Page 82 of Captive Rival: Armani
“Sounds too easy,” I say, skeptical.
“Sometimes it is,” he says. “Worth a shot, anyway.”
I think about it. Despite his former employment by various other mafia families, and despite his success at rounding up information (and lowlifes) for me, he’s still able to move through the underground with relative ease. It won’t always be that way. This, in fact, could be the gig that finally places a mark on his back if he’s found out. Unless the Bratva don’t think before they pull the trigger.
“I don’t like it,” I tell him. “If you’re made, you’re dead.”
“Or the perp won’t live long enough to realize I’ve skinned him for info,” Clayton says.
“We don’t have a choice. We need information and we need it now,” Dante says. “Before Sergio Bruno makes a pact with the devils that will burn Napa to the ground.”
Letting out a long breath, I get up and finally pour myself a drink. “Do it then. But be strategic. Not all men can be loosened up with booze and the Bratva don’t cave to pain.”
Clayton looks unruffled. “I’ve got ketamine in my back pocket, if necessary. It goes down easy in a double shot of whiskey.”
“Nasty drug,” Marco comments.
Silence fills the room.
Clayton shrugs. “What? Anyone object?”
“Nope,” I say for everyone, stabbing my brothers with a look. “Just watch yourself.”
Dante looks at the photos on my desk again. “So what’s the name of this asshole, again?”
“Orloff,” Clayton says. “Maxim Orloff.”
A sharp inhale makes everyone turn toward the door. Karina has one hand on the knob, as if she was just about to walk in. Her brows are knit together with worry.
“Sorry,” she says. “It was open. I couldn’t find you guys at the house so I came here.”
Marco immediately goes to her and tugs her gently inside the office. “What’s wrong? Did you need something?”
“No. I wanted to ask if we had dinner plans, but, um, did you just say Orloff?”
“He did.” Marco tilts his head at Clayton. “Why?”
Karina frowns as she turns to me. “You should ask your wife about that. Really.”
“My wife?” It’s my turn to scowl. “What are you talking about?”
The door swings open, and now Candi is the one standing there with her eyes wide and her expression uncertain.
“She’s right,” Candi tells me. “You should ask me about Maxim Orloff.”
Every eye in the room turns to her, my brothers tensing up as if they’re expecting her to fight or flee. Needless to say, trust issues run deep in this family—and she’s at the top of their shit list.
Candi glances around the office, slowly taking in the stern and suspicious faces, the defensive postures. She knows she’s surrounded, and not by friends. But instead of looking intimidated or scared, she lifts her chin and addresses all of us.
“Let’s talk.”
29
CANDI
The secondI stepped into Dante’s office, all eyes were on me. Glaring, expectant. The pressure was on. But before anyone could launch into interrogation mode, Armani came over to usher me out the door.
“We’ll do this at the house in half an hour,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads me away.
