Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Elian

“You have to admit it was an interesting request,” Rico said as he, Renzo, and I stared at the restaurant we were going to have the meeting with the Bratva in.

When the word had gotten out that Renzo was seeking an audience with Dimitri, the word got back to us that he would have the meeting, but on one condition.

That we have it on neutral turf.

Meaning on the turf of a crew that hated both us and them equally.

The fucking Irish mafia territory.

I suppose their logic was that no one was at any more risk than the other if we were on turf where we were all equally hated.

The Mean Fiddler was the Irish mob’s homebase, a restaurant known for exactly two things: a good beef stew and their complete aversion to serving any sort of ‘finicky’ drink. You drank beer, or you brought your business elsewhere.

“We all set?” Renzo asked as Cage emerged from the restaurant.

Since cleaning his life up, Cage had been, more or less, in charge of our family’s communication with the Irish mob. A task that usually involved a lot of back-and-forth and arguing because they didn’t want to kick-up the money to us that they owed us.

“Yeah,” Cage said in a voice that suggested anything but.

“Is this a ‘We gotta be worried that they’re gonna poison us’ thing?” Rico asked.

“I think I’d suggest bottled beer,” Cage said, smirking at us. “But, to be fair, they might hate the Russians slightly more. I got ‘em to agree to seat everyone in the party room for privacy’s sake. Trust me, you don’t want their asses eavesdropping. They’re always looking for something to use against us.”

With that, we moved inside.

It was a newly renovated building made to look old with all of its dark wood, exposed brick, and vintage framed art on the walls. There was even a genuine fireplace with a fire crackling happily as we passed, moving toward the party room that was, roughly, half the size of the rest of the restaurant, and dominated by one massive table that must have been built inside the room, because there was no way it would have fit through the doorway otherwise.

“Food kinda smells good,” Rico said as we each chose to sit at the far end of the table facing the door.

Coal moved back out into the dining room, wanting to keep an eye on things.

We had two carfuls of men and women on the main and cross street, close enough to spring into action if shit went down.

We didn’t have to wait for long before Dimitri was making his way into the room, flanked by three… women.

My gaze cut to Rico, seeing a flash of confusion cross his face before he tamped it down.

Renzo, though, was unreadable as he stood and nodded at Dimitri.

Dimitri was tall and a sturdy kind of fit with a broad, masculine face, brooding brows, and deep blue eyes.

“Lombardi,” Dimitri said, voice deep, accent thick.

“Volkov,” Renzo said.

“This meeting is overdue, da?” Dimitri asked as he sat.

“You’ve been a pain in the ass lately,” Renzo said, getting a small lip twitch out of the Russian.

“Says the man who started a gang war to get back at me.”

“They brought it upon themselves,” Renzo said, shrugging. “All that shit, I can overlook. But I can’t overlook your man breaking into one of my capo’s homes, severely injuring his little sister, and shooting one of my capos.”

If I wasn’t watching so closely, I might have missed the way something flashed in Dimitri’s gaze. Something that maybe suggested he hadn’t been fully in the know about whose home Elizabeth had been taking refuge in.

“Is that so?” Dimitri asked.

“There are… consequences to attempting to murder my people,” Renzo said, waving out a hand at the loss of human life.

“Of course,” Dimitri agreed, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was truly as unfeeling as he was coming off. “One must wonder what your organization is doing harboring a… what did the news call her?” Dimitri asked, glancing toward one of the gorgeous women at his sides.

“Whistler,” she supplied.

“Blower,” another of the women corrected in an accent just as thick as Dimitri’s. “Whistle blower .”

“That whistleblower belongs to my capo here,” Renzo said, gesturing toward me.

To that, Dimitri let out a snort. “That is why my best men have not been able to shoot a single, unarmed woman.”

To his side, one of the women started to speak in rapid Russian.

“English,” Renzo snapped.

“My friend here was just saying that I should have sent her to do the job,” Dimitri said, shrugging. “Ruthless creatures, women,” he added.

“Look, what’s done is done,” Renzo said. “You’ve made attempts. We’ve… thwarted them. We’re not here about the past. We’re here to talk about the future.”

“Da,” Dimitri agreed, nodding. “What do you have in mind?”

