9. Blake

CHAPTER 9

Blake

T urns out I am helping Kozlov tonight. After I drop Ginevra off at her parents’ house, I go home and read through the information Kozlov sent me about his club problem. It doesn’t take me long to find the killer’s pattern. He always strikes at the end of the late night shift change. While Riot’s legitimate business closes down in the early morning hours, the underground gambling doesn’t finish until well after dawn. Those are the waitresses he’s targeting.

I hack into Riot’s security cameras, as well as those from surrounding businesses. Then I wait. When a heavy-set man enters the dead end alley and never reappears, my gut tells me it’s the rapist we’re seeking. He’s lying in wait for his next victim.

I make the drive to Riot in record time, while texting Roman De Luca to meet me there.

Slamming my door shut, I sprint along the alley, toward the sound of a woman’s screams, with Roman at my side. I hope we’re not too fucking late. His victim must have clocked out early tonight. To her own peril.

Our soles pound against the grimy asphalt as we round the corner to the alley behind the club. The only light comes from a flickering bulb in a fixture on the building, leaving most of the corridor in deep shadow. Grunts and muffled cries draw us to the far corner.

Roman and I pull the bulky man off the woman with enough force to send him stumbling backward. He lands on his ass. Before he can get to his feet, I’m on him, shoving him to his knees.

“Get out of here,” Roman barks at the terrified waitress, who darts away, seeking refuge in Riot through a side door. As soon as she’s gone, he turns toward me. “What have we got here?”

I grip the guy by the hair and pull his head back, then punch him in the face. His nose makes a satisfying crunch as inky blood streams down his chin and drips to his chest.

“You broke my nose!” His garbled wail is swallowed by the night.

“That’s the least of your worries,” I tell him, sliding my knife from its sheath.

“Blake, don’t you think we should?—”

Tugging on his hair, I angle his head back and draw the blade slowly across his exposed throat. In the dim light, his eyes widen with shock and horror—a look I’m quite familiar with by now. Bubbles form in his blood where the oxygen escapes his lungs. In seconds, a wash of crimson soaks his front and his gaze dims.

I watch, feeling only satisfaction that there’s one less fucker like him in this world.

Once his heart stops pumping, I let him go. He falls forward, sprawled on the gritty pavement in a pool of his own blood.

Roman clears his throat. “Don’t you think Kozlov might have wanted to question him?”

I shrug. “Kozlov called me in to deal with the situation.” I glance down at the dead man. “I’ve dealt with it.”

Roman sighs, shaking his head.

I send a quick text on my phone to my clean up contact. He should be here soon.

Glancing up, I mutter, “Speak of the devil.”

Dimitri Kozlov rounds the corner of the building. His steps falter when he spots the mess I’ve made. “ Christ! Baron, I wanted the guy alive.”

“You omitted that detail. If you’re not happy with this outcome, that’s on you.”

“I thought it’d be obvious,” he grumbles, slowly approaching us.

“Only idiots think things should be obvious. If you don’t specify, then you get what you get.” Bending down, I search the man until I find his wallet, then toss it to a glowering Kozlov. “Do you know him?”

He checks out the guy’s ID. “Yeah. He’s one of my poker dealers. But he’s not Bratva, so he’s not one of my men, just a club employee.” His shoulders visibly sag with relief. Kozlov’s dealt with enough upheaval in his Bratva over the past year, he doesn’t need any more drama within the brotherhood. The city’s finally settled after all of that—which is the way I like it. Quiet and somewhat predictable. Manageable.

An old Cadillac kills its lights and backs down the alley as we watch.

I shoot a smirk at Kozlov. “Don’t worry, I always clean up after myself.”

Dante, my cleaner, steps out of the car and eyes the company I’m with, taking us in with a sweeping glance. He’s dressed in a dark suit, the greying hair at his temples—the only indication he’s older than me—gives him a distinguished quality. A scar slashes across his cheek to his chin.

“Baron,” he dips his head in my direction, “you called.”

