Page 25 of Scorned Beauty (Scorned Fate #5)

Chapter

Sixteen

Dom

The phone vibrated in the inside pocket of my tux jacket.

I tried to concentrate on the words of the former pakhan of the New York Russian bratva, Ivan Zahkarov.

Tonight was the formal turnover to his son, Kirill, the cold-as-ice fucker sitting across from me.

I bristled at the way he was eyeing Lucy, who was forced to make nice at this event because, after all, it was in trying to help her I landed in the FBI interrogation room.

“The caviar on that oyster is the best Russia has to offer. It just arrived this morning,” Ivan told me. “It’s Aralina’s favorite.” He gave a pointed look at the beautiful blonde beside me.

In their eyes, I was considering the arranged marriage.

We were in a gathering of fifty guests. Seated around our table were Ivan, his wife, Irina, their son Kirill; and daughter, Aralina; and Kolya.

Kolya Petrov took over the reins of brigadier from his cousin Grigori.

From my side were Pop and Ma, my sister, Lucy; and my underboss Sonny.

The good news: Grigori had fallen from power and I didn’t have to deal with him anymore.

After Lucy had brought his dealings with the congressman to my attention, the goal to bring that fucker down became the priority and the properties had fallen from favor.

I made this clear to my mother. It also served its purpose of freeing Sloane and her brother from Grigori’s dominion.

The bad news? Nobody knew where he was, and Sloane was already in the middle of this clusterfuck.

She chose to work for the feds and screwed me over with those damning photographs.

Now the feds’ lead witness went missing, was probably dead, and I was the last person who was seen having an altercation with her, courtesy of Sloane’s photographs.

Betrayed was too tame a word when they shoved those photos under my nose.

They told me Sloane and her brother had been snitches for the feds for a long time.

My mind had a hard time wrapping itself around what they were telling me.

The person who interrogated me in that room smirked as if he’d been hanging on to further evidence that could bring me down.

The bratva was also doing damage control. Grigori made a move behind their backs and landed them in hot water. Through our mediators, we came up with this bullshit united front because our combined political clout was potent and influential.

My phone buzzed again, and it was burning a hole in my pocket. “Osetra is indeed the best caviar.” I shot Ivan a tight grin before smiling apologetically to Aralina. “Excuse me.” I stood up. “I’m expecting an important call.”

Ignoring my mother’s disapproving stare, I slid my chair back and fished out my phone.

Two texts from Sandro.

Sandro

Call me.

Dom, call me right fucking now! I don’t care if you’re having dinner with the fucking king of england!

If one knew Sandro, he rarely used an exclamation point.

He was typically concise in his messages because the fucker hated texting.

That he used my name sent foreboding rippling through me.

You see, when Sloane called the police on the security I hired for her, I couldn’t leave well enough alone.

I told myself she was dead to me. One rule after we ended the affair was we weren’t obliged to check on each other.

But did I abide by that rule? No. I put security on her and continued to receive reports on her activities because it gave me peace of mind and I could do my job as the head of my family.

I was pleased she showed up at Venezia Tower and I was assuming the text she sent me was to consider living there.

But the timing couldn’t be worse. I had been dealing with Lucy’s witness.

And as if that wasn’t fucked enough, Luca’s troubles with the Russian mob in Chicago heated up.

In my defense, the entire underworld was riveted by the unfolding drama of my uncle’s life.

Amnesiac wife who was a hacker and had stolen millions from Russian organized crime.

That kind of shit was made for Hollywood, but how did I ever doubt that Luca’s life wouldn’t be that colorful?

Luca kept the “stealing” part on the down-low under threat of death because he didn’t want Natalya to be further targeted.

I searched for a private corner, nodding briefly to the security standing around guarding the lobby of the event facility.

I called Sandro. He answered on the first ring and I heard mayhem around him.

“What the fuck, De Lucci?” he growled.

“What’s going on?” I asked carefully. I found a deserted corridor and headed further in.

“You told me to check on Sloane.” He was having trouble regulating his voice like he was jogging. “I was wondering why you would ask me that. Then I find police cruisers and cops crawling all over the place.”

“Sloane?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t let anyone in. All I know is one of the residents fell from the fifth floor.”

