Page 50 of Savage Beauty

The old oak doors creak open, and there he is, Sal Tosca, a mountain of a man with a grin as wide as his waistline. He greets me with a clap on the back, meaty hands squeezing my shoulder.

“Ah, Sasha!” he booms. “You’ve done well, my boy. I appreciate the picture you sent me—very artful. Larry never looked better.”

I shrug his hand away. His friendliness is disarming; I’m not used to it. “It was a proof of death, not a keepsake. Is Igor here yet?”

Sal shakes his head. “Nah. He’s late, of course. Come on in and have a seat while we wait.”

I make my way into Sal’s study. The room is cloaked in shadows, dimly lit by the orange glow of a solitary desk lamp, and I wonder idly why he has the drapes closed. A sense of unease gnaws at me as I sit in one of the leather chairs. Sal sits behind the desk, resting his elbows on the mahogany.

“You know, Sasha,” he says, “there’s something you should know about Larry.”

I’m about to ask what he means when I hear the sound of footsteps outside and the front door opening. It can only be Igor. No one else is arrogant or connected enough to waltz unbidden into the home of a mafia don.

I lean forward, my curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

Sal gives a malevolent laugh. “Didn’t you recognize him? Back in the day, he was known as Commissioner Webster.”

My body reacts before I can process the information, and I double over as though I’ve been sucker-punched.

Webster. Is he the guy that—

“Yep.” Sal is laughing now, his belly rolling. “It’s been a few years, but he was the man when you were a kid. Cleaned up this city and ran out all the crazy-ass scum who didn’t have honor or rules. He laid the foundations for the relationship between organized crime and law enforcement—hell, he broughtpeace—and you,” his voice breaks with mirth, “shot him down like a dog!”

My heart drops, plunging into the depths of my chest, a cold sweat breaking across my brow. The room tightens around me, and it becomes hard to breathe.

I’ve broken one of the most fundamental rules in our world—never go to war with the police. No, it’s worse than that. I haven’tjustbroken the rule. I have set my whole world on fire. The consequences are not just mine to bear; my family, my empire, and the Kislevs will be shattered and cast out by thekomissiya, our name dragged through the mud.

People will die for this. People I love.

“Sal, you can’t be serious,” I stammer, the gravity of what I’ve done weighing down my voice. “Why? What about Giulia, the affair?”

“You’re so dumb. Obviously, it was all bullshit.” Sal sits back in his chair and points at me. “You humiliated my daughter. More importantly, you humiliatedme. Did you really think I would let you get away with that?”

I hear the study door open behind me, and I turn to see Igor. He’s severe-looking in a woolen overcoat, imposing despite his age.

I’m glad to see him. He’ll be furious when he hears what I’ve done, but it’s a frame. He knows I’d never do something like this intentionally. It isn’t how it looks, and when I explain, thekomissiyawill stand up for me.

I rise to my feet. “Igor. Tosca set me up. There was a guy, an ex-cop—”

Igor moves incredibly quickly, so much so that I don’t notice the pistol in his hand until it roars to life. I’m sure I’m about to keel over dead, but it’s Sal Tosca who falls. His torso slumps over the desk before sliding across the polished surface and onto the carpet.

“Jesus Christ,” I say, peering at the dead man’s body. “You already knew.”

I turn back to Igor and realize the pistol is still in his hand, leveled at me.

“So,” he says, his voice laced with malice, “you killed Lawrence Webster. You were always careless, Sasha. Never paid any mind to who you hurt. You just do whatever you want without a care for the consequences. Well, now it’s time to pay up.”

I wrack my brain, trying to unravel his cryptic words. What the hell is he talking about?

“How’s Signora G?” Igor asks suddenly. He gestures at me to sit, and I lower myself into the chair, never taking my eyes off him. “Her name is Marina. I knew her back when your Papa and I were small-timers. I knew herverywell, in fact.”

Sal’s blood soaks into the pile, spreading near my feet. I clear my throat. “She’s fine. Memory not so good these days, but she’s bearing up.”

“Good.” Igor smiles. “She’s the woman I should have married. But my mother was furious with me when she found out about the kid. Catholic, you see.”

I feel a dull thud of anxiety in my chest as my thoughts organize themselves. Does he mean Rocco?

Igor is speaking as much to himself as to me. “Back then, illegitimate kids were all the rage, but I was meant to marry a woman of a good family, not a poor immigrant girl with beautiful eyes but no prospects.”

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