The Enemy in My Bed by L.K. Shaw
Chapter 22
Pierce
Mila’s eyes slowly open.I rise from the bedside chair and stare down at her. “Get dressed. Then meet me out in the living room. Please,” I gently tack onto the end.
I exit the bedroom without giving her a chance to reply. Ten minutes later, she pads down the hallway in her bare feet. Shit. Nothing I can do about it at the moment, but I make a mental note to get her some shoes.
“Let’s go,” I say.
She doesn’t move from her spot in the middle of the room. “Go where?” she asks.
That same sour scent of fear I haven’t smelled since those first few days wafts through the room. Shit. Of course she’s scared. Why wouldn’t she be? Especially after her confession last night. I close the distance between us and cradle her cheek. “It’s a surprise. Trust me.”
Mila continues staring up at me, her eyes scanning my face. No doubt searching for insincerity or deceit. I keep my expression as open as I can. She comes to a decision. It’s in her face. I take her trembling hand in mine and lead her out the front door to the town car where Fabrizio waits. He closes us inside the back seat and then climbs behind the wheel. The tinted window separating us from the front is closed.
I reach into the dry bar and pull out the bourbon. “Would you like one?” I ask Mila, holding up the snifter.
She shakes herself out of some kind of daze. “No, thank you, I don’t drink.”
After pouring some for myself, I sit back in my seat and observe her. Perhaps it’s like she says, and I’m being cruel, but I don’t tell Mila where we’re going, and she doesn’t ask. We ride in silence, while she stares out the window, until finally pulling up to a six-story building with floor to ceiling windows, each one surrounded on two sides by dirt brown brick.
Mila eyes me as I exit the vehicle and hold out my hand for her. After a moment’s hesitation, she places her palm on top of mine. I direct her through the front door. The sound of construction echoes in the open lobby of the building, and, as usual, the scent of fresh flowers permeates the air.
“Good morning, Mr. De Luca. Miss,” the security guard behind the desk greets us with a pleasant smile.
I acknowledge him with a nod. Beside me, I can sense Mila’s confusion. We ride the elevator up five floors and step into the private space outside the townhouse. I ring the bell and wait. Rapid footsteps come from inside and then the door is yanked open by an ecstatic Brenna.
“Hi, there. I’m so glad you made it. Come in, please.” She grabs Mila’s hand and pulls her inside.
I follow behind them, close the door, and move to my usual spot against the wall, crossing my arms to observe the two women.
“I was so happy when Pierce asked if I minded spending the day with you while he and Jacob take care of some business,” Brenna gushes.
Mila glances in my direction and our eyes lock. There’s a sheen of tears in those too big blue eyes of hers. I give her a small smile, and she turns back to Brenna.
“Thank you for inviting me,” she says quietly.
“You’re in luck, too, because I was just getting ready to make breakfast. You can keep me company while I cook.” The two women cross through the dining room and into the kitchen. I follow behind, keeping my distance. Mila sits on one of the island stools while Brenna starts grabbing things out of the fridge.
They begin to talk quietly, and finally, Jacob comes strolling down the stairs and stands at my side.
“I never thought I’d see the day that a Russian sits in my house, eating my food, and talking to my wife,” he says, glancing in their direction and then back to me.
“She’s more than that, and you know it.”
“Does she?” Jacob asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet. But she will.”
“Have you told Francesca about her?”
“No.”
“If this thing is something, then she needs to know. I’m not sure how she’ll take this,” my cousin says.
Me either, which is why I haven’t said anything. I have no idea what I’ll do if it comes down to making a choice. That’s not true. My sister is the most important person in the world to me. The only person who has ever loved me since our father died. If it comes down to it, I’ll always choose her.
The kosher bakeryis nearly empty, aside from the single occupant behind the counter. Wójcik agreed to meet in neutral territory in the middle of Flatbush. Its primary residents are Jewish and don’t belong to either of our organizations. Which makes it the ideal location to hold a meeting. We have no stake here, nor do the Polish.
Despite the neutrality of our meeting place, each faction has brought a small contingent with them. Dino, Maurizio, and Severino fan out next to me, the four of us at Jacob’s back mirroring the position of the four men guarding Wójcik’s.
