Chapter Five

Elena

Bastards. Slugging down my water, I struggle to regulate my heart rate to normal rhythm. It’s the only thing I can hear whooshing around inside my head. How dare he speak on my famiglia! I had no choice but to shoot him. If I wasn’t so hot under the collar and my aim was straight, I would have made sure the bullet went directly through his arm, not just grazed it.

I can’t see straight as the blur of Monaco whirs past. Matteo navigates the narrow, cobbled streets of Monte Carlo with relative ease, the water I’ve swallowed, only making me more annoyed as it churns like a washing machine in my stomach. I’m pissed. We pass the Monte Carlo casino, grooving in around the classically designed building that functions as the playground of entertainment for the rich and famous.

“What the hell were the Orlovs doing there, Matt? They always have to ruin things for me,” I curse, fire coursing through my veins.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Donna. I didn’t expect to see them either.” Matteo’s cool attitude to my fury is also irritating. He’s known for being cool, calm, and collected, but right now I wish he was irate as I am.

I study his profile, his salt-and-pepper tapered sideburns in view. Matteo is the quintessential version of an Italian male if I ever saw one. He presses the gas as we hit a patch of open road. “Matt, I want every single one of their heads on a platter. I had those investors right where I wanted them. I wanted to sign off on the boat nightclub venture with Premiere Yachts, and to secure a New York nightclub deal. I already had the contract drawn up.” I slap my hands on my thighs. It’s a huge setback and being questioned by the Monaco police was not high on my list of priorities for the last two hours.

Matteo smirks, casting me a sidelong glance. “Your temper is infamous, and righteous, Donna. I understand, but don’t let Orlovs deter you. This situation is a minor setback at best.”

“Urgh! I’m so frustrated, Matt. That fat Orlov bastard just had to ruin everything for me!” I reply, livid and wanting to smash something.

Matteo’s been the voice of reason to the famiglia for as long as I can remember. He’s been around since I was little, and I can’t imagine it any other way. I might be angered by his cool demeanor at present, but I’m also grateful for it. One of us has to keep a level head.

The good news is we’re drawing closer to Monte Carlo’s number one Michelin-star restaurant—Le Grande. As Matteo drives up to the curb, I reach in my purse retrieving my lipstick and smearing the bloodred stain over my lips. If I’m going into battle, then I want to make sure I’m primed to disarm. Reaching inside my glove compartment, I grimace, restocking the bullets in my pistol, Matteo’s eyebrow rising as he chuckles in my direction.

“Donna, you are funny.”

“What? If I see an Orlov, I won’t be so gracious. I will shoot to kill.”

Matteo shakes his head as we sit stationary. “You know, I’ve always wanted the best for the Cosa Nostra, and you’re the best. Everything is going to work out fine. I can assure you.”

I shift in my seat, smoothing my hand through my ponytail. “Can you?”

A persuasive smile curves on Matteo’s mouth. “Yes, with you at the helm, the Mancinis are in good hands.”

“Thanks.”

“See you after the meeting, Donna. Any trouble… call.”

“There won’t be.” My stiletto hits the ground as I open the door heading into the restaurant on high alert. Many eyes are on me, and it’s probably not the best idea to enter the restaurant without protection, but I don’t want my potential business partner getting any more negative ideas about the Mancini family than they already have.

The host escorts me to a secluded, roped-off section of the restaurant as we stroll past the back-lit bar, which emits neon blue lights. Each table I pass is filled, and the entire restaurant reeks of money. Sucking in a deep breath, I’m glad enough for the reset.

As the host drops me off at the table, I stop dead in my tracks, my heart thundering in my chest. Nikk Orlov is suited up with a devious smirk covering his face. Saro is sitting beside him, his face neutral.

How could he let him sit down and join us after what just happened on the boat? Or maybe Nikk threatened him…. I can’t read his face, so I don’t know, but it’s clear the two of them already have a relationship. So many thoughts are racing through my brain it’s hard to rein them in.

“Good evening, Elena. Have a seat, I have something to say,” Nikk beckons, pointing to the gold-accented chair.

Every cell in my body tells me to walk back out and call Matteo, so I stand stuck for a moment, staring Saro down. “You’re doing?” I ask him curtly, my blood boiling.

