Chapter Three

Elena

It’s the perfect sultry night for a luxury yacht party on the French Riveria, and the perfect setting for doing business with Saro and Trent. Seeing Nikkita Orlov here, however, is leaving a bitter aftertaste to the champagne in my mouth. The man raises goose bumps on my arms. What the fuck is up to anyway?

Shaken, but not stirred, I return to my conversation with the two men in front of me. Besides, Matteo is standing right next to me, so I’ve got back up. The traitorous Orlovs are not a priority right now. Rebuilding and linking with the right business partners is what I’m focused on. It’s going to be crucial to rebuilding the Mancini brand, and this meeting is a step in the right direction.

Sipping my champagne, I regard Saro with interest, doing my best to take the bullseye target off my back from Nikk, but Matteo’s not helping by bringing it up.

“Did you see?” he hisses in my ear.

Clearing my throat, I smile at Saro who, thankfully, is soaking in the party vibes of the boat.

“Yes,” I say to him out of the side of my mouth. “I can see who’s here. Don’t worry about those shady fuckers. I’m not going to be put off by them.”

“I agree, Donna. It’s okay,” Matteo replies coolly as I tune the Orlovs out, contemplating how Saro may be able to help the Mancinis get back on track. Saro is an established businessman from Cairo and has a knack for sinking his money into the right investments.

“So, Saro, I hear congratulations are in order because your last investment is proving to be quite profitable. Well done on the Capital Myers project,” I praise cordially, wanting to feed his ego just enough, but not to show too much enthusiasm so I’m taken seriously. Saro smiles broadly, raising his glass of Scotch, clinking it to mine. “I would say an extra thirty million dollars over the term of three years was a good enough project for me to sink my teeth in. And this is a good thing because I have more money to play with. That being said I’m keen to hear your thoughts on a location.”

Trent, the other potential business partner, is more well versed in the commercial real estate game and seems keen to steer me in his direction. At this point, I’m not easily swayed by either one of the men. I know the game, and I can tell from the lust in their eyes they don’t think I’m particularly worthy of being the Donna either.

“I guess that’s what we’re doing here.” I point to the sky, and the size of the boat. The luxury yacht charter could be an innovative nightclub idea. “Monaco is the home of multimillionaires and billionaires. In terms of exclusivity, it doesn’t get any more exclusive than this.”

Trent chuckles, dropping a hand in his pocket and eyeing my cleavage. Typical. “Yeah, you’re right about that. Monaco’s entry to the country is one million dollars. It’s a nice start, but I tell you what, New York or LA are where it’s at. You should come out and see what we’ve got to offer.”

Now it’s Saro’s turn to impress as he turns on the charm. “Oh no, I disagree wholeheartedly; Dubai is the new playground for the rich and famous. If it’s good enough for Beyoncé, then it’s good enough for an exclusive luxury nightclub. We can put you up in one of the best of the best resorts in Dubai.”

Trent nods, weakly attempting to counter Saro. “Oh, Dubai, is it? I thought Abu Dhabi is the new Dubai?”

I observe in mild amusement as the two men jostle to impress me. God, they are so easy. Both of them only want to bed me, and they’ll pull out all the stops to do so. I signal the waiter to take my glass, opting for a second, but I don’t plan on getting drunk. I just want enough of a buzz to get through the meeting and hear their stupid plans.

The truth is the hospitality and extended offers will expire once I reject them both, and I surely will. The heat I felt on my back has gone, and for whatever reason it makes me turn back to the yacht couches.

The Bratva men aren’t there anymore. Shit . Sighting Nikkita Orlov made me want to grit my teeth. I hate them all with a passion. New York was Mancini territory for decades and we ruled the Big Apple with an iron fist. We had our hands in illegal card gambling, casino rackets, drug trafficking, and smuggling contraband through Port Authority, but all that stopped when the Orlovs entered the picture and stole all our glory, with their arms dealership networks, bringing bloodshed and unrest. I mean it’s not as if we didn’t fight back. Mancinis are always going to do that, but we were the ones who lost the most. They literally kicked us out of our own city.

Silently seething over seeing him, the faint hint of tobacco, vodka, and leather pervades my nostrils. Red-hot body radiation doesn’t help matters either. My head swivels, my ponytail swishing onto the chest of Nikk, and his known associate Yegor.

“Hi, Saro, nice to see you again. I didn’t want to be a snob and not come over to say hello. How are you, old friend?” Nikk remarks smoothly, flashing me a dirty smile, his cold eyes boring into me.

“Saro, do you know Nikkita? It’s such a shame,” I quip, grinding down on my teeth, throwing the same dagger back at Nikk.

“Why is it a shame?” Saro asks, but he must know the Orlovs and the Mancinis mix like oil and water.

“You’re a man of such high class and dignity, I just find it a little unnerving that you would have a friendship with a man whose principles are built on the exact opposite.”

