Vasiliy couldn’t be in New York full time, I’d help him
with the day-to-day running of it in his absence. With an
Italian and a Russian in control, we’d be sending a
strong message to the communities that there’d be no
more violence. It amounted to a near-doubling of my
territory and I’d receive a hefty cut. In return, I’d
provide Vasiliy’s arms traffic clear passage. It was a
great deal.
But that didn’t mean everyone would be happy with it.
* * *
Nicky sprang to his feet in shock as soon as I walked
through the door. He’d been expecting Rico, since he’d
been the one who’d asked for the meet. “You?” He
glared at Rico. “I told you to finish this son of a bitch!”
“Yeah,” said Rico calmly. “You did.” And he stepped
back out of the way.
Nicky was so mad, little drops of spit flew from his lips
as he screamed at me. “You’d better be here to get
down on your knees and pray you fucker, because
you’re—”
I punched him as hard as I could in the face. He spun
fully around, tripped over his chair and crashed to the
floor. The other Saints gaped. Some of them
cursed...but quietly.
“Have you got any idea what you’ve just done?” asked
Taavetti.
“Yeah,” I said, straightening my tie. “What I should
have done years ago.”
And I laid it out for them: how I was back in power,
with Rico’s agreement. How I now controlled more
territory than any other single boss in New York. How I
wasn’t going to take their shit anymore. Italians and
Russians were going to live side by side in peace, and if
the Saints didn’t like it, we were going to have a
problem.
Vasiliy had taught me something: you don’t rule a
kingdom by trying to keep everything the same; you
rule it by nursing it on its journey to be something
better.
Nicky climbed to his feet, bleeding from his lip. “You
cocksucker!” he snarled. “I’ll finish you myself for this!”
Vincenzo cut in. “We’ll vote on it,” he told me. “Give us
the room, please, Angelo.”
Three minutes later, when Rico and I went back in,
Nicky was gone. Taavetti looked miserable, but the
other Saints crowded around to congratulate me. Rico
slapped me on the back and we embraced.
“You sure about this?” I muttered as we walked back to
the car. “Do I need to watch my back, now you’ve had a
taste of the big chair?”
“Fuck the big chair,” said Rico. He rubbed his chest,
wincing a little. He had two big scars, just like the nurse
had promised, and he’d be dosed up on painkillers for a
while, but he’d be okay. “Sitting around giving orders
drove me nuts in one morning. I’m happy when I’m
doing something. Just promise me you’re never going to
go crazy like this again.”
I thought about it. “Don’t need to,” I said. “Got my
woman, now. Keeping her.”
We reached the Chrysler, a brand new replacement for
the one we’d totaled, still with that showroom smell.
We’d got the exact same modeclass="underline" you don’t mess with a
classic. I patted the roof affectionately and then climbed
in. “The next thing we gotta worry about is you going
nuts because you meet someone.”
Rico gave me a look. “Get a grip. Me?”
* * *
I hadn’t planned to be there. It felt like it should be a
family thing, but Irina wanted to go to the hospital as
soon as we heard and there was no way I was leaving
her side. Of course, when we got there, Luka and Vasiliy
were standing over the bed. They didn’t smile when
they saw me, but they didn’t scowl at me either and
that practically felt like a hug.
“The nurse said he woke,” said Vasiliy. “But he’s been
sleeping since we got here.”
I moved closer and leaned over Yuri. His chest was
much more extensively bandaged than even Rico’s had
been and his epic surgery had apparently been a real
marathon. But he’d made it through. Now we just had
to wait until—
A hand shot out and grabbed me around the throat.
Yuri’s eyes were still closed but none of his strength had
gone. It felt as though I was being throttled by a
fucking bear. With his other hand, Yuri groped on his
nightstand for a weapon. Thankfully, his hand only
found a water glass. Whew.
He struck the water glass on the edge of the nightstand,
leaving it with a curved, razor-sharp edge, and shoved it
towards my jugular. Shit! I grabbed his wrists and tried
to pry myself free. Luka and Vasiliy helped and we
finally got him under control. His eyes opened, bleary
and scrunched half shut against the bright overhead
lights, but locked on me.
Vasiliy pushed me out of the way, then leaned down
and embraced his friend. “It is good to have you back,”
he said, his voice thick with emotion. He glanced at me.
“There is much to talk about.”
IRINA
ONE MONTH LATER
The sand fascinated me. Above the surf it was white
and soft, roasting your toes as it dusted them with fine
power. At the waterline it scrunched and sunk as you
walked, every footstep leaving a perfect impression.
Then, where it mixed equally with the warm water, it
became a sucking, swirling wonder, like mud but clean.
I lifted my face to the sun and felt the heat seep into
me. First it lit up my skin, making it glow and tingle.
Then it soaked through my flesh, relaxing every muscle
and sending waves of sweet pleasure down my body to
pool in my groin. Finally, it heated my bones, even the
deepest, darkest places that had been hard-packed ice
for years. I was warm.
“You act like you’ve never been on a beach before,” said
Angelo from behind me.
I turned. He looked gorgeous: stripped to the waist, his
tattoo gleaming blackly, a pair of shorts hanging low
enough on his hips that I could see the hard line of his
Adonis belt disappearing beneath them.
“I haven’t,” I said, grinning. Holidays had always been
taken somewhere Vasiliy or my dad had business, and
that never involved beaches. Or sun. I spun slowly
around. Or palm trees, or little beach huts with thatched
roofs, or half-naked Italian-American boyfriends.
Back home, things had settled into enough of a routine
that we’d felt okay coming on vacation. I’d had an
emotional reunion with Rachel and spilled everything
about my family, slightly shocked to learn how much
she’d figured out on her own. We’d done a lot of
hugging and sworn not to keep stuff from each other in
future. We were still sharing the house, but I was
thinking about moving into Angelo’s apartment next
semester.
Things between Vasiliy and Angelo were thawing fast.
Vasiliy had taken to speaking fondly of “his New York
connection,” or “my Italian friend,” when he wasn’t
around, even if he was still gruff to his face. He’d even
tried to teach Angelo chess, and Angelo—to his credit—
was trying to learn. Luka, too, was beginning to
cautiously talk to him. I’d caught the two of them out on
the patio a few times, whiskeys in hand, with Luka
muttering questions about Arianna and Angelo trying to
help him understand American women.
And me? I’d finally found my place. I’d come full circle,
from trying to escape the gangster lifestyle to embracing
it...but on my terms. I’d taken on the role my mom had
played for my dad and that Vasiliy’s late wife had played