Moments later, another car filled with Vasiliy’s men
pulled up, picked up Yuri and drove off after the
Mercedes. Whatever he’d told Angelo, Vasiliy wasn’t
risking showing up without backup. I wasn’t
disappointed. That was just the way these things were
done: one hand stretched out in greeting, the other
ready behind your back with a knife.
What did that smile mean?
I knew that these sort of meets could turn bad in half a
second, just as the one with the bikers had. If Angelo
had any sense, he’d secretly take backup too. But it
seemed like Vasiliy was at least willing to talk. It was
Mikhail who was the problem. Mikhail wanted all-out
war. He wanted every last scrap of Angelo’s territory—
that’s why he’d formed the alliance with Vasiliy in the
first place. He stood to lose everything he’d been
fighting for...so why had he smiled?
Unless….
Unless he knew the meet was going to turn bad.
Unless he knew something that would turn Vasiliy
against Angelo.
Unless he knew about us!
I stood staring out at the snow-covered street, my eyes
widening. No. No way.
I started to panic breathe. My chest was heaving but I
couldn’t fill my lungs. I frantically tried to rationalize it
away. It makes no sense. If he knew, why wouldn’t he
have told Vasiliy already? Why bother to even go to the
meeting? I turned slowly away from the window, willing
my heart to slow. Yes. That’s right. Of course he doesn’t
know. I walked through to the kitchen and started
making myself a coffee. I thought the problem was that
all the lying had made me paranoid.
I was wrong. The problem was that I’d been away from
my family too long.
I’d forgotten how to think like a gangster. I didn’t see it:
not when I fetched a mug, not the whole time I stood
there waiting for the coffee machine to whirr and hiss,
not even when I was adding extra milk. It didn’t hit me
until I turned back towards the living room, the coffee’s
creamy froth just touching my lips. My eyes fell upon
the chessboard. Half of the pieces were still out of
position from when Vasiliy had knocked them, days ago.
The black king stood exposed.
It’s so that Vasiliy’s alone with Angelo. That’s why he
waited.
The mug slipped from my fingers.
It was all so perfect: Angelo in a remote location;
Vasiliy’s guards just itching to pull the trigger on their
hated enemy. Mikhail would reveal our relationship. A
moment of rage from Vasiliy and he’d give the order, or
pull a gun himself…
And Angelo would die.
The mug exploded on the tiles, coffee spraying across
my jeans. I didn’t even feel it. I ran into the living room,
grabbed my phone and called Angelo, then paced as I
waited for him to answer. One ring. Come on. Two
rings. Come on!
It went to answerphone. Chyort! Chyort, Chyort, Chyort!
“Don’t go to the meet!” I screamed. “Mikhail knows
about us! Vasiliy will kill you! Call me back when you get
this!”
I ended the call and then stood there staring at the
phone, willing it to ring. How long since Vasiliy and
Mikhail had left? I didn’t know when the meet was set
for—it could be happening right now. What if Angelo
didn’t check his messages in time?
There was only one thing to do. I had to call Vasiliy and
break the news myself: defuse Mikhail’s weapon before
he could use it. But what if I was wrong? What if Mikhail
didn’t know? I could tear our family apart and put
Angelo’s life in danger for no reason. I stared at the
chessboard, going rapidly insane. Tactics. Strategy.
Which was the right move? I was a Malakov, I was
supposed to be good at this!
I gave a long, despairing cry of rage and kicked the
table that held the chessboard, scattering pieces across
the room.
Then I took a deep breath...and called Vasiliy.
30
Irina
Vasiliy’s phone rang once. Twice. What the hell am I
going to say? Three times.
“Irina?” Vasiliy sounded annoyed. “What is it? I’m
driving.” Chyort. I’d forgotten that. And he always got
stressed when he drove himself anywhere.
“Okay,” I said. I dug my nails into my palms. “Listen….”
A muffled voice in the background. “Let me speak to
her.”
“Tell Mikhail,” said Vasiliy.
“No, WAIT—” I yelled.
That disorienting, falling-through-space feeling as the
microphone suddenly moved. And then I heard the fake
warmth of Mikhail’s voice. “Hello, Irina.”
I think I knew, as soon as he spoke, that I’d been right.
But I clung on to any forlorn hope. “Hi Mikhail,” I said,
forcing my voice level. “Could I speak to Vasiliy, please?
It’s private.”
“What is it?” Vasiliy’s voice in the background. He
sounded horribly distant. Then he cursed. “Fucking
potholes.”
“It’s okay,” called Mikhail. “I’m dealing with it.” I heard
him settle his bulk back in his seat. When he spoke
again, his voice was low, for my ears only. “Do you
know when I first knew, Irina?”
Fuck. I closed my eyes. “No.”
“The necklace. You wore it when you came to lunch
with Vasiliy and me. That’s not the sort of necklace a
girl buys herself. That’s the sort of necklace a man buys
a girl because he wants to see her neck adorned. I
could have bought you a necklace like that. But you
would have thrown it back at me and laughed, wouldn’t
you?”
My insides flipped over. This wasn’t just about him
wanting all-out war with the Italians so that he could
grab more territory. This was personal.
“And you kept touching it,” he said. “You sat in my lap,
with my cock right up against that precious, holy cunt of
yours and you smiled at me, but you were touching
your necklace because you were thinking of him. That’s
when I knew you were seeing someone else. So I had
you followed...and discovered it was Angelo.”
His voice was quiet, but so savage that I took a
stumbling step backwards. I’d been ready for him to be
evil, but I hadn’t been expecting this, this hatred.
He hated me.
Someone else, he’d said. You were seeing someone
else. He hated me, knew that I detested him...and yet
he thought of me as his. In his mind, I’d cheated on
him.
“It’s fucking perfect, Irina. Thank you. Thank you for
spreading your legs for our enemy, because now
Vasiliy’s going to kill your boyfriend and I’ll get exactly
what I want.”
I didn’t know when the tears had started, but I could
feel them running down my cheeks. Why can’t Vasiliy
hear this? But then I heard Vasiliy’s voice: “What are
you gossiping about, back there?” And I realized Mikhail
was lounging in the back seat, and that there was no
hope at all.
“Please,” I begged. I don’t think I expected him to
suddenly show mercy. I was more begging the universe
for this not to be happening.
“We’re here,” I heard Vasiliy say from the front seat.
“Proshchay, Irina,” said Mikhail. Goodbye.
And the phone went dead.
31
Angelo
“This is a bad idea,” said Rico. He was drumming his
fingers on the steering wheel, but the sound was
drowned out by the rain outside. After days of snow, it
had warmed up just enough for the skies to unleash
torrential rain. It wasn’t yet noon, but it was as dark as