Page 23 of Iron Crown (Will of Iron #3)

Chapter thirteen

All My Secrets

Eoghan

W ith a heavy heart, we returned to the Vasiliev mansion, with its gothic spires and pine trees. It was a fitting sight for my dark mood. The way forward was clear before me, but I was unwilling to walk that path.

I had made my final gambit. My last-ditch effort to stop the war before it began.

But everything had unfolded as Morelli had predicted. I should have just believed him, but for my own conscience, I needed to try one last time. I owed that to him. I owed it to myself as well.

I am not a good man, but that did not stop me from trying to be worthy of the woman by my side.

Though, the more we rode in silence after my confession, the more I knew it was fruitless.

I had taken Morelli three years ago, and she had seen me torture him. I would never be unblemished in her eyes. I could see it now in the distant hurt in her eyes. She was distracted. Even as she held my hand, she felt a million miles away.

She knew that I painted with his blood and kept him imprisoned. God, what a monster I was. Simply saying it out loud made my stomach turn with revulsion. What a beast I was!

God knows what she thought of me.

I wanted to scream that Morelli was happy in a room full of books.

I wanted to tell her that I treated him well, he was cared for, fed, and clothed.

I wanted to defend myself and tell her that he had a pet mouse called Algernon who dined on the finest French cheeses that I brought down with his meals!

But, at the same time, I did not want to defend myself at all.

What I had done was indefensible.

If she saw the worst in me, then all the better for her, and for our son.

If she saw the worst, it was because she saw the truth.

After I slaughtered the same man who had become my friend, then I would truly be destined for hell, and anyone who still graced my inner sanctum would be taken down with me. They’d be tainted with my bloody darkness, as I was stained by my father’s cruelty.

When Vasiliev’s castle came into view, I made up my mind. I would do the right thing, and release my wife from her ties to me, and give her the life she deserved. Whether that was as my widow or through a separation, it would not matter.

I had given up my humanity long ago. Perhaps saving Yuliya Vasiliev was the last time I had truly been human.

Kira did not deserve to have her soul wither the way Cosima’s had.

She deserved the gentle things in life, the tenderness that comes from a life of luxury. So did my son. They would never have that with a patriarch who had the last name Green.

“Go call Dairo,” I told Kira as we approached the Vasiliev home. “They’ll be waiting for a video from you. I’m sure Cillian wants to see his Mum.”

I sat in Jericho Vasiliev’s massive, and frankly, off-putting office. Everything was ornately carved, baroque, like it came from a different world. The Russian had eclectic tastes, that was for sure.

They liked to call me dramatic, but Vasiliev was quite theatrical himself.

Pots. Kettles. They’re both as black as the color of my true love’s hair.

Andres Lutkus, whom I had heard them call Blink, was there as well. The two had drinks in hand when I stepped through the door. They looked at me, then at each other.

I did not have to tell them that everything had gone completely sideways.

“You saw Cosima Durante?” Jericho asked quietly.

I nodded. “Would it surprise you to hear that she did not accept my olive branch?”

Blink chuckled, and the ice in his glass clinked as he casually swirled it around.

“I am not at all surprised.” Blink took a loud sip before putting his glass down. “But I am glad that you tried, anyway.”

Then he leaned forward in his chair, extending his hand out to me. “I’m Andres Lutkus, by the way.”

I looked at it, suspicious at first.

What had Kira called him? A mentor? A friend?

“Aye, I’ve heard,” I shook his hand, not returning the favor of my name, because he already knew it.

“I’ve obviously heard a lot about you,” he said cryptically.

“I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you until today.”

“I figured my protegee would confess to you, sooner or later.”

“Blink has been a great advocate for your wife, even after she ran away, leaving us blind,” Jericho said casually. “When she was no longer able to carry out her duties as our financier and spy, Blink insisted we keep her on board.”

“Your solution was unacceptable,” Blink said, narrowing his eyes.

“Unacceptable?” Jericho tsked. “No, you found my solution unpalatable.”

