Page 26 of Captive Heart: Armani
Just then, I hear a knock on my door, followed by the handle jiggling.
“Jesus, Armani, let me in!”
It’s Dante. I get up to let my brother in while pondering what to do about the Russian.
“Let the man be, but keep a close eye on him. Dante just got here,” I tell Clayton. Then I look over at Dante and tell him, “Orloff’s at our wine tasting right now.”
My brother’s expression shifts to one of shock. “Are you insane? Go after him!”
“No.”
“You don’t want us to intercept?” Clayton asks incredulously over the phone.
“No,” I repeat. “He came to us, and not in secret. He knows he’s got a fuck ton of security on him. I don’t think he’s here to cause trouble. He wants something else.”
“Copy that,” Clayton says, hanging up.
“You’re seriously going to just sit back and let that…ticking fucking time bomb strut around the property?” Dante says. “I don’t trust him. You shouldn’t, either.”
“I didn’t say I did.”
Dante shakes his head and goes to my desktop computer. He pulls up the security camera footage, and waves me over to watch it with him. Sure enough, the video shows Maxim Orloff and his right-hand man standing in line at the entrance to the tasting room in all their stoic-faced, tattooed glory, waiting to be escorted inside.
Unbelievable.
Wanting to hasten this along, I call the number for the tasting room and tell the employee who answers to let everyone in the next group in right away. Then Dante and I watch the livestream as the guests filter into the tasting room, settling around tables and at the bar.
“Stay here,” I tell my brother, already knowing he’s going to argue.
“I’m going with you.”
He follows as I head to the door but I stop him with a glare.
“I need to confront him alone. Man to man.” I gesture at the computer. “Watch the livestream. If anything looks off, you can come to my rescue.”
Dante searches my eyes with his own hard gaze, but doesn’t give me any more grief.
“There are too many civilians in the group,” I add. “He won’t try anything and risk so much bloodshed, especially not with all the security cameras around. Trust me. The last thing Orloff wants to do is jeopardize his citizenship status by making himself a known terrorist. He’s getting married for a green card, remember?”
What I don’t add is that Orloff will likely be taking his revenge on us in a much more covert and individual way.
Without another word, I leave my office and head across the property to the tasting room. The sommelier is just beginning the tasting at the bar as I step into the bright, modern, high-ceilinged space that Frankie redesigned last year. The guests who aren’t at the bar yet are looking over the menus at their tables, chatting with their dates or the waitstaff. All is calm.
Staying in the shadows, I observe Orloff and his companion as they speak over their wine glasses with an air of overconfidence. I’m too far away to make out their words, but the unfamiliar rhythm of their voices tells me they’re speaking their native tongue.
A quick sweep of Orloff’s body gives me an idea of where he’s most likely hiding his weapons. He will be carrying several, as will his colleague. More than enough to do significant damage to these guests if provoked. Despite my dismissal to Dante, the truth is, I don’t know the way the Russians work like I do with the Italian families. Everything I know about the Bratva leans toward unnecessary and unpredictable violence. Orloff could strike at any moment. But I’m not sure that’s the hand he wants to play today. If it was, he would have struck already.
Unless my gut instinct is wrong.
Orloff and the other man receive their second pouring of wine, and then the sommelier begins describing the wine’s features as he moves down the line of guests at the bar. Instead of staying with the group, Orloff picks up his glass and wanders around the room with his friend. He acts as though he’s studying the vintages lined up on the shelves against the wall, but I know he’s just killing time. He keeps scanning the room, clearly waiting for one of the Bellantis to arrive and confront him. So that’s exactly what he’s going to get.
What kind of host would I be to keep my guest waiting?
I casually approach Orloff and the other Russian, no urgency in my gait, keeping my eyes on both of them and assessing their every movement. Orloff is good at pretending to be relaxed and comfortable in enemy territory, though his friend looks tense and stiff. As if sensing me coming up behind him, Orloff spins slowly with a welcoming, friendly smile on his rugged face.
“Armani Bellanti. How nice of you to greet me. I was expecting your brother Dante. He is the one in charge, no?”
He looks healthy, clear-eyed, completely unaffected from the fire he was involved in only days ago. If he suffered any ill effects, I can’t see them.
