come in to take me off into the woods and it would all
be over.
But Rico didn’t leave. He walked around to stand beside
me.
Aw, shit. Shit, no.
“Did you know about him and Irina?” Nicky asked.
I willed Rico to be smart. No use both of us dying over
this. Thankfully, he was. “No,” he said.
“You got a problem taking over?” asked Nicky. “Make no
mistake, you’re inheriting a war and a fucking nasty
one. We’ll want you to eliminate every one of those
Russian bastards. No mercy. No matter how many of
ours it takes. Got it?”
Rico slowly nodded. “Got it.”
“Good,” said Nicky. He pushed himself off from the
table and waved his hand at me. “Get rid of this piece of
shit.” He led the other Saints out of the room and closed
the door behind him. Rico and I were left there in
silence, the only noise the crackling of the fire.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d been ready to give it all up...but
for Irina. Not like this. Not to be chewed up and spat
out by The Saints and replaced by my best friend.
“I had to,” muttered Rico, as if he was trying to
convince himself. He leaned against the fireplace, its
light silhouetting his big body, and gripped the
mantelpiece so hard I thought it would snap. “If I’d
have said no, they’d have got someone else to do it.”
I shook my head. “Don’t do this. They’re using you,
Rico. You heard them, they’ll carry on this war until
we’re all wiped out. They don’t give a shit about us.” I
held out my hands. “You want my job? You got it. I
don’t care anymore. But you gotta make peace with
Vasiliy.”
“Peace?” Rico spun to glare at me. “Listen to yourself.
Ever since I’ve known you, all you ever talked about
was power: holding onto power, getting more power.
The Saints are right, she’s fucking corrupted you!”
“No! She’s got me thinking straight! We gotta stop this!
You and me!”
Rico suddenly hauled me out of my chair and pushed
me away, sending me staggering across the room.
“Since when did some woman tell you what to do?” He
slammed his hands into my chest, sending me
staggering again. I could feel the heat of the fire behind
me. “Think, Angelo! Snap out of this, because I can’t
protect you anymore!”
I took a deep breath and went to straighten my lapels,
trying to hold in my rage. But my suit jacket wasn’t
there, just my leather jacket and t-shirt, mocking me for
dreaming of a different path. “Irina—”
“Fuck Irina!” Rico yelled. And he gave me another
shove. My foot clattered awkwardly on the hearth and
then my heels kicked against the logs in the fire, raising
a cloud of sparks. Burning pain shot up my ankle as the
flames licked at me. I staggered sideways, slapping at
my singed jeans, just as Rico’s fist caught me under the
chin.
I spun and crashed down onto the table, sending
pictures of Irina and me spilling onto the floor. Then
Rico was hauling me up by the throat and slamming me
against the wall with the fireplace again. The back of my
head mashed against the big mirror that hung above the
hearth. The backs of my legs prickled with heat from
the roaring fire.
Rico stepped back, drew his gun and pointed it at my
head. “Ever since you met her,” he muttered. “Ever
since the day you met her, you’ve been—” He was
talking almost to himself, trying to justify what he was
about to do. He shook his head and cocked the gun. “I
never thought a woman would come between us,” he
said.
And I suddenly saw the jealousy in his eyes. Shit! How
could I have done this to him? “Rico—”
He pulled the trigger.
Pain exploded in my head. The whole room seemed to
shake as the gunshot reverberated. I waited for
everything to go dark. But Rico just stood there, anger
and hurt twisting his face, the smoke still rising from his
gun.
Blood was trickling down the back of my neck. I slowly
turned around and looked at the mirror. There was a
bullet hole a few inches to the left of where my head
had been, cracks fanning out around it. A few slivers of
mirror were missing—the ones that had erupted out and
slashed at my neck. I could see Rico staring at me in
the mirror, just as he must have been able to see
himself.
“Get out,” he said coldly. “Get out of the city. Get out of
the country. I’ll tell The Saints I killed you, but I can’t
ever see you again.”
There was nothing more I could say. I turned and
walked out of the door without looking back.
41
Irina
I drove slowly—putting off the inevitable, I guess. So
the news about Yuri reached Vasiliy before we did.
When we arrived, he was already pacing the hallways,
his anger obvious in the heavy slam of his feet against
the tiles. We walked through the door and heard him
rushing to the top of the stairs to see who it was. I
braced myself for the shouting to begin—
But for a second, he just looked relieved. “Irina!”
I’d been looking at the floor, too afraid to meet his
eyes. I looked up and the expression on his face made
my heart ache. He’d been so worried about me, he’d
forgotten his anger for a moment. He still loves me….
Then he seemed to catch himself and he started down
the stairs, his expression growing darker and darker.
“What the fuck is going on? The three of you go to
Irina’s house to get clothes, you don’t come back for
hours and then the hospital calls to say Yuri’s close to
death!”
I braced myself again. This was where Mikhail would tell
Vasiliy what happened.
“We were at Irina’s house,” said Mikhail calmly. “Yuri
got a phone call—I don’t know who from. He drove off
in a cab. When he didn’t come back, we took his car
and came back here. What happened to him?”
I stared at him, slack-jawed. I hadn’t realized what a
good liar he could be.
Vasiliy’s face twisted in rage. “Some bastard stabbed
him, right in the heart. Probably one of the Italians.
When I find out who, I’ll personally gut the bastard.”
Mikhail shook his head. “Why would they kill Yuri?” he
asked. “More likely, it was someone Yuri’s had dealings
with in the past. He had plenty of enemies.”
“Has!” corrected Vasiliy. He closed his eyes. “They’re
operating on him. But the damage to his heart was
severe. He may not survive.” His fists were tight, white-
knuckled balls of rage. “I’ll kill the man who did this,” he
whispered. “I’ll make it fucking slow.”
Mikhail nodded and put a hand on Vasiliy’s shoulder. It
made me sick: he’d use even this moment of horror to
wheedle his way into Vasiliy’s affections. “I’ll help you
track him down,” he said. Then, while Vasiliy’s eyes
were still closed, he turned and looked at me.
I frowned back at him. Why are you doing this? Mikhail
hated Angelo. Why would he cover for him? But his
expression was unreadable.
Vasiliy sighed and opened his eyes. He suddenly looked
very tired: of all the death and suffering I’d seen him
face in his career, Yuri’s stabbing was hitting him
hardest of all. Only the death of his wife had broken him
like this. And me betraying him, I reminded myself
viciously. Yuri had been the one rock he’d had left to
cling to. No wonder he was lost...and furious. “It is too