Saro clasps his fingers together, examining us both as he rolls his shoulders back, tensions running high. “It’s better we all get along, is it not, Elena?”

“You don’t know what—”

Nikk interrupts, waggling his finger. “Hear me out. I’m the one who set up the meeting. Cut Saro a break. I knew you wouldn’t come if I did it any other way,” he relays smoothly, his voice dotting tingles down my spine.

“How about you two settle the score of your affairs, and I’ll be at the bar.” Saro rises, buttoning himself up and excusing himself before I say anything.

Dammit. Duped again by an Orlov, but I have to admit my curiosity and my blood pressure are elevated. Nikk grins, my eyes boring into his. He stands next, causing me to flinch, and immediately I reach to open my purse. He holds out his hands, symbolic of a white flag.

“No, no. I promise this is a peaceful meeting. At least I intend it to be. Please. Sit.” He gestures to the chair as I sit down, regarding him with frigid caution.

“Okay. I’m seated. What do you want?” I feel like a pawn in a chess game, but this bitch doesn’t know I’m the queen.

Nikk’s jaw twitches, danger radiating from his aura. “Let’s start with a clean slate. I first want to apologize for Yegor. His comments were a little insensitive.”

I let the undercurrent of my internal volcano simmer, thinking of Matteo and all the carnage that’s already occurred. “Insensitive is an understatement,” I cut back at him, the waiter taking our drink order while Saro looks over to our table. Traitor, but it’s nothing in business and to be expected.

Nikk’s silent for a beat, his hooded eyes boring into mine. I break the gaze first, sipping my water. “Yes, but let’s move forward, you’ve done damage to him too.”

“Good.”

Nikk grins. “Hmm,” he hums, my body responding in a way I’m not familiar with. I ignore it. “What were you doing on the yacht?”

“What were the Orlovs doing on the yacht?”

“Okay, I’ll go first. We are looking to break into the alcohol industry.”

I nod. “Interesting.”

“Yes. We could use your help with the lemon trade side of things. Vodka.”

“Ah, I see.”

“I’ve shown you mine, now it’s time for you to show me yours, Donna.” His emphasis on calling me Donna isn’t lost on me.

Oh, is this the game we’re playing?

Sighing, I answer reluctantly. “I’m wanting to establish the Mancini footing in the nightclub trade. New York is a location we’re looking at, and a few other international cities. Including possibly here.” If he’s going to put his cards on the table, at least I can do the same.

Nikk’s mouth cracks into a smile. “See, we’re getting somewhere now. How about we do a deal where we go in fifty-fifty? I help you buy into the New York nightclub scene. It is our turf. You’re going to need our help, and you won’t be able to do it without us. You know that. Even if you do a deal with my friend, Saro here. You’re going to have to come through me,” he rasps, the snake in Nikk coming out.

Fuck. I’m trapped. But so is he….

“Alright, and let’s just say I agree with this trade-off, what else does it entail to secure it? How are we going to guarantee a peace treaty and no double crossing?”

Nikk scratches his chin, moving the saltshaker around on the table as our entrée, which I didn’t order, arrives. “Marriage,” he blurts out.

Sucker punched and alarmed at his proposal, a small shoot of water spurts from my mouth. “Huh? Marriage?”

He nods again, not missing a beat as he slices into his swordfish. “Yes. Marriage. Our families have fought and fought for decades. We have both lost men, resources, and important deals on both sides. It’s about time we put an end to it. We can help one another, and it would only be for a year.”

A year of marriage to a traitorous Orlov. A flutter of excitement flourishes in my stomach as I consider the idea. “Only one year?”

“Yes. Enough time for us to establish the peace treaty and warm up to one another. Thereafter we can divorce and go our separate ways, keeping the peace treaty.”

I slice through my fish, enjoying the buttery sauce it’s swimming in. It’s a smart idea, and if I do want to take back New York City slowly but surely, going through Nikk is the best way.

Placing my fork down gently, I offer him my hand. “Deal.”

“Deal.” We eat in silence for a moment as I stare across at the face of a stone-cold killer and Russian thug. Can I pretend to love this man for a year?

This is going to be one hell of a personal challenge.