“I understand you called this meeting to discuss a purchase we made from the Russians several months ago?” he opens the conversation.
“Yes.” Jacob nods. “I believe the merchandise was sold to Krzysztof Gornak by Mikhail Popov.”
“I’m afraid you are mistaken.” The Polish bastard’s reply is far too smug.
I take a threatening step forward, and the four guards across from me follow suit, but my cousin throws up a fist to stop me. “Pierce,” he warns in a low tone.
My fists clench, but I fall back, my gaze not leaving the man with a smirk on his face. I curse the fact I showed my hand. I’ve just made this negotiation harder.
Wójcik studies me before returning his gaze back to Jacob. “As I was saying, there has been a mistake. We have not entered into any business arrangement with Mikhail Popov. However, one of our more prolific clients is his son, Maksim. Perhaps he is who you meant.”
Jacob’s shock rolls off him, but he hides it well. As do I. How the fuck did we not know Mikhail had a son? Is this the same person who tortured Mila? Why didn’t she tell me who he was?
“Ah, yes, of course. It would seem our information was incorrect,” my cousin replies smoothly. “Regardless, we are still interested in this particular piece of merchandise.”
The flame of anger rises at hearing Mila’s sister referred to that way, but I understand the need for discretion. We may be in neutral territory, but anyone could be listening in on our conversation.
Wójcik’s slimy smile fans my rage. “I’m afraid that bit of merchandise is not for sale. It’s much favored by Gornak.” His eyes meet mine. “As well as a few of our other associates.”
“I see.” There’s tightly restrained anger in Jacob’s tone.
The other man’s gaze returns to my cousin’s, the shit-eating grin still on his face. “I’m sure you understand.”
My fingers twitch. I want to slice his throat, giving him a matching smile. One that bleeds red.
“I recently married,” Jacob says, almost casually.
Wójcik sits back in his chair, a questioning look in his eyes at the seemingly random change in conversation. “Yes, I believe I heard that. To the Irish Donnelly’s granddaughter, correct?”
My cousin nods. “Yes. It’s been quite the advantageous alliance. You may have also heard about the recent demise of our mutual acquaintance, Mikhail Popov. As well as every one of his men who were unfortunate enough to be at his compound that day. I understand the authorities were still trying to find remains in the ashes from the fire that burned everything to the ground, even several days later.”
The man opposite us goes rigid, his jaw tight, his fingers clenched on the tabletop. “A terrible accident.”
“Indeed. It would be terrible if there were any more accidents to happen. All those lives lost when all they needed to do was be more careful. Such a shame,” Jacob adds smoothly.
“I find it interesting, though, that the Italians care so much about this particular piece of Russian merchandise,” Wójcik emphasizes.
“You shouldn’t worry too much about where our interests lie, but instead worry about making sure your customers are satisfied,” my cousin bites out.
The man across from us doesn’t respond. My patience is wearing thin. Finally, he speaks. “I’ll need to consider your offer for a few days.”
“It remains open until noon tomorrow,” Jacob says, rising from the table. He casually buttons his suit jacket while his gaze remains locked onto the Polish. “Have a good day, gentlemen.”
He glides past me with a single imperceptible nod. Without taking my eyes off the men in front of me, I slowly back out of the bakery. My body doesn’t fully relax, even after I’ve exited the front door. Jacob climbs into the back of the town car, and I join him. We’ve barely pulled away from the curb before he’s reaching into the dry bar and pouring each of us a drink.
“I’m still not sure if Wójcik is going to just hand her over despite my veiled threat,” Jacob says after several sips of whiskey. “The Polish have their own allies.”
“They have the Russians, who are still scrambling since Mikhail’s death, but with their reduced numbers, even aligning with them isn’t enough to overpower us and the Irish combined. Whatever else Sal has done over the years, he certainly made the smart choice with the marriage contract between you and Brenna.”
Jacob meets my gaze. “If this truly means us going to war with the Polish, they may kill the girl in the end.”
I shake my head. “They have more to gain by keeping her alive.”
“I hope you’re right.”
