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CHAPTER SIXTY – EIGHT ETHAN'S POV This isn't exactly where I want to be. It's not where I should be, either. Who gives a fvck about the Italians' business? Certainly not me. The only things I would rather be doing right now are either shooting the fvcker Rolan in the face or eating my wife out. There's no in-between. The first part is out for now. I asked Flame to stay on standby—an option he wasn't thrilled about since the lack of action bores him. That makes two of us. Flame and I are the types who will only accept a mission if we deem it exciting enough. The adrenaline wave is our bitch, and we ride it every chance we get. Now, the only one I want to ride me is Rose. I like how adorable she looks when she thinks she has the upper hand before I flip her onto her back and tease her while— "Focus," Laye speaks low enough so only I can hear. "Or try to appear as if you're focusing." We're sitting in one of the Bratva's empty clubs downtown with the Lucianos' underboss, Nicolo. He brought a dozen guards with him, and they are currently watching the sparse staff buzzing around. The workers are in the prepping phase since it's not opening time yet. Nicolo is known for his distrustful nature, and that's why Lazlo is reluctant about an alliance. Still, even he can't ignore the danger to his boss's life—who also happens to be his eldest brother. So in a way, his hand was forced by me. Laye should thank me. Without my very convenient interference, he wouldn't have Nicolo exactly where he wants him. I can be such a good sport when need be. Nicolo sucks a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke upward. When he speaks, he does so with a sophisticated Italian accent. 'Rolan has been teaming up with British." "Is that so?" Laye twirls the ice in his whiskey as he glances at me. He told me to look into it, and I said the British aren't dangerous. They aren't. They're very few in number and barely have any territories. 'Yes, those fvckers go after women." Nicolo crushes his barely finished cigarette and retrieves another one, shoving it in his mouth before lighting it. 'Don't they all?" I sip my drink, unable to hide the boredom in my voice. 'I don't mean prostitutes." Nicolo gesticulates with his lighter. 'But our women, wives, betrothed—those types. They like to know they can turn them into whores sell them on the black market, and tarnish our honor. We've been keeping our women out of the public eye, and I would do the same if I were you." 'Laye doesn't need to." I grin. 'His wife is always hidden away like Sleeping Beauty." Laye hides the clenching of his jaw with a smile. 'Your wife, on the other hand, is very forthcoming about getting out." 'Cheers to my wife, without whom the brotherhood wouldn't have legal money to funnel back to your deep dark secrets." 'I'll drink to that." Laye takes a sip of his glass and turns back to Nicolo. 'Do you have anyone following the British around?" My phone vibrates, and I place my glass on the table to check the text from Pharaoah. He usually gets in touch if it's to use his cunning nature to extract information. Since it never works, he gave up some time ago. The break of pattern turns my suspicious meter on. Pharaoah: I have exciting scenery before me, so I wanted to share. My hold tightens on the phone when he sends a picture taken in a traditional Asian restaurant. Rose is smiling, sitting between Pakstan and Lean, and the latter has his fvcking hand on her thigh. That's it. That fvcker's date of death is only a matter of time now. I know Uncle River sent her to meet the Japanese with Pharaoah and Pakstan. She called me as soon as she was out of her granduncle's office, happiness bursting through her words. I told her not to get too comfy in the fvcker Lean's company. I clearly said to stay away from the sod, Pakstan, too. I didn't have to warn her about Pharaoah because she wouldn't go near that cocksucker even if her life depended on it. But here she is, being all comfy with those two. My mood flips from bored to murderous in a fraction of a second. I'm vaguely listening to Nicolo talking about the British. All I want to do is fly to wherever they're having the meeting and snatch Rose away—after I put a few bullets each in Lean and Pakstan. "Lazlo and I were young at the time it happened." Nicolo takes a drag of his cigarette, his eyes darkening and accent thickening. "The capo at the time was my grandfather. He was fearless and ruthless and didn't hesitate to cut any fvcker who thought they could get past him. After we confiscated one of the British' territories, fair and square, they kidnapped my grandmother. But those motherfvckers didn't stop there. They sent pictures and videos of her repeated rape to my grandfather, father, and uncles. At first, she cried and fought. She kicked and scratched. Then, as the days went by, she just went silent. She used to call out Nonno's name, but then she didn't. She tried to kill herself, but they strapped her to a bed and used her like a filthy animal." Nicolo pauses to light another cigarette, his jaw turning as hard as granite. "It was the worst time in my family's history. A stain of dishonor." 'Your grandfather didn't look for her?" Laye asks. 'Of course he did. He turned New York upside fvcking down and went on a killing spree where he murdered anyone who stood in his path, but the only things he could find were the tapes they sent. And do you know what those fvckers did next?" "I assume they killed her?" Laye speaks calmly, almost as if he's sympathetic. He's not; he's good at emulating the emotions needed for such situations. "In cold fvcking blood. When my grandfather finally succumbed to let them have their territories back, they said they would return her. That moment when she saw Nonno was the first time her expression changed. She sprinted in his direction, but the motherfvckers shot her in the back before she could reach him. They didn't need the territories anymore. The sadistic fvcks only wanted to inflict pain and break Nonno, which eventually happened, you know. After Nonna's death, Nonno assassinated every last motherfvcker he could find. He even went after them when they scattered all over Europe, which turned him into a crazed dog who didn't work or sleep. He survived on vengeance, and that eventually destroyed him. He couldn't forgive himself, for he was larger than the world, but he still couldn't save his wife. A few years later, he shot himself in the head with the same bullet they shot Nonna." 'May they rest in peace," Laye says. Nicolo nods, crushing his unfinished cigarette. "Point is, don't underestimate that bunch of motherfvckers. They may not have much territory, but they don't hesitate to fvck you up in ways you can't survive." He's speaking as if the Italians don't kidnap women for payment. The Italians would've done that too—if Rose let them. It's the modus operandi of every crime ring since the beginning of time, but they still act victimized when they're the target. Pathetic. Laye pretends to sympathize with Nicolo, but he's the biggest hypocrite. From the little information I've gathered about his closed-off life, he similarly got his wife. He's the last person who should judge the British' methods when he is even more nefarious. Laye retrieves his phone and pauses at Pharaoah's name flashing on his screen before he answers. 'Volkov." I'm close enough to hear the gunshots through the phone. Pop. Pop. Pop. Shouts in Russian and another very familiar language filter through. 'Motherfvcker!" Pharaoah curses in Russian before he yells, 'We're under attack! Send backup!" The line goes dead. Laye and I exchanged a look as I felt the blood draining from my fvcking face. There's no doubt about it. The other voices, the ones who were attacking them, were British.