Page 55 of Bloody Savage God
“I’m sorry, An,” is what I settle on. It’s not a great response, but hell, how am I supposed to know how to help her?
When her eyes meet mine, I see tears pooling in them. “I’m not going along with it.”
That makes me grind my teeth, because I sure as heck don’t want anything to happen to her, and if she resists one of father’s orders… Well, I don’t think it’ll work out well for her.
“We’ll come up with something, okay?”
The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them, because there is nothing we could possibly come up with that would make father change his mind. If stubborn had a face, it would wear a nasal cannula and kill people with looks. Plus, something tells me whoever has agreed to take Anya as a wife in payment for whatever deal father has made probably isn’t eager to have that deal break down. She may be my sister, but I still know she’s a beautiful girl. I’ve killed several men because of the way they’ve looked at her.
God damn.
That now makes two problems I haven’t gotten a solution for and both of them have to do with women.
“I’ve got to go, but I’ll answer my phone, okay?”
Anya nods, still looking like she’s about to blow. Whether that means more tears or screaming, I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s time for me to get out of here.
Because I have to fuck up Gianna’s bestie, without sending my queen into a rage.
Chapter Nineteen
Gianna
UncleMarioremainsstanding.Either a show that any pretense is now over, or an indication that he’s suddenly convinced the small couch and armchair are infected with bugs. Who knows?
The whole thing resembles a standoff, which feels oddly promising. Maybe it’s time I’ll get some actual answers.
“You want to discuss the Russians?” I ask, ready to get this conversation underway.
My uncle’s expression changes into a grin that has my heart rate pick up. Earlier, surrounded by the capos, he did a poor job of hiding his frustration and I never took him for a particularly skilled actor, but his change of mood now is doing nothing to reaffirm that belief.
“Perhaps you want to share first,piccola?” He says, his grin growing a bit wider. “You know, since you seem to literally be in bed with them?”
I manage to keep my expression calm, but my hand presses more firmly against my thigh where I can feel my knife holster. It’s a stupid move, a dead giveaway to anyone who knows to look for such signs, but I can’t help myself.
Uncle Mario knows about Mikhail. But how? Either I missed a tail when we headed to the hotel yesterday, or one of the two people I still trust the most in this world sold me out.
Eric or Mia.
Stomach acid seems to be creeping up my esophagus, burning its way up to leave a bad taste in my mouth. I take a step towards Uncle Mario, closing the distance between us in a show of power. I do not fear him, neither his accusations, nor his physical power, and he needs to know that, no matter how much I’m reeling from his revelation.
With a hard look, I go in for the confrontation. “Funny you should say that. Turns out the Russian’s didn’t kill my father, which leaves me with the question who else may have had a motive.”
Instead of being upset over my words, my uncle’s grin only grows. “Is that what the Russian scum told you while you blew him?”
The derogatory tone and his sneer are almost enough to have my fist flying into his face, but I manage to restrain myself. Mainly because any memory of my time with Mikhail does the exact opposite of what my uncle wants to evoke.
Smirking right back at the man who, at this point, is little more than a greedy old creep in my eyes, I tilt my head in mock insult. “Are you upset that your pathetic money problems are no longer so secret?”
For a second, my uncle looks pissed, but he quickly schools himself. “I would never have had any money issues if your father had run a decent ship instead of indulging you in playing fancy business woman.”
The logic of that statement is lost on me, so I just laugh. “Yes, because the games don’t depend on thatlittlebusiness I run.”
Uncle Mario’s cheeks are darkening, but I’m surprised to see him holding back on his emotions. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. As my father’s consigliere, he always worked in an advisory capacity, sharing his thoughts but never allowed to act on them freely. That would have given him enough training to rein himself in over the past decades.
“If Leonardo hadn’t insisted on letting you play at being a man, I would have had access to that cash and never would have needed to borrow money.” He says it completely level, as if none of what he just said is completely ridiculous. As if my being sidelined based on my sex would have given him the right to cash in on the Bruno syndicate’s money.
“You do realize that the money doesn’t go into my pockets alone, don’t you?” The exasperation in my tone makes his nostrils flare in response.
