Page 58 of Bloody Savage God
“You’re right.” I say into the phone, pacing my father’s office. “Tell me where you are. I have another plan.” One that would help keep Mia safe, but would leave me without any support.
It’s a fucking stupid idea, but I’ll be damned if I leave Mia hanging. Not after she stuck her neck out for me only a couple of days ago. Loyalty is key, and Mia is family.
I refuse to turn into my uncle, whose baseless accusations drove him to murder a man who loved him like a brother. I’ll be better than that asshole.
And I’ll see him dead. Somehow.
Chapter Twenty
Mikhail
Mia’splaceisabovethe martial arts studio she runs. I’m sitting outside in my car like the professed stalker I am. Except this isn’t the right woman. Instead of the woman I want to fuck, I’m waiting for the woman I’m supposed to fuck up.
Only what I’m really doing is watching the street to make sure my father hasn’t sent anyone else out to make sure the job gets done. It would be the first time for him to send someone to check up on me, but I’m not going to fool myself into thinking it couldn’t happen. That level of stupidity belongs to dead guys.
Whatever the case, it’s safe to say I have a problem. I might be second in line and at the top of the hierarchy, but for the time being I’m still only an enforcer for the Bratva, and that means if I don’t deliver, my father has plenty of other men who will. Which would leave Gianna pissed beyond measure, and as much as I have enjoyed her letting out her emotions on my body, I have no intention of actually letting her get hurt.
When the door to the martial arts studio opens, I watch as Mia scans the street. I don’t move, but I make no other move to conceal myself and she is astute enough to notice someone just sitting in their car without an obvious reason. Either she’s simply trained herself to be perceptive because of her good-for-nothing old man, or he tipped her off that he fucked up badly enough that shit might blow her way.
I’m far enough that she can’t see my face clearly, but given how recently we were sitting across a kitchen island from each other, there is no way she doesn’t recognize me. Especially since I can see the resignation fall over her face as she turns around and locks her door, before she quickly walks down the street in the opposite direction from me.
My best bet is, she’s headed for the railway station, which means I’ve got to make a decision.
Unless I want to risk my hide to keep Gianna’s best friend safe, I’ve got to get my father’s message delivered. Luckily, he hasn’t specified exactly what he wants done, even if it was implied. One last time I scan the street, making sure no one else is showing an interest in her. Then, instead of following Mia down the street, I leave my car and head to the door she locked moments earlier.
Taking out my tools, I push the thin tension wrench into the bottom of the keyhole, applying a slight amount of pressure, before sticking my three-ridged rake in the hole above the wrench. A little bit of wiggling and pushing later, the door opens right up and I step into the sports studio that lies below Mia’s apartment.
Giving her the benefit of the doubt, I assume she must have bought the unit as a whole, leaving her short changed. Otherwise, living right above her place of business, where it’s easy to find her, is just plain fucking stupid. Convenient for me, though. Breaking the flimsy door in the back allows me to head upstairs with barely any time wasted.
I take a quick look around the apartment. It’s very organized. Everything is put away neatly, not even a single dirty cup in the sink. The woman is a neat freak. Which will only make the message I’m about to deliver hit harder. Smiling to myself, I pick up the kitchen chair and smash it into the glass living room table first.
It takes about thirty minutes before the apartment is a complete mess. Splintered wood and shards of glass covering the floor, clothes strewn all around, furniture damaged beyond repair, and food splattered on the walls. It’s not going to make my father happy, no doubt earning me a lecture about going too soft, but at least he won’t have reason to suspect I avoided hurting Mia on purpose.
As if on cue, my phone vibrates.
“Yes?”
My father doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “Someone took out a hit on the Bruno girl.”
The way he says ‘girl’, as if Gianna isn’t a fucking Queen, ticks me off, but I keep my mouth shut. There are more important things I need to say, like “What the hell? Someone took out a hit on Gianna Bruno?”
“Looks like it’s open, but it came through the Obshina.”
That’s not good. The Chechen Mafia organization doesn’t have a large presence in Toronto, which means they sometimes run their stuff through my family.
It has Mario Romano spelled all over it.
“What are you going to do about it?” I ask. “If we get involved in this, it could start a fucking war.” And force me into a decision I’m not eager to make.
“Watch how you speak to me,” my father barks. He might be okay with slaughter and massacres, but he’s got a weird thing about cursing. At least when it comes to his children.
“I haven’t given any orders, but Dimitri says word is out on the street already. The Chechens aren’t keeping it quiet, which leaves us having to deal with this goddamn shit,” my father growls. He himself is naturally excluded from the no cursing rule.
He’s got a point, though. This is some bad shit, and every instinct tells me I need to get to Gianna as fast as possible.
Gianna
The restaurant where I’m meeting Riccardo Angelo, head of the Angelo syndicate, is a fancy five-star place called Mariana’s Cuisine on Lake Shore Boulevard. When I enter, the waiter takes me to a back room that Riccardo reserved for this meeting.
