mud and then throwing buckets of water all night, had
solidified into concrete.
I needed sleep, but I didn’t have time. Instead, I got
under the shower in the hope the hot water beating
down on me would help me think. But there wasn’t any
solution I could see.
My instinct was to fight. That’s what I always did. That’s
what my dad had always done. But Vasiliy was too fired
up with anger: he didn’t just want victory, he wanted to
destroy me. To even slow his progress, I’d have to
sacrifice every man I had, plus a lot of civilians. Maybe
The Saints were okay with that, but I wasn’t.
Peace? There’d be no peace now, not between Vasiliy
and me. We were way past that. I’d foregone any hope
of peace that morning when I’d first called Irina, already
knowing who she was. If I could go back in time….
Who was I kidding? If I could go back in time, I’d do
exactly the same thing again. I loved her.
That only left surrender. It would save some lives, but
I’d be letting down all the people who’d trusted me to
protect them. Vasiliy was cold, but at least he seemed
professional—it wasn’t him I was worried about. It was
that bastard Mikhail and his thugs: they’d be the ones
who’d shake down local businesses for protection
money if I surrendered. No way was I unleashing them
on the people I cared about.
And however hard I tried to focus on the crisis, my mind
kept swerving back to Irina. I’d told her I’d find a way,
but I couldn’t see one. I’m never going to see her again!
I finally stepped from the shower and started to towel
off. I had to restick some of the dressings and tape Rico
had put on my back and ribs. God, I was a mess.
Bruises everywhere and livid red finger marks around
my neck where Mikhail had—
I frowned in the mirror and looked closer. There was a
symbol in amongst the finger marks, a symbol I
recognized. A serpent. I grabbed my phone and checked
the photos I’d taken of Kirsty to be sure. It was
reversed because I’d been choked from behind instead
of in front, but it was the same mark from the same
ring. It was the same person.
Mikhail. He’d been the one who’d raped Kirsty and beat
her to within an inch of her life. It had never even
occurred to me that it might be a Russian. He barely
spoke, Kirsty had said. No wonder she hadn’t recognized
the accent. And with his bland looks, Mikhail could be
any fat businessman.
At first, it made no sense—that’s why I hadn’t even
considered it. The last place a Russian mafia boss would
go was to a Cosa Nostra hooker: far too much potential
for dangerous pillow talk and blackmail. They’d use one
of their own places, where the girls were loyal to their
side.
My stomach tightened. Unless, of course, you’re a
perverted bastard who likes to beat women up. Then it
made perfect sense. Mikhail could keep his nasty little
hobby from his comrades and he got to take his
frustration with me out on poor Kirsty. No doubt he’d
known she worked at Cinderella’s and that therefore she
was one of mine. The bastard. He’s dead, the next time
I see him….
And then my blood turned to ice water. Mikhail was
right there in Vasiliy’s house, with Irina.
It got worse. Mikhail was the guy Vasiliy wanted Irina to
marry. Sure, Irina had said she’d never let it happen,
but then she hadn’t been expecting to be sent back to
Moscow, either.
Fear like I’d never known twisted together with white-
hot anger. I have to get her out of there! My head
started to fill with crazy fantasies of eloping with her,
just blasting out of there in my car and never looking
back, of leaving it all behind....
I shook my head, walked over to my closet and took out
a fresh, crisp shirt. That was batshit crazy. I couldn’t run
off with Irina. My empire was burning. I had to stay
here and—
I stared down at the shirt as the idea broke over me like
cool, fresh water. What if I didn’t?
What if getting out was the right thing to do?
It would solve all my problems. Irina and I could be
together, in some country where Vasiliy couldn’t touch
us. Irina would be safe from Mikhail. And I’d take
Vasiliy’s anger with me. Sure, he’d still be mad as hell
with me, but that rage wouldn’t be directed towards
Cosa Nostra and the people we protected anymore.
Whoever took over from me could negotiate peace—
Vasiliy had already shown he was willing to deal, just
not with me, anymore. It could all work out.
All I had to do was give up everything I’d ever worked
for.
I fingered the shirt, then stared at the neat rows of
identical shirts and suits hanging in my closet. It was
unthinkable. Completely fucking unthinkable. My dad’s
legacy: gone. All my men. Rico. I’d never see them
again. I’d never be able to come back to Little Italy—
hell, I’d never be able to come back to America.
But I’d get to be with her.
I slowly replaced the shirt in the closet. Then I dug
around and found the clothes I wore on the rare days I
wasn’t working: t-shirt and jeans, a sweater and a
leather jacket. Then I took the framed Yankees jersey
down off the wall to reveal the wall safe, opened it up
and swept all the cash into a sports bag. I grabbed my
passport and tucked my gun into the back of my jeans,
looked around the place for maybe the last time….
And then I called Irina.
35
Irina
Four minutes to noon.
When Angelo had called on the burner phone, I’d had to
sit down fast on my bed to avoid collapsing in relief. I’d
barely slept the night before, staying up all night
watching rolling news coverage of the fires in Little Italy
and the fighting in the streets. I was so relieved to hear
his voice, I wanted to weep. And when he told me his
plan: to flee the country and start fresh somewhere
else, I actually did start to cry. He was giving up his
whole life for me.
The plan was simple: I’d go to my house on the
pretense of collecting some clothes. It would be easier
for me to sneak out of there than to escape Vasiliy’s
house. Angelo would be waiting in a cab on the next
street over at exactly noon. I’d run to him, we’d drive
straight to the airport and we’d have disappeared before
anyone could stop us.
Yuri had been assigned to drive me to my house and
Mikhail had insisted on coming along too. He didn’t dare
touch me or degrade me in front of Yuri, but I’d had to
suffer his thigh pressed against mine for the whole
journey. And what Angelo had told me made it worse.
I’d had to sit there knowing the evil that lay inside him,
that the man touching me was the sort of monster
who’d rape a woman and beat her half to death.
Thinking of Angelo was the only thing that kept me from
screaming. Just a little longer, I’d promised myself, and
then we can be together.
It had worked. Yuri and Mikhail were now downstairs
and I was in my bedroom. My bag was packed, my
passport was in my hand. I was ready.
So why was I still sitting there, at three minutes to
noon? I had to go, now, to meet Angelo.
This is everything you ever wanted, I told myself.
Angelo was going to give up being a gangster. I would
finally be free of my family. We could live out our lives
somewhere where the sun could warm my skin. It could