“What was your solution?” I asked, taking a sip of the drink they’d given me.

It was more vodka. Figures…

Jericho looked at me, his eyes slowly blinking as he tilted his head. It was a gesture that asked me if I truly did not comprehend…

Anger flared up in my chest when I realized that his solution would have been to have her killed.

Blink picked up his glass again. “I told you she’d be indispensable.”

Blink smiled, but there was something off-putting about it. It never reached his eyes. Hell, the smile barely moved past his lips! Like his face was made of plastic. Like he was one of those animatronic people at a creepy amusement park ride.

“My wife is not to be used,” I said quietly, though I had lost all conviction. “And none of you will harm her.”

It was a statement laced with the acid of threat.

“No, but it’s clear, Eoghan Green, that you are our best bet to change the underground in New York.

We tried with just the bratva. But in three years, you made three times the progress with Green Fields Enterprises,” Blink stated flatly, like he was reporting the news.

“Picasso has an anchoring effect on you.”

“My wife is my North Star.” I nodded. “Even if she is not by my side, I am guided by her.”

The two of them stilled. From the corner of my eye, I saw them exchange a look. They must have decided not to pursue that line of thought, though, since they both continued drinking.

I drank. The alcohol gave me clarity within the fuzziness of my brain. My mind slowed to something coherent, unlike the swirl of fast-paced thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me.

Blink cleared his throat.

“Recent intelligence among the Italians indicates that Eugenio has been locked out of power,” Blink said, his eyes that strange, unfeeling cold like a snake. “Cosima has taken the reins, though not officially. She’s ruthless though. A very ‘kill first, ask questions never’ type of woman.”

Jericho chuckled. “So your ideal lover, then?”

“I’ve seen how she looks. I wouldn’t mind taking that for the team.” Blink grabbed his lapels and snapped them, as if he had a chance with her.

Then he shook his head and laughed. I wanted to stick up for Morelli, but it wouldn’t do any good. Not after tonight, at least.

“Wait,” Jericho asked, his eyes flaring in surprise. “You’ve re-engaged your contact?”

“I haven’t lost my touch,” Blink smirked. “She’ll be ready for my signal, though I’d rather not activate her unless we are in dire straits.”

“Should you be talking like this in front of me?” I asked, slightly perplexed at how open they were.

I had come in here for a purpose, but the drink had distracted me.

“With Kira in our pocket, I doubt you will betray us,” Blink said with the assurance of a man who was used to being right. “You’ll betray us for Kira, certainly, but she’s on our side.”

I wasn’t convinced of that. Kira had not said one way or another if her convictions for Paradigm were soul deep. I would ask another time… or never, depending on how things panned out.

“That, and…” Blink pursed his lips in thought for a moment, “She’s my friend.”

I looked at him and scowled, trying to decipher why that was relevant to the discussion.

“Likely my only friend,” Blink said, with a small nod. “And before you get your little heart a-twitter, we are wholly platonic. She only has eyes for you, and I only have a heart for…” He sighed. “Someone else.”

He picked his glass back up, as if the topic made him ill at ease.

“I genuinely wish her the best,” Blink said. “It seems that would entail your presence in her life.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, more and more determined to not be selfish when it came to my wife.

A long, drawn-out silence stretched between us as we awkwardly waited to find out what was next in our evening’s discussion.

“Let’s get back on topic,” Jericho said, lightly slapping his knee.

I wasn’t certain what the topic was, but they were probably in a strategy meeting before I barged in.

“I have no indication that Cosima Durante will surrender under any circumstances. Not unless we scorch the earth.” Blink’s cold demeanor sent a chill through me, but there was something about his reasoning that I had grown accustomed to. “I’m not fond of that option.”

I snorted. It was like speaking to Morelli himself.

Blink looked at me and lifted a brow. “Something to add, Mr. Kira?”

I put down my glass, which was now empty of whatever disgusting vodka they had. What I would do for a good bottle of absinthe… I should probably go outside for a cigarette to calm myself before I saw Kira again.

