because he turned to me and leaned down so that he
could murmur in my ear. “Now do you get it?”
I’d been wrong. It wasn’t just about streets and
businesses, places on a map. It was about people. His
people. He helped them, lent them money, protected
them from street crime. They needed their king. And he
wasn’t prepared to abandon them and hand them over
to Vasiliy. Not even for me.
I stared up into Angelo’s eyes and nodded. I got it.
And that’s when I remembered where I’d seen this
before. When I was a child, Vasiliy had sometimes taken
me, along with his son, Luka, with him when he made
his rounds of Moscow. He’d had people running up to
shake his hand. He’d kept the community alive.
Angelo was Vasiliy a decade ago, before he became cold
and bitter. I stumbled on along the street, trying to
process it all.
A white-haired guy hurried out of a bar as we passed.
“Angelo!” he said, grabbing his hand in both of his. “You
gotta help me. The Russians are leaning on the liquor
merchants. They won’t sell to us. I’m running dry.”
Angelo glanced at me for a second, then nodded. “I’ll
look into it,” he promised.
The guy clapped him on the shoulder. “God bless you,
Angelo.” He disappeared back into his bar, but I just
stood there staring at the place where he’d stood.
Seeing it for myself made all the difference. Angelo had
protected these people for years. Vasiliy and Mikhail had
suddenly muscled in. Sure, Angelo had pushed back
hard, but it was we Russians who were the aggressors.
The war, when it happened, would be our fault. The
blood would be on our hands.
I’d known Angelo and I were on opposite sides; I’d
never considered, until now, that I might be on the
wrong one.
And now that I realized it, I felt sick at the implications.
Vasiliy and Mikhail wouldn’t back down and neither
would Angelo. That meant it was up to me.
If I wanted to be with Angelo, I had to stop the war.
20
Angelo
She got it. She knew now why I couldn’t back down and
let her uncle and his thug of a partner take over. The
really scary thing was that there’d been a split second,
standing in her bedroom, when I’d almost considered it.
I’d do almost anything for this woman. The power she
had over me was frightening.
“How do we stop this thing?” she asked, her voice
quavering.
I hugged her to me, pressing her small body against my
big one and wrapping my arms around her to keep her
warm. “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think Vasiliy and
Mikhail will stand for anything other than victory. They
want this turf.”
“I’ll talk to Vasiliy,” she said firmly. “I’ll try and make
him see sense.”
God, she was brave. I took off her sunglasses so I could
see her face. “You need to be careful. Really fucking
careful. If he suspects we’re together....” I slid my hand
across her cheek. She was cold, as always. I put my
other hand on her other cheek, desperate to warm her.
I wasn’t ready for the upswell of emotion in my chest. “I
don’t want anything to happen to you.”
She put her hands on my hands. “I’ve gotten good at
lying,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice. She
shook her head. “You know, Vasiliy didn’t used to be
like this. He was ambitious but not like this. He used to
be like you.”
Like me? I felt my chest tighten. Crazy. But I nodded.
“You need to help too,” she said. “Do what you can to
calm this thing down.”
I sighed. And right after I’d told The Saints that I’d
come down hard on the Russians. But...I looked deep
into those cornflower-blue eyes and dammit, I couldn’t
deny her, even if the thought of playing nice with the
Russians made me die inside. “Okay,” I said at last. “I’ll
do what I can.”
“And what about...us?” she asked quietly.
I pushed her back just far enough that I could kiss her.
God, those lips tasted sweet. There was something in
her soul that was clean and bright and untarnished—
everything I wasn’t. Kissing her was like diving into a
cool mountain lake and washing away my sins...and
then slipping beneath the surface into the heated,
tempting depths. Within seconds, I’d lost control,
pushing her back against the wall and pinning her there
with my body. My hands grabbed hers, our fingers
intertwining. The kiss turned open-mouthed and panting
and I started to calculate how many blocks we were
from my apartment.
My phone rang. Fuck!
I reluctantly released her and fished out my phone.
Rico. I put my finger to my lips and answered. “Yeah?”
“We got a problem.” He sounded worried. No, not just
worried: upset. And it took a lot to shake Rico.
“Hold on.” I covered the microphone. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“I gotta work. When can I see you?”
She had to think about it, which didn’t bode well. “The
day after tomorrow,” she said at last.
What?! I was sick of these delays. I needed her naked
in my bed, now! I’d never had to wait around like this
for a woman before. But….
But for Irina, I’d wait. “Okay,” I said between gritted
teeth, and gave her one last kiss. Then I stepped out
into the street and waved for a cab for her. When the
cabbies saw who it was, they couldn’t drive over fast
enough.
I opened the door for her and slammed it when she was
inside. Then I took the necklace from my pocket, leaned
through the window and held it against her neck. Irina
looked down at it, looked up into my eyes...and nodded.
I fastened the clasp and smoothed the necklace against
her skin...God, her skin was so soft! I gave her one last
kiss and reluctantly pulled back through the window.
Then I watched the cab pull away, putting the phone
back to my ear only when it was halfway down the
street.
This whole thing is going to be impossible, I thought.
But she was worth it.
I finally uncovered the microphone and put the phone
back to my ear. “Sorry,” I said to Rico. “Why don’t you
come find me? I’m on the corner of King Street and
Arthur Avenue.”
“I know,” said Rico’s voice from behind me. “So am I.”
I spun around and there he was, close enough to touch,
the phone still held to his ear. He must have been
walking the streets when he called me, and he’d
happened across me while I was saying goodbye to
Irina.
One look at his face and I knew: he’d seen me kiss her.
21
Angelo
Rico’s a big guy and, when he’s riled, he barely knows
his own strength. He hauled me off the street and
slammed me up against the wall of an alley hard
enough to whump the air out of me. “Irina Malakov?”
he demanded. “Irina fucking Malakov?!” His hands were
twisted into the front of my shirt, pulling it tight around
my body as he lifted me. My feet were only barely
brushing the ground. “What the fuck is the matter with
you?”
I tried to pull loose. “Get the fuck off me!”
But he didn’t let go. “Tell me it’s a plan,” he growled.
“Please, Angelo, tell me it’s some fucking clever plan.
You’re banging her to get to Vasiliy, right? She’s gonna
tell you all his secrets!”
“No!” I tried again to break his grip, and failed. Then I
hit him with a good punch to the kidneys that would