A vise screwed my chest tight and I grew lightheaded. “Male or female?”

Sandro paused. “Was she with someone else? Start talking, De Lucci. We need someone who has access to Hoboken PD if we want to get in there. I sure as fuck don’t.”

We were in a cold war with the Italians running New Jersey, but I knew someone who did.

Grigori. I could probably navigate through my associate list for favors, but it wouldn’t get us in there as fast as I wanted to.

As in, as soon as it would take me to get to Hoboken.

Hell, my underboss would know more than I did.

I’d been playing politics at the higher level, so I had lost touch with the street game.

“I’ll make some calls,” I told him. Though Sandro cemented his place as the head of the Rossi crime family by defeating his challenger in the Game of Bosses, his people skills needed work. “Find out information, but don’t piss anyone off.”

He grunted, “I swear to God, if you got Sloane into trouble.”

“Talk later.” I ended the call.

Dangerous static clotted the air behind me. I stiffened, and even without turning around, I knew who I would find.

“Don’t you know it’s impolite to eavesdrop on people’s conversations?” I faced Kirill.

Indeed, he was leaning indolently against the wall. “I needed a smoke.”

“You’re not allowed to smoke in here.”

“As if that would stop you.” He extracted a cigarette and offered me one.

I shook my head. “I need to make more calls.”

I started to walk away from him, but he wasn’t done.

“For someone trying to protect his sister, you seem to have other priorities tonight.”

Aggravation and fury shot through my veins and clenched my fists.

This unity between the Zahkarovs and the De Luccis was to show Congressman Tomlin he had nothing to worry from us.

In our clandestine meeting, Kirill expressed disdain for the congressman, but the politician was greasing some business for them.

Lucy and her dead lawyer friend’s digging had triggered a backlash to one of the Russians’ investment firms, putting it on the radar of the SEC.

Not that I didn’t applaud Lucy, except the corruption and moral charges against Congressman Tomlin disappeared with our witness and the death of that lawyer.

To the public, Ivan stepped down as CEO of Zahkarov Holdings. Behind the scenes, he stepped down as the pakhan of the bratva.

Lucy’s involvement in their troubles had put a bull’s-eye on my sister and Kirill had put a contract out on her while the feds had been interrogating me.

Dinner was tense as fuck, but it was a temporary Band-Aid hatched up by my mother and the matchmaker Margo Winthrop that enabled this truce.

Kirill canceled the contract but required my family to appear at this dinner to honor his father as an apology.

It was a quick fix, and it was hard to swallow. Ma was all for it, Lucy was still defiant, and Pop wanted to put a contract out on Kirill in retaliation.

Fuck me.

So this was the initial remedy. Neither of us could break the truce without our scandalous secrets being spilled, and Margo definitely had more than a few.

I invaded Kirill’s personal space. He was the same height as me.

The same build. Same dark hair. But that was where the similarities ended.

I doubted if there was an emotional bone in his body.

Like he showed emotions because it was required of him.

Though he seemed to genuinely care for his mute sister.

Sonny laughingly suggested that Aralina Zahkarov would make the ideal wife who didn’t talk back. But she was only twenty-one for fuck’s sake.

“Who do you know in Hoboken?”

He raised a brow. “Are you asking for a favor, De Lucci? Who called you?”

“You’re looking for Grigori, then I might have a lead.”

He returned the cigarette back into the case. “You’re going to Hoboken right now?”

Nothing would stop me. I nodded. “Are you going to hurt my sister?”

He chuckled. “And risk Margo’s wrath?”

My mouth twitched at this. I didn’t know what dirt she had on either family, but there were enough stories to back up the claim that once you entered a covenant with Margo Winthrop, you never broke it.

What I knew of her was that she had connections in high places. Old money. And the matchmaker role she currently held was passed down from generations. Marriage Ink, her luxury full-service wedding business, was just a front for a secret society that went back centuries.

They’d been trying to bring in new money in the last hundred years.

Merge old and new families. The Zahkarovs were descendants of Russian nobility.

De Luccis and Morettis were Sicilians. Our ancestors worked the land.

Although I heard Margo was already eyeing Luca’s son, Elias.

She might not have arranged the marriage between Natalya and Luca, but it was no secret that Luca’s mother was an Italian contessa.