“A truce,” Renzo said. “You don’t come for my people, their loved ones, or spouses. In turn, I won’t systematically work to dismantle your fucked up human trafficking ring.”

To that, Dimitri’s brow rose as the woman broke off in rapid Russian once again.

“English,” Renzo snapped.

“Fucking Americans,” the woman said, glaring at Renzo. “Always assuming we are the bad guys.”

“Pretty sure everyone agrees trafficking women is fucked, babe,” Renzo shot back.

“Women are moved here, yes. But not against their wills,” the woman declared as Dimitri sat back, allowing her to speak.

“You want me to believe you’ve got a massage parlor full of willing sex slaves?” Renzo asked, rolling his eyes.

“Sex slaves,” the woman snorted. “Yes, it is so hard to accept that a woman would be willing to jerk a man off for an extra fifty dollars in her pocket. All sex is transactional. We simply take the emotion out of it,” she said.

We.

It was then that I understood why she looked familiar.

Her picture had been on the massage parlor website, along with her name. Anna.

“You work there willingly?” Renzo asked. “Why?”

“Money. What other reason?” Anna asked.

“You wouldn’t need Dimitri to make money doing that,” Renzo reasoned.

“No,” Anna agreed. “But there is safety this way. And a way to get from Russia to New York.”

“So you are trafficking,” Renzo concluded. “But your… passengers are willing?”

“I am not a good man,” Dimitri admitted. “But I have never needed to force a woman to do anything. They come willingly, knowing this is what is on the other end,” he said, waving toward the women.

“So, you murder women, but draw the line at forcing them to do happy endings?” I asked, ignoring the hard look Renzo shot me.

“Business is business,” Dimitri said.

“And business would be easier without me and mine breathing down your neck,” Renzo said.

“What do you propose?” Dimitri asked.

“You get East New York.”

“East New York?” Dimitri asked, eyes narrowing.

“It’s a generous offer. One the crew who owns this restaurant would kill for. No strings. No kick-up. No questions about how you handle your business. But the offer ends the second I get up from this table.”

“It’s an insult,” Anna said to Dimitri.

“Hush,” he demanded, looking over at Renzo. “What about the crews who work for me now in other neighborhoods?”

“You take them with you, or you cut ties,” Renzo said.

“The parlor is in Bed-Stuy,” Anna reminded her boss. Or partner, whatever the fuck she was to Dimitri.

“And it will have to move,” Renzo said. “Bunch of old fucks who can’t get a handy on their own will take the twenty-minute drive. Or you can find new clientele. I don’t give a fuck. That’s your problem to figure out.”

“You let him speak to you like that?” Anna asked, looking at Dimitri.

“Enough with you,” he said, giving Anna a hard look. “How long would I have to move my organization?”

“Six months. Not a day longer. Shouldn’t be too hard. Real estate is cheaper there than where you are now.”

“And until then?”

“We show each other that we can be trusted at our words. If either side fucks up, the truce is off.”

To that, Dimitri nodded as he rose to his feet.

“We have a deal,” he said.

Then, without another word, he was gone, leaving the women to rush after him, heels clicking as they went.

It didn’t exactly escape me that the bottoms of those heels were red. Designer. Expensive.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad deal they had going for themselves. If their stories were true.

“I feel like that was too easy,” Rico said, always on the lookout for shit that might go sideways.

“Six months, a year ago, he’d never had made that deal,” Renzo agreed, standing.

He didn’t need to elaborate.

The only thing that had changed in that timeframe was the fact that Renzo had secured another, more significant truce.

Between us and the other four members of the Five Families.

Before his marriage to Lore that made that truce possible, we would have needed to sacrifice a fuckuva lot more than just East New York to secure the safety of our people.

But no one wanted to fuck with all five of the New York families. That was too much smoke even for the most established organizations.

I knew the truce hadn’t been the most popular move that Renzo had ever made as a boss, but this was evidence for why it had been a good move. Why Renzo was a good boss.

“Go home and tell your girl she’s safe,” Renzo said, clamping a hand on my shoulder before taking off down toward his car with Rico.

“You wanna give me a ride?” I asked Cage.

“Sure,” he agreed, leading me to his car, then dropping me off out front of my building.