“She has a child,” I blurted out. “Cosima confessed as much today.”

I wondered how old her child was.

When she had been friends with Kira, she didn’t have one. I was almost sure of that. But Mafia princesses are good at keeping secrets. So maybe I was wrong.

“She said she had a daughter.” Cosima had turned into such a foul thing that I felt bad for the girl.

Jericho and Blink looked at one another, then back at me.

“Yes,” Blink coughed, as if he was surprised that I knew. “That’s true. The same age as your son, in fact. It’s quite a secret, I’m surprised she let that slip.”

“Interesting,” I said, biting my lip. “It must be Giovanni Morelli’s.”

Jericho coughed, almost spitting out his drink. He pounded his fist on his chest until he cleared his throat. “The missing consiglieri?”

“He’s thirty years older than her!” Blink balked. “Are you sure?”

“They’ve been lovers since she was eighteen years old,” I stated, bluntly, trying not to let my own judgments cloud my report. “He’s quite in love. So is she, if her reaction today was any indication.”

“We haven’t been able to find the child’s origins.” Blink looked at Jericho. “I had assumed that it was a one-night stand, or one of the many men she’s jilted at the altar. But…”

“It’s Giovanni’s,” I said again, surer now than when I’d stated it the first time. She would not keep the child if anyone else had been the father. “Do we have pictures of the child?”

“Hmm.” Jericho turned to his computer, typed something in, and clicked a few times before he turned the monitor to me.

There was the image of a sweet-faced young girl, around two years old. Unlike my Cillian, who looked like me in every respect, she didn’t favor either of her parents. Her dark hair and pale skin could have belonged to Cosima or Morelli.

But it was the gray eyes that did me in. Two gray, inquisitive eyes that were the carbon copy of her father’s. The shape of them, the slight upward tilt on the corners, the flat arch of a brow, the sparkle, and even the slight melancholy in them were molded in the very image of Giovanni Morelli.

“Her name is…” Jericho said with a small laugh as he tilted his head, “Giovanna.”

Blink let out a quiet, “Oh.”

“Well, that settles who Cosima thinks is the father of her child,” I snorted.

“Giovanna was such a common name that I didn’t consider it,” Blink admitted. “But that would make sense. All of her last moves were in honor of the missing, presumed dead, man.”

“Can I get a printout of some of the photos?” Morelli would want to see these.

At this point, it felt right that he see an image of his legacy.

“What for?” Jericho asked, even though he was already typing into the computer to grant my request.

“We move at sunrise tomorrow, no?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. “Giovanni Morelli will be dead by then.”

The two men’s heads spun towards me, but I talked before they had a chance to interrupt me.

“The only way to surrender is to scorch the earth.” I agreed with Blink’s earlier assessment.

“Only proof of Morelli’s death will make Cosima pause her endeavors long enough to be struck down.

We are not fighting the Mafia,” I said with the confidence that Morelli had granted me with his counsel over the years.

“We are fighting her . If she bends, the others will follow.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to kill her?” Jericho said, callously.

“We kill her, she becomes a martyr. The little girl in those photos will be forced to step into her shoes.” I shook my head.

Making the next generation pay for our misdeeds was the opposite of what I wished for them.

Even for a child that wasn’t my own. “We’ll be fighting the same war again in twenty years. ”

I got up and refilled my glass because I needed clarity. The alcohol down my gullet would give me the strength to do what I had to do.

To do the right thing, even though it would possibly break me, and my marriage, in two.

“She must lower her flag and agree to terms,” I whispered. “It’s the only way the others will follow.”

“And how do we accomplish that, Irish?” Jericho said, my nationality suddenly being less of an insult on the Russian’s lips.

“She has to lose hope.” It was all I could say on the matter. “Thanks for the drink.”

As I stepped out of the room, I heard the muffled voice of Jericho asking, “Did he just say he had Morelli?”

“Alive, it seems,” Blink said.

“The sadistic bastard…”