12. Alfie

12

ALFIE

D rumming my fingers against my desk, I stare blankly at the same letter I’ve been looking at for the past half hour. I should be using this time to ensure the shipment we have coming in goes smoothly. Instead, all I can think about is Mika, and the meeting with the Kapranovs that went about as badly as it could have.

Could one woman possibly be worth the hell I’ll be bringing down on the Bonetti family?

If any woman could, it would be Mika. She’s taken my mind by storm until everything that was important to me weeks ago is just background noise now—even the looming conflict over the Kapranovs’ dissatisfaction.

The Russians haven’t done anything yet, but I’m confident Nikolai is ready to make good on his threat based on the messages he’s sent daily since our dinner meeting. Again, I read yesterday’s letter, reminding me of the business I have on the east side of the city that Nikolai can put an end to with a snap of his fingers—another warning that I should think twice about backing out of our original arrangement. The Kapranovs are clearly keeping the information about Ana’s broken engagement under tight wraps, hoping I will change my mind. Maybe I should.

Calling off the wedding to pursue Mika is selfish and careless—it’s probably the most self-centered decision I’ve made since taking over as don. I’ve spent years thinking of what’s best for my family, what’s best for my business, and what’s best for my men. Choosing Mika over all that was impulsive. But at the time, it didn’t feel like much of a choice.

Every time I think of the woman, I have the intense urge to get in my helicopter and fly north. I thought a few days of separation might help clear my head. Instead, Mika is still a constant distraction. She’s all I think about—her enticing eyes and smart mouth. She can’t seem to help but challenge me at every turn, and I want to break down her defenses and claim her in every way. I ache to know everything about her, including what it feels like to plant my seed deep inside her, and if that means giving up an arranged marriage I didn’t particularly want in the first place, no one’s going to stop me. Nikolai Kapranov sure as hell isn’t going to intimidate me into taking his daughter as my wife. The more he pushes, the less inclined I am to take the deal, and the more Mika runs, the harder I want to pursue her.

Sighing, I drop the paper onto my thick mahogany desk and scrub my face with my palms. I shouldn’t put my wants ahead of my responsibilities. That’s not how my father raised me to run our business, and I have no doubt he would have something to say about it now. But I like it even less when people try to force my hand.

A soft knock on my office door interrupts my thoughts.

“Yes?” I growl, folding the letter and dropping it into the top drawer of my desk.

“It’s Nina, sir,” Vincent says from the other side of the thick wood.

Despite my conundrum, my lips lift in a genuine grin. “Let her in.”

The door swings open a moment later, and Nina stands shyly at the threshold, her fingers twisted together in front of her. She’s wearing her hair back in a loose French braid, her simple yellow wrap dress walking the line between comfortable and stylish, just like her soft leather flats. I wave her in, and she smiles, her energy brightening. Vincent gives me a curt nod and closes the door behind her to give us privacy.

“Sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy,” she signs.

“Never too busy for you. What’s up?” I lean back, my shoulders relaxing as I rest my elbows on the arms of my wingback chair.

“It’s about the wedding.” My sister’s expression grows nervous, and her fingers pause as color tinges her cheeks. Biting her lower lip, she hesitates, her hands hovering expectantly.

In all the chaos of putting out fires over the past few days, I’ve hardly seen Nina, and I haven’t had time to tell her that I broke off the engagement. If I had gone through with it, the wedding would have been the biggest public event my sister has ever attended, and I know it’s been making her nervous. I should have thought to put her out of her misery sooner.

Now’s as good a time as any, and though I hadn’t planned to open my decision up for discussion to anyone, I feel an intense urge to talk it out with Nina. Speaking to my sister might help put my turmoil to rest—or maybe she can talk sense into me if I’ve gone completely out of my mind. She might not know all the ins and outs of the family business, but she’s highly intelligent and compassionate—a rare quality for people born into our position. It’s been a long time since my sister and I have had a heart-to-heart, but when I need someone to talk to, she’s my greatest ally.

“I should have told you sooner,” I sign. “I called off the wedding. I’m not getting married next weekend.”

Nina pales visibly, her innocent hazel eyes widening. “Why? What happened? Are you okay?”

She takes several concerned steps toward me, and I rise from my chair to round my desk. My sister’s well over a head shorter than I am—unlike Mika, whose long legs make it so she doesn’t have to raise her gaze to look me in the eye. Nina peers up at me with round eyes as she grasps my hands. Her grip is sure and infused with strength, even though, to most, she comes across as shy. Partly because she doesn’t have many opportunities to build confidence around strangers, and partly because she’s been discouraged from voicing her thoughts. But she’s never shy about speaking her mind with me, and I’m glad for that. Giving her hands a squeeze, I pull her down onto one of the leather chairs in the sitting area of my office, and I sink onto the seat beside her.

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Better than fine, honestly. But I might have done something incredibly reckless.”

Nina presses her lips together as if to hide a smile. “Like breaking off your engagement to a Bratva princess right before the wedding?”

I chuckle. “Well, that about sums it up.”

“So, why’d you do it?” Her expression is open and understanding, but reasonably confused.

“I met someone,” I hedge, because if I say too much about Mika, I’ll ruin Nina’s surprise.

Nina raises her eyebrows playfully, as if to say, what a shock. In her world, I meet new people all the time, while she’s stuck at home with the same familiar faces day after day.

I roll my eyes in response, the teasing banter lightening my mood.“No, I don’t just mean I was introduced to someone I don’t know,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I met a woman.”

“And you broke off your engagement because you like her?”

