Page 165 of Wounded King

The night before the wedding…

The private lounge at the top of the Monarch has been cleared for us. Dim lighting, deep leather chairs, and a private bar stockedwith more whiskey than sense. The kind of place where deals get made and bodies get disappeared—just with better upholstery.

Toni's already pouring drinks by the time Enrico and I walk in.

"You're late," Toni says, but he's smirking. "That's twice in one week. Violet's really civilizing you, huh?"

"She's taming me," I deadpan.

Enrico slumps into the nearest chair and tosses his phone on the table. "Steph's not coming. Just texted. Said he and hiswifeare on their way to Mexico—to break Nico out."

Toni's brows shoot up. "Wife? Since when does Stephano have a wife?"

I lean forward. "Back up. Nico? And did he actually use the wordwife?"

"Yep," Enrico confirms, scrolling. "Verbatim:Wife and I are en route. Going after Nico."

"Nico?" Toni repeats, blinking. "I thought he was dead."

"So did I," I mutter.

Enrico chuckles.

"Did he give you a name?" I ask.

"Oksana," Enricosays, looking up.

Toni lets out a low whistle, then slaps his knee with a bark of laughter. "Fuck me. I think that's Grigori's sister. I mean, how many Oksanas do we know?"

I stare at him, bemused. He just shakes his head like he's watching a train speed off a cliff and exchanges grins with Enrico.

"You're not gonna give me more, are you?" I ask.

"Not a chance," Toni replies, amusement still dancing in his eyes. "Let Steph explain it when he gets back. Assuming he survives."

"So let me get this straight," I say slowly. "Stephano is married to a Russian Bratva princess, and now they're going to find his supposedly-dead brother in Mexico?"

Enrico raises his glass. "I knew he was the quiet one for a reason."

Toni chuckles. "Can't wait to see howthatplays out."

"You really think his brother is still alive?" I ask, taking a slow sip. "Either that or Steph finally lost it. Anyway, sounds like we'll be hearing more about it soon." Toni grins.

We sit in silence for a beat, letting the thought hang. Stephano's always played things close to the chest, but this? It's a curveball. I file it away for later. Something tells me this won't stay quiet for long.

"Back to business," Toni says, setting his glassdown with a low clink. "We need to make a plan to put Edoardo down and make it look clean. No power grab optics."

"Agreed," I say. If we can tie him directly to the Venezuelans—and prove what he's been trading—we'll have what we need."

"Fabrizio's the last holdout," Enrico adds. "I've spoken to him three times now. He's shaken after the attack, but he's old school. Thinks a Don should be respected, even if he's rotting from the inside."

"Fabrizio's a relic," Toni says bluntly. "But the other old guards still look to him. If we flip him, we flip them."

"Which means we need more than hearsay about the Venezuelan connection," I nod. "We need proof—shipments, routes, money trails. Something undeniable."

Enrico leans forward, elbows on his knees. "There's one name that keeps popping up—Teodoro,Teo, Salazar. Supposedly, Edoardo's contact in Caracas. Runs security for a shipping front that's dirty as hell. If we take him out, we collapse the smuggling lane and expose the tie."

Toni agrees. "That would work. Teo's got a rep. Quiet, ruthless, likes to play diplomat, but he's moved weapons, girls, drugs—you name it."