“I have a cleanup job for you. As you can see,” I drawl, motioning toward the spreading puddle of blood.

Dante grunts. “For the hundredth time, I’m a hitman, not a cleaner.”

“Meaning?” I lift a brow.

Roman snorts. Kozlov crosses his arms and watches our exchange with interest.

“Meaning, I eliminate people, I don’t clean up other people’s dead bodies.”

I consider his explanation for a moment. “Yet, you always come when I text and you have no issue taking my money.”

“Then I guess it’s my own damn fault you keep calling me.” With another grunt, he pops the trunk and grabs a sheet of plastic.

“And you say you’re not a cleaner.” I scoff, taking note of the cleaning supplies in his car.

“Well, I do clean up my own messes. Don’t trust anyone else to do a decent job.”

I bark a laugh. “Therein lies my confusion. See? You are a cleaner.”

“Whatever you say,” he grumbles, getting to work. “But you need to stop calling me for these jobs, I don’t work for you, Baron.”

“I know. But as long as you keep taking my money, I’ll keep calling on you.” I motion to Roman that it’s time for us to leave. “I’ve always been satisfied with your level of service, Dante.”

As Roman and I head toward the mouth of the alley, Kozlov catches up to us. “Thanks for dealing with this, I appreciate it,” he says. “You know how to contact me when you need that favor.”

“Two favors,” I remind him. “One for tonight, and one for what I did for you in Russia.”

“You’re taking credit for that rescue? Arianna led that?—”

“I am. It was my jet that saved your ass.”

He scowls. “Fine. Two favors.” He glances at Roman. “Next time I have an issue, remind me to call someone who’ll just take my money. None of this favors bullshit. Who knows what he’s going to ask me to do.”

“Might I remind you that you called in a favor of your own just last year.” I lift a brow at him. “You weren’t complaining then.”

“That was different,” he grumbles.

“Hardly. You’re lucky everything turned out happily between you and your wife. Otherwise there would have been hell to pay. You know how Roman’s gone soft for his sisters-in-law since he married into the Pontrelli family. He’ll shred anyone who messes with them.”

“I know. Now that I’ve married into that family, I feel the same way.” Kozlov shoves his hands into his pockets. “Too bad Ginevra’s a walking disaster. It makes protecting her a nightmare.”

“Neither of you need to worry about her.” My tone’s harsher than I intended. A strange, ugly sensation twists in my gut. “Just worry about protecting your own wives.”

Roman halts and eyes me. “Why, exactly, shouldn’t we be bothered with Gin’s safety? Has something… occurred?”

When I blackmailed Ginevra into being my fake wife, I hadn’t taken my soon to be brothers-in-law into consideration. I mean, I thought about the potential consequences, but I didn’t really think about them. When I divorce her, they’re both going to come after me with flaming torches and sharp objects. Which means… she needs to be the one to leave me—except these two will still think I did something wrong, and it’s somehow my fault.

Damn it, this is a lose-lose situation. There goes one of my favors owed. I’m going to have to use it to make sure Kozlov doesn’t kill me for presumably breaking Ginevra’s heart. Roman’s my best friend, surely he’ll dish out a good beating, but stop short of putting a bullet in my head. Right?

Now’s as good a time as any to take this ruse to the next level, so I fully face Roman and Kozlov. “We’re dating.”

They exchange a confused glance.

“Who’s dating who?” Roman asks. “You lost me.”

I grit my teeth. “ I’m dating Ginevra Pontrelli.”

Kozlov sputters a laugh. “Nice joke! We’re not falling for it, so you can stop right there.”

“It’s not a fucking joke. Look.” I pull out my phone and show them the photo of Gin and me together at my party. I ended up swapping it out with the picture she took of us because it was much more flattering. She’s right, I suck at taking selfies. Selfies —what a stupid sounding word.

“Holy shit,” Kozlov murmurs. “When? How?”

Roman’s gaze latches onto mine. “I recall warning you to stay away from her,” he growls.