I nod. “But she doesn’t want anything to do with me if I have a fiancée.”

“Good for her,” Nina says.

“It’s not just that,” I sign. “I might have made major waves with the Russians because I went back on my word.”

“That’s why you’ve been locked inside your office for three days straight,” she observes.

I nod, combing my fingers through my hair again to push the loose strands back from my face. The hours I’ve spent trying to mend the rift I created are probably wasted, but I had to try. My attempts to negotiate with the Russians feel rather one-sided, and it’s getting clearer by the hour that I have only one option if I want to avoid a conflict.

“Well, I’m glad to hear you have feelings for someone,” Nina signs, her expression softening. “I didn’t want to say anything when you seemed so set on marrying Ana Kapranov, but I just don’t see how you find love in a marriage when you don’t even know the person. If you’ve found someone you care about, that’s what matters. The rest will work itself out.”

She looks so confident, she almost convinces me. My sweet sister. I should have known she would turn this into some fairy-tale love. I wonder what she’d think if she knew how conflicted Mika seems to be about me.

“Our family is one of the most powerful families in New York, right?” she says. “The Kapranovs won’t start a war over a broken engagement.”

They might. It wouldn’t surprise me. Arranged marriages like this have been known to fall through, especially in the lesser families. But marriages between large, powerful families like ours are near unbreakable, and a wedding that would unite the heads of two mafia families is a big deal. It would take something major—like the groom finding out that his intended bride isn’t a virgin like the family claims—to stop a wedding this size. Even then, families often find a way to negotiate to avoid war. Once the betrothal contract is signed, it’s irrevocable, so calling off the wedding will likely have massive consequences.

But the Bonettis are far too powerful for the Kapranovs to take on lightly. If I can find a way to get Nikolai back to the negotiating table, I might be able to smooth things over before they turn violent.

“Maybe you’re right,” I concede, forcing my lips into a smile so I won’t worry Nina with the dark truth of the matter.

Nina smiles genuinely in return. “Then you just have to have faith that it will all work out. You deserve to be happy, and if you’ve found someone you want to be with, I’m behind you all the way.”

I nod. Maybe I should ask my baby sister for advice more often. The knot in my chest that’s been plaguing me for days has started to loosen, and now, I can look forward to this weekend’s surprise without that dark cloud looming in my mind.

Nina rises, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress. “Well, since my concern is no longer relevant and it sounds like we’ve resolved your concern, should I let you get back to work?” she teases.

“If you must.” I stand, pulling her in for a hug, and I tousle her neat hair before I let her go.

Red-faced, she gives me a playful shove and sticks her tongue out at me as she tries to fix her braid, but she can’t stay angry at me for long, and she’s smiling as she opens the door and glances back to wave.

“Thanks, Nina,” I sign.

She blows me a kiss before she leaves.

I have a long way to go if I want to smooth things over with the Kapranovs, but it’s only been a few days. I have time to let Nikolai cool down before I renegotiate, and I think Nina’s right. He won’t want to start a violent conflict over this, not when our families have shared New York all these years. It would be financial suicide on his part to cut off his connections to the water, and that’s exactly what he would do if he made an enemy out of me—just like I’m risking access to the highways out of New York by pissing him off. That could still prove to be a problem, but the thought of claiming Mika for my own is worth the gamble.

Another knock on the door stops me from returning to my desk, and this time, I open it to see who it is. Henry, the man who’s been my family’s butler for as long as I can remember, looks as polished as ever, his graying hair slicked back, his black suit crisp and clean.

“Sir, someone delivered a package for you at the door.” Henry’s voice is clipped, uncertain, and I raise an eyebrow in silent question. My butler is never at a loss for how to manage his duties, so something about the package must not sit well with him.

“I’ll come down for it.” I stand up, jerking my chin for Vincent to follow.

He does, and Henry joins us as I walk down the hall from my study. Marco’s already in the foyer, studying the closed box with suspicion. From here, it looks entirely inoffensive—just a cardboard box about two-foot square, taped together with packer’s tape .

“What is it?” I ask, on guard because of the apparent suspicion both Marco and Henry are giving the package.

“It’s an early wedding present,” Marco says flatly. “From the Kapranovs.”

The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I glance sharply at Vincent before approaching the box. “Who dropped it off?”

“A bike messenger,” Henry says.

“I’ll open it,” Marco states. “I just thought you would like to see it first.”

I nod, stopping short of the box several feet, and he stoops to cut the packing tape. Then, he carefully peels open the cardboard flaps. A breath huffs from him when he sees what it is, and the tension eases from his shoulders.

“Well, it’s not meant to kill you.” But something in Marco’s tone still holds distaste, and his nose wrinkles, his mouth turning down in disgust as he reaches into the box. Slowly, he lifts a man’s severed head from inside.

“God dammit.” I recognize him.

Eddie Thoreau. He was a night guard I paid off multiple times to look the other way, so we could bring a shipment in. He’s been getting greedy lately, and I know Nikolai has been no happier about it than I am, but I wouldn’t consider him more than a nuisance I try not to do deals with anymore. I didn’t wish him dead.

A note’s been pinned to his forehead with a tack, and several blood spatters smear the sloppy scrawl. Plucking the paper off his skin, I read:

Heard Eddie here has been giving you trouble lately, and I thought I’d take him off your hands. Take this as a sign of good faith that we can work together toward a common goal. I look forward to uniting our families next weekend.

The note sounds cordial enough, but it’s not hard to read between the lines—this isn’t a present.

It’s a threat, warning me that this is what happens to people who get on Nikolai’s bad side.