D’Artagnan and I agreed that it was prudent to push Volkov’s buttons.

I’d called a man who owed me a favor for sparing his life, something I’d hesitated to do. But given the circumstances, I thought it was in my best interest to use the man’s strengths and connections. As a former KGB agent, he’d had several dealings with various Bratva organizations, so many still keeping ties to Moscow. Given Petrov’s close association with the Volkovs, it was entirely possible he at least knew who Igor was. If so, I had hopes he could track down the information I was looking for.

Misha was still considered a powerful man, but his alliance with the Cosa Nostra wouldn’t be looked at fondly.

The reality of using the favor for something as simple as locating a likely dead birth mother was another sign of Joy’s importance. Not for money. Not for territory gain. Because I cared about her. Joy would never fully believe or accept who she was without absolute proof. Even a birth certificate would provide a trail I could continue going down. Unfortunately, Misha had seemed hesitant to provide assistance.

I leaned back in the chair, propping my feet onto the edge of the desk. As I took a swig of scotch, my thoughts continued to drift to the vivacious woman. The nights of passion had been incredible, but I sensed she was growing as antsy as I was.

I’d yet to tell her where in Italy she’d been sequestered, only allowing her to enjoy the estate grounds. Even then I’d commanded one of my men to shadow her at all times. Whether or not she knew she was being followed and was irritated was of no concern. Only her safety was.

Just thinking about her had me fully aroused. I grabbed my phone, flicking to the single picture I’d taken of her. She adored the exterior of the estate, her smile an indication. I traced her face then tossed the phone, yanking the small box I’d carried with me since returning from checking on several operations. I knew a small jeweler who’d provided exactly what I was looking for.

As I opened the box, I exhaled, tapping my index finger on the large diamond. Marriage. I continued to have difficulty getting used to the idea, even if the plan was in our empire’s best interest. There was no getting around the fact I adored her. But was it possible for me to love her as she deserved? Jesus. She had gotten under my skin.

When I heard a knock on the door, I expected to see D’Artagnan. Thankfully, both Lucia and the baby were doing very well, with no sign of any permanent damage. If all continued to go well, my sister would carry the baby to full term.

I tipped my head and the sight of Mattia drove a rise of anger through my system. We’d purposely stayed away from each other since our disagreement other than the required business meetings. While I was no fool in that working together was vital, the hint of discord baiting the wolves, that didn’t mean I wanted to spend any significant time with the man.

“Do you need something?” I asked, returning my gaze to the screen. I didn’t bother to close the ring box. It wasn’t his decision to make whether I went through with the wedding or not.

“The building permits have been hand delivered. It’s only a matter of time before it lands in front of the council of ministers.”

It wasn’t news I wanted to hear at this point. I was hoping for a few weeks. If I had to guess, I’d say the Volkovs paid a pretty penny to head to the top of the list of considerations. “We may need to have a meeting with Don Romano.”

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