Out of an abundance of caution, I didn’t call off the guards out front of my place. I figured that once we started to see movement, proving that Dimitri and his crew were picking up shop and moving to East New York like they’d agreed, then I would feel comfortable going back to normal.

Though, I was pretty sure I was going to want a guard with Elizabeth ‘round the clock when I wasn’t around. Renzo had that for Lore. Dav was that for Cinna. It just made sense. When you had something precious that you wanted to keep safe, you made sure someone was around in your stead when you couldn’t be.

I also planned to take Elizabeth to the range, to help her learn to be more comfortable with guns in the hopes that she might agree to carry one with her too.

But those were concerns for another day.

Right now, I got to go up there and tell her that most of the worries she’d been struggling with since she first overheard the call with the senator and Dimitri were handled

“Good news?” Serano asked as I exited the elevator.

“They agreed to the arrangement.”

“But you wanna see proof,” he said.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “But I’m hopeful. Did you order dinner?” I asked, smelling something wafting out from under the door of the condo.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s been smellin’ good for a while.”

“Hm,” I said, reaching for the door.

“She prolly wants a dinner for two,” Serano said.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you a plate,” I said, smiling at his preoccupation with food.

With that, I moved into the apartment, being met with the acidic scent of tomatoes, the tangy hint of garlic, and a mix of spices.

I moved past the cat stand, giving Kevin and Richard—who Saff insisted on calling ‘Dick’ whenever she popped by—a quick hello before making my way into the kitchen.

Elizabeth’s phone was on the island, some pop station playing as she wiggled her hips as she pressed a fork to the edges of little ravioli squares.

“You’re cooking for me?” I asked, making her jump and look up.

Flour dusted the front of her shirt and pants. Some of her blonde hair had slipped out of the claw clip at the back of her head. And there was a bandaid on her finger that hadn’t been there when I’d left.

“Hey!” she said, beaming at me. “I’m trying,” she added, waving toward the hilariously messy kitchen. I was pretty sure she’d managed to use all of my cutting boards, spoons, and several of my knives. The sink was overflowing.

“Looks like you’re doing a good job,” I said, glancing around at the remnants of the ingredients scattered around.

Empty fresh herb packages, ricotta, crushed tomato cans, flour, butter, shells of eggs.

“I followed your dough recipe, but I decided to play around with the filling,” she told me. “An art, not a science, right?” she asked, giving me a shy smile.

“Absolutely,” I agreed, walking behind her to press a kiss to the side of her head. “What did you use?”

“Ricotta, of course,” she said, waving toward the empty container. “But also sweet Italian sausage,” she said.

“Sounds amazing,” I told her. “Smells even better.”

“It’s pretty much ready to go into the water. So it will be done in no time.”

“Serano has been practically sniffing at the door like a hungry stray,” I told her.

“Oh, I made more than enough for him too,” she said as I went to the wine rack, holding up a bottle at her with a raised brow.

“I could go for a glass,” she agreed as she piled the ravioli onto a plate, then brought the giant pile over to the pot of boiling water.

“Can I make salad or bread?” I asked.

“Nope. The salad is in the fridge. And the bread is in the oven. Though, it doesn’t smell as good as yours did. I think I need some pointers there.”

In the end, though, she really didn’t need any pointers. Everything from the ravioli to the garlic bread, and even the dressing she made from a recipe she found online was fucking amazing.

“Never had a woman cook for me outside of my family,” I admitted as we took our wine to the couch after dinner, leaving our dirty plates and bowls right on the table to be dealt with later.

“I liked doing it,” she admitted, finishing her wine, setting it on the new coffee table, then snuggling into me.

“Yeah?” I asked, setting my wine down. “Think you can see yourself wanting to keep doing it in the future? Maybe for a couple more very small people?”

“I’m dubious about how many a ‘couple’ means to you,” she said, tilting her head up to smile at me. “It seems like you mafia guys want entire litters of children.”

“I’ll take however many you’re willing to give me,” I said, pressing my forehead to hers. “If that kind of thing is on your mind. ‘Cause it is on mine.”

“I think I can tentatively commit to two or three,” she said, beaming at me. “But I think we should probably wait until, you know, we’ve actually been dating for a couple of weeks at least.”

“Just practicing then,” I agreed.

“Lots and lots of practicing,” she agreed, sliding her leg over mine to move to straddle me. “Starting now.”