“Oh well—” Saro interjects as Trent chats with Yegor. My blood is thickening and coursing with red-hot fire. Who does this bitch think he is interrupting my meeting? Crossing my arms, I arch and eyebrow at him.

“What she means is she isn’t well equipped to deal with competition, are you Donna?” he spits out, barely able to hold his laugh in.

“You’re on thin ice,” I warn, touching my fingers to the outline of my gun inside my purse.

“Russians are very good on the ice. We have excellent ice hockey players in the game. Especially in New York,” Nikk banters, his teeth showing, but it’s not in a friendly way. It’s the baring of his teeth. Quickly, I note the skulls on his forearm, and I know there are many more he’s buried. I understand all too well what the Bratva tattoos stand to illustrate.

“Russian ice hockey players are everywhere. Same as Canadian hockey players, what are you getting at?” I ask dryly as Nikk chuckles and Saro enjoys what to him probably seems like banter, but every time a sentence comes out of Nikk’s mouth I must resist the urge to shove the muzzle of the gun down it.

“Oh, I’m merely talking about Russian’s being prevalent in New York. We’re doing well there,” he taunts as I catch his drift.

“Ah, Elena. My condolences to you about your father. Such an unfortunate passing,” he says smoothly, my eyes beginning to smart. “I heard you were close to your Uncle Nicolo too. Tsk tsk.” Yegor’s tight mouth evens out into a thin smile, his diabolical intent evident.

“Shut up. Shut up. Don’t talk about my uncle!” I yell as Saro’s mouth drapes open and Nikk grins, claiming his minor victory. Pressing my eyes shut, I will him to stop talking as I drop my purse down from my shoulder, my arm shaking.

“No, Elena, it’s good to talk about these things. You shouldn’t bottle them up,” he coaxes, his obsidian pupils cutting into mine.

“I didn’t mean to upset you honey,” he relays in a condescending tone. “I mean, it was awful what happened to him. I hated seeing him killed like that right in front of my eyes. Boom!” Yegor demonstrates a gun symbol with his hand, his low rumble of laughter, invoking a twitch to tug at the corner of my eye. “You must have been devastated when you heard the news,” Yegor continues, my chest heaving as if a knife has just been plunged into it.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” I grit out, Nikk and Yegor now with mirthful smirks on their smug faces.

“Umm, I think we should probably shelf this conversation for another time. I think it’s clear that Elena’s uncomfortable,” Trent adds politely, but it’s too late. My infamous Mancini temper is flaring into overload.

A volcano of anger erupts inside me, boiling over like hot lava, until I can’t stand it. If I don’t shoot my gun, I’m going to explode from the inside out. “You maiale grasso! I will snap your neck like a chicken bone!” Heat blooms on my cheeks as I scramble for my gun in my purse, point it at Yegor, and quickly pull the trigger.

A single gunshot fires through the air, the parabellum bullet grazing Yegor’s arm as he grabs it, wincing in pain. Serves him right. “You are a fucking psycho bitch! You shot me,” he wails as pandemonium rings out on the boat, people scattering in multiple directions. I square up to unleash my second round of bullets, raising my gun to eye level as both my potential business partners flee, leaving only Matteo and I to battle with the Orlovs.

I can’t see anything else but a dead Orlov, and I’m out for blood. “You asshole!” I rasp. “How dare you talk about my uncle.” Breathily heavily, I aim, not thinking straight, and Yegor raises his gun to eye level, pointing it at me shakily. The undeniable click of a safety being released sounds at the base of my skull from Nikk as my arms are wrenched behind my head, my gun skittering to the deck of the boat. Matteo has his gun trained at Nikk’s head.

“Looks like we’re all a little fucked now, Donna,” Nikk points out, his vodka breath on my neck making my skin crawl.

My head’s whooshing, a fresh burst of adrenaline rushing through it as I hold my breath, not knowing Nikk’s next move. “I dare you to shoot me, Nikk,” I state bravely, squirming as his anaconda-like grip holds me in place.

“Put the fucking gun down, Nikk,” Matteo commands, “before I shoot you right between the eyes.” The red and blue lights of the Monaco police flash in my peripheral, quickly followed by the harshness of wailing sirens from the street. Police boats approach a short distance away, and in a few minutes the boat is going to be swarming with cops.

Yegor groans in pain, blood trickling down the length of his arm as he folds just like the bitch he is, dropping his gun. Nikk has no choice. Even if he wants to take me out, now isn’t the time. I doubt he has Monaco police connections.

“Grr! Fuck it. Yegor! Let’s go.” I feel the heat from the back of my neck dissipate as Nikk drops my arms, scampering off.

Expanding my lungs, I let myself catch what’s left of my breath. “Shit. That was a close call.” More so out loud than to Matteo, who slowly drops his gun.

“Are you okay, Bella?”

Doubling over I cough, trying to regain my breath. “Yep. I’m fine. I’m fine.”