Page 42 of Tangled Vows

We must prepare better. We must do everything in our power to make sure that our enemy doesn’t see us coming. If we don’t, we are going to lose this battle, and he’ll be able to brag to his buddies about how he managed to take out two Bratva captains.

Chapter Twenty

Leonid

No ambushing.

Fuck...

My hands are tied. An ambush is the organization’s preferred way of dealing with issues. Every time I’ve had to deal with one, I’ve used that method. It worked almost always, except that night in that parking lot. It also failed when I was just a low-ranking member of the Bratva. I had cold feet back then, and my target managed to get away. I was able to catch up to him, though, and this never happened again.

Nonetheless, forty-eight hours after our failed attempt to kill Simeone, I can’t come up with anything better. Maybe I’m too upset—I’m not sure. Perhaps this Italian son of a bitch has caused us so much trouble that I just can’t think straight. I need a fresh pair of eyes on this. Someone with enough experience and a clear head. Had Ivan not been wounded, I would have called him, but he’s still recovering.

The next best thing is Malachi. The head of my security has brains, sure, but he doesn’t have my bond with Ivan. He was upset when he heard of the shooting, but he wouldn’t cry over the loss of Ivan Petrov.

I gaze out over the city lights from the rooftop of the Blue Dolphin Lounge with a glass of vodka in my hand. This setting often helps me take my mind off anything that might trouble me. Taking in the skyline, enjoying the coolness of the air along with my favorite drink can be refreshing.

With vodka moistening my lips, I hear Malachi’s heavy footsteps behind me. With a glance back over my shoulder, I recognize his familiar figure.

“Thanks for coming.” I assume a relaxed tone, the head of my security pacing across the rooftop.

“Anytime, Leonid,” he replies. “How’s Ivan? I’ve only been to see him once.”

“He’s getting better,” I inform. “There’s plenty of vodka inside if you want to help yourself.”

“I’m good, thanks,” he says, holding his hand up to chest height. “So, why did you want to see me?”

“I need your help, Malachi,” I confess, more vodka filling my taste buds. “We tried ambushing Simeone. It didn’t work. Most likely, he’s got a security detail watching over him twenty-four-seven now. How do you take out someone so heavily guarded? By the way, Viktor gave me the green light to kill him and him alone. No one else can die.”

“There are ways to do this, but if you want answers, they’re not ideal,” he warns. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes, I am.” I give an emphatic nod.

“A high-powered rifle is one,” he says, mimicking the movement of bringing such weapon up to his eye. “You pick your spot, depending on the location of your target. You can hit your target from a mile away, but the whole operation can get tricky in a city like Miami. There are just too many obstacles along the way. It can take weeks or even months before your target is in an unobstructed area.”

“That’s not an option,” I reject his idea, his last sentence not convincing me. “It will take too long, and it’s too fucking impersonal. I want to be close when it happens. Go on.”

“How about a little payback?” he suggests, a smile of hesitation forming on his face. “Simeone put a bomb in your car. Why don’t you return the favor? It’s efficient, and if our men get to make that bomb, it will never be traced back to you.”

“I like it, but I want something more personal,” I say, rocks clinking together in my glass. “Finding his body parts all over the road sounds amazing. I just want to look him in the eye as he dies. I’m starting to think I’m asking too much.”

“Not really,” Malachi disagrees. “Simeone’s a henchman, isn’t he? He’s not a Don or anything.”

“Nope,” I confirm, remembering the name of his family. “He answers to Don Giovanni Pistone.”

“Then, he’ll be thrilled if we throw a couple of our sexiest ladies his way.” Malachi’s suggestion intrigues me. I look at him with appreciation, nodding as he continues. “Fuck security details. Two women can get through the toughest sons of bitches on earth. Italian, Russian—doesn’t matter. They can’t resist.”

“That’s a great idea,” I say, holding my empty glass up. “Set it up and get back to me, okay?”

“You got it.”

“Thank you, Malachi,” I say in a much more vibrant tone, already thinking of the moment when our girls lure Simeone.

Don’t get ahead of yourself. He’s already bested you and Ivan twice. There might not be a third time that you survive.

My brain cuts in with a painful reminder. I shouldn’t allow myself to dream of happy outcomes. My enemy has outsmarted me already. He’s scarred me, Clare and Ivan. I need to maintain my focus and be more careful. I just can’t afford any more reckless mistakes. It was mistakes like these that sent me and Clare to the hospital and put Ivan into the hands of Dr. Yuschenko. Despite our misfortunes, we have survived, but this won’t go on forever. I’m sure that Simeone wants to see this through—to put me six feet under for his own reasons.

Clare

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