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Enzo’s glass hit the bar with a soft clink. “You drink until you forget and try not to start any drama.”
I leveled him with a look. “Aren’t you here to represent?”
Unhappy with the regularity, Enzo shrugged. “Apparently.”
“Don’s not making an appearance?” I asked, despite already knowing the answer.
I’d worked with these men for years, Italians included, completing countless tasks for them, but I was yet to meet their leader. Unlike the gossip suggested, he wasn’t a ghost, though he might as well have been, with his rare, almost nonexistent appearances.
“That’s why I won’t stir anything,” Enzo admitted, finishing his drink.
A soft chuckle left me. “Good luck with that.”
From what I’d heard, Enzo wasn’t happy with the alignment between the Cosa Nostra and the Bratva. He was either bruised from the past or didn’t see the need. His duty to attend these events only fueled his frustration. One thing was certain: if the Sicilians held a higher position, or one of their own, I highly doubt they’d submit themselves to this show.
As if he followed my train of thought, the Pakhan, Ilya, found us at the bar half an hour later. How many drinks had I consumed? I lost count. My cheeks were slightly flushed.
The two men acknowledged each other with a nod. I laughed internally.Typical.
Beyond the initial greeting, Ilya paid no attention to Enzo and focused solely on me.
“We’ll do an official introduction and discuss details,” Ilya informed me. “Privately,” he emphasized the word.
“So proper, Aistov,” Enzo didn’t miss the opportunity to insert himself. “Does your young wife already have you by the balls?”
“Artuso,” Ilya greeted the Sicilian. “What a pleasure to listen to your bullshit,” he shot back.
Like a ping-pong match, you watch all these men interact, shooting words back and forth, always the same story. Every so often, these exchanges get heated, and that’s when the real fun starts.
The last time Bratva held a meeting with mixed members, the wall crumbled under the weight of bullet holes, and hostages had to be exchanged by the end of the event. There was nothing like team bonding.
And Enzo and Ilya? There was no love lost between the two. Somehow, they coexisted, never missing an opportunity to poke one another. Verbally, so far.
I gathered my things quicker than expected, cutting the conversation short. Clutching the purse under my arm, I threw my drinking partner a warning glance.
“Better not get drunk without me.”
“You might need to run, or Pakhan will pop that vein on his forehead.” Enzo flashed me a grin. “We can’t have that,” he said, and something told me that’s exactly what he would want.
When I turned around, sure enough, Ilya stood halfway down the room, looking quite impatient. In long strides, I caught up to him, my heels clicking with each step.
“I don’t understand why you need me there,” I questioned, unaware of any changes. I hadn’t been present in Bratva’s meetings outside the discussions concerning my contracted missions.
“Her brothers will work with us closely after the wedding.” Ilya brought me up to speed as we moved away from the crowd.
Here’s where those hacking skills came in handy. Had I researched them all before we even met? What kind of friend would I be if I hadn’t?
It was standard practice to know everything about a person, especially if you were about to interact with them.
Knowledge is power.
Ilya and I were close enough that I wouldn’t let him marry into a family with skeletons of their own.
The Galkin siblings came from a long line of Bratva members. Their genealogy traced back centuries, with branches filled with prominent Russian socialites. Never the rulers themselves, but always close to power.
Currently operating out of Philadelphia, they’d been running the city since their parents retired a few years back, leaving them in charge.
Andrei, in particular. The oldest and head of their family. Their ticket to the Pakhan. Or he was, until the whole marriage thing came along. He was the only sibling out of the four with a family of his own, his wife Mila. Marriages in the underworld followed a basic pattern. The unions rarely stepped outside the circle, and theirs was no exception.