The Enemy in My Bed by L.K. Shaw

Chapter 28

Pierce

My whole bodybuzzes with the flow of adrenaline. Aurelio pulls up in front of the bakery, while a second vehicle comes to a stop behind him. The fading sun has dipped behind the horizon and the moon is already high in the sky, half hidden behind the clouds. My gun is strapped securely at my side, as well as another against my ankle, and a third at the small of my back. I have a knife hidden under my other pant leg.

It’s show time.

Jacob and I exit the vehicle and glance around. As though anticipating danger, the streets are nearly devoid of people. A dog barks in the distance, but otherwise an eerie hush has fallen over the neighborhood. The stillness in the air is cloying. A single occupant steps out of the town car parked behind ours.

We have men, a mix of Italians and Irish, canvassing the area, monitoring for any signs of an ambush. The bell over the bakery door jangles, and the three of us step inside. It’s cool in here with the scent of sugar and yeast surrounding us, and I breathe in the mixture.

Seated at the same table as before is Wójcik, and behind him stands a man who hadn’t been present yesterday. My gut tells me this is Krzysztof Gornak. I want nothing more than to drive my knife straight into his throat.

We reach the pair and Jacob nods in greeting before unbuttoning his suit jacket and settling opposite the Polish leader. I stand at his back, not taking my eyes off the guard dog who smirks at me.

“Let’s get this business done and over with,” my cousin bites out. “Name your price.”

“So hasty,” Wójcik tsks. “I thought this was a negotiation.”

“Then start negotiating,” I snap.

The other man’s gaze slides to mine, and that smarmy smile crosses his lips again. “Do you always let your subordinates speak for you, Pan. Ricci?” His question is directed at Jacob, but his eyes haven’t left mine.

“We aren’t here to play games. We’re here to make a deal. If you’re not prepared to do that, then you have left us with no choice but to take drastic measures. There will be no leniency and no second chances.” Jacob’s tone is deadly, and shows exactly why he is the leader of the entire Italian syndicate.

Wójcik sits back and raises his hands in a placating gesture, finally turning back to my cousin. “No need to get upset, we’re perfectly willing to begin negotiations.”

“Then name your price,” Jacob grinds out, his patience nearing its limit.

The other man drops his hands and his expression tightens. “Ten million.”

“Five.”

“Eight,” he rebuttals.

“Seven, and that is my final offer. I recommend you take it.”

Wójcik doesn’t speak again. Gornak’s jaw has tightened so much, I imagine his teeth grinding together.

“Deal,” the Polish leader finally concedes.

He reaches toward his inner jacket pocket, but before he gets even close, my gun is unholstered and pointed directly at his face. His movement halts. Gornak sloppily withdraws his weapon moments too late.

“I’m merely getting my banking details for our transaction,” Wójcik states.

“Slowly,” Jacob warns.

With easy movements, the other man reaches into his jacket and removes a simple white business card and passes it over. My cousin plucks it from his fingers at the same time the third man, who had remained at the door during our conversation, strides toward us. He’s handed the business card and begins keying the information into the phone in his hand. I holster my weapon.

“Before we complete our deal, perhaps we can make another,” Jacob calmly says.

Wójcik raises a brow. “What else would you like to purchase? More merchandise?”

Disgust rolls through me at the hopeful note in his voice.

“Information.”

We’d discussed this on the drive over. None of our current leads have been able to discover anything on Maksim. My hope is that the Polish are greedy enough to accept a little extra incentive to provide us with his location.

“What sort of information is it that you’re looking for?” Wòjcik asks. “And how much is it worth to you?”

“We will pay you an additional ten million if you tell us where Mikhail’s son, Maksim, can be found.”

Several minutes pass while the Polish leader thinks about our offer. No one moves. Every muscle in my body is tense while I wait. My knuckles ache from the clenched fists at my side.

“You can find him above a club in Brighton called Tatiana’s,” he finally says.

Jacob nods. “I should add,” he pauses. “If Maksim somehow manages to vacate the premises any time soon, consider our…neutrality in regards to your organization null and void.”

While he lets the Polish digest that threat, he gestures for his accountant to add the money to the transaction. Within seconds, there’s a beep. Gornak slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. He makes a few keystrokes and says something to his boss in Polish. Wójcik replies in the same language and then turns back to us.

“Your merchandise is being delivered momentarily,” he says. “And your warning is understood.”

The tension in the room is thick. I’d give anything to put a bullet through both men’s brains if for no other reason than because I’m itching to shed blood. A door at the back of the bakery opens, and both Jacob and I withdraw our weapons. Through the darkness steps a young, blonde woman wearing a sheer thin-strapped nightgown, although calling it that is being generous. It barely reaches the tops of her thighs and everything is visible, the fabric is so thin.

I growl deep in my chest at the sight of not only her tied wrists—wrists that are raw and bleeding—but the amount of bruises covering her body from head to toe. She stumbles into the bakery, tears spilling down her cheeks, the man behind her giving her a none-too-gentle push. In the full light, there’s no mistaking that she’s Mila’s sister. The two look exactly alike, aside from Anya’s long hair.

Rage makes my vision go red, but I take slow deep breaths to try and calm myself. I don’t want to terrify the girl more than she already has been. She and her guard continue crossing the room until they’re standing on Wójcik’s side of the table. I take a step toward her.

“Anya,” I say softly, trying to keep my tone even and gentle.

Her eyes snap to mine and widen in terror. Gornak grabs her arm and drags her forward. Before anyone can blink, my weapon is in his face. Everyone shifts nervously.

“Take your hand off her and back away,” I grind out.

Far too slowly for my liking, he releases his grip and pulls his hand away before stepping a few paces toward his boss. Jacob rises and shrugs out of his suit jacket. He passes it over to me. Once it’s in my grasp, I holster the gun and move slowly toward Anya, who remains frozen in place.

“You’re safe, now. I swear,” I lower my voice, tucking the jacket under my arm. “I’m going to cut these ropes, okay?”

She doesn’t answer, just watches me closely while I pull the knife from its sheath against my leg. Her body goes rigid, and her breathing increases. I saw through the fibers, until they fall from her wrists to the floor. I put the blade away and gently lay the coat over her shoulders hiding her from leering gazes.

The second she’s covered, her face crumples and she starts to collapse. I swing her up in my arms and head toward the door, trusting Jacob to have my back. Her small frame shakes with her tears. Finally, I’m out of the bakery, and Aurelio rushes to open the back door of the town car. Anya burrows into my chest as I take my seat and then my cousin slides in opposite us. In moments, we’re leaving Flatbush.

Even in the dim light inside the vehicle, the anger is visible on Jacob’s face. No doubt my expression mirrors his. His gaze lands on the young girl, still trembling in my arms, and his expression tightens even further.

“I’ll have Dr. Marino stop by the house in the morning,” he says quietly.

“Thank you. I’m sure that will help put Mila at ease.” I stare down at Anya who seems to have settled into a restless sleep. “She’s going to need some clothes. I’m also going to call Theresa. She was good for Francesca.”

Silence fills the air. I glance up at Jacob who’s watching me with a thoughtful expression. “It may take the organization a while to get used to a Russian—two Russians—in their midst. Having Brenna and Francesca in their corner will help, but you know it’s going to be difficult for some people to accept them.”

In the back of my mind I hadn’t been thinking that far in advance, but he’s right. This thing between Mila and me doesn’t seem to be going away any time soon. We’ve been at war with the Russians for as long as I can remember. I won’t be able to force the syndicate to accept her. She’s worth the fight though.