I roll my eyes. “That’s when she was eighteen. She’s twenty now, almost twenty-one. All grown up.”

“She’s still in over her head with a man like you, and you know it.” He glances at the photo again, his lips twist with disgust. “You damn well know she’s too young for you.”

I bristle. Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I point out, “Your wife is ten years younger than you.”

“That’s different. Sophia’s mature beyond her years. Ginevra is not, and you’re almost fifteen years older than her.”

I start walking again, done being lectured by my best friend. I know our fucking age gap, he doesn’t need to remind me about it. It’s not like I was planning on fake marrying a woman who’s barely an adult. That’s just how this situation has turned out. I probably shouldn’t be thinking about fucking her, and if she were a virgin then I wouldn’t even consider it, but she’s not.

Kozlov slips through a door, going back into his club, leaving me and Roman alone in the alley. We probably scared him off with our strained conversation. Either that, or he’s running straight to his wife to tell her the news. I’m not sure if Ginevra’s told her sisters about us yet. Everything’s happening so quickly.

“Are you listening to me?” Roman barks out.

I wave him off. “My love life is none of your concern.”

“It is when I promised Sophia I’d always protect her sisters. So you can confess right now, what’s your angle? What are you doing with Ginevra?”

My lips briefly quirk up at the corners. Roman knows me too well. Deceiving him is next to impossible, and will only make matters worse when my time with Gin comes to an end.

We stop at the mouth of the alley. It’s late, after one in the morning, and the club’s music spills from the entry around the corner where a line extends in the opposite direction in front of Riot . The place is busy for a Sunday night.

Leaning against the side of the building, I consider how best to tell Roman the truth. Every which way I spin the situation, it doesn’t sound good. So I just let it out.

“I’m blackmailing her into being my fake girlfriend and future fake wife.” I inwardly cringe at those words. Normally, I don’t feel an ounce of remorse, but confessing to Roman leaves a burning sensation in my chest. Heartburn, perhaps?

His fist comes out of nowhere. It solidly connects with my jaw and if I weren’t already leaning against a solid structure, I’d have stumbled. Pain sparks across my face and has me seeing stars. I blink them away, rubbing my chin.

Fuck that hurt .

Roman steps away, shaking out his hand. “I’m sure you have a splendid explanation, but right now I don’t want to hear it.”

Fucking hot-headed Italian. He might look calm, his voice even and steady, but I can tell he’s seething. He’s just waiting for a reason to punch me again.

Straightening up, I shoot him a pointed look. “It’s not like I kidnapped her from her fucking fiancé. From her own engagement party.” I motion toward the club, indicating Kozlov with the gesture. “Or drugged and dragged her to a church in the middle of the night.”

“No, you’re just blackmailing her into walking down the aisle,” Roman snarls. “If you were anyone else I’d cut off your fucking balls! As it is, I don’t want to speak with you again until you’ve pulled your head out of your ass and let the girl go free.”

“I can’t. I won’t. I need Ginevra to play her part.” I stand tall, but don’t make a move. I have no intention of fighting Roman.

“Let me guess… this has something to do with your step-mother.” Perceptive as always.

I nod.

“Even more of a reason not to get Gin involved. She’s too young and naive for the vipers nest that is your family.”

“This is happening, there’s nothing you can do about it.” I take one step toward him. “Yve has to believe that Gin and I are in love, that our marriage is legitimate.” I mutter a curse. “I never should have told you the damn truth. Especially if this is how you’re going to react.” Brushing my thumb over my bruised jaw, I scowl. “You can’t tell Sophia the truth.”

“Well, I’m not fucking lying to her.” He glances away and shakes his head. “I’m staying out of this. Don’t you dare come crawling to me when the shit hits the fan. And you know it fucking will.”

With those ominous words, he strides from the alley, leaving me alone with my aching jaw, and a deep sense of foreboding.

Fuck him. I’m in control of this situation. I’ve thought of every angle, and have backup plans if anything goes awry. Everything will turn out exactly as planned. It has to. I won’t rest until I have my inheritance.