Page 38 of Giovanni the Savage

"They were good allies though," I admit. "But do you think cutting the deals is enough for them to come after us?"

Ivan sighs and shakes his head.

"The Russian Mafia has its enemies. And besides, the ties were severed a decade ago. I don't see why they would suddenly want to strike now," he reasons, and I nod in agreement.

"Fair enough, but they can also be unpredictable."

"I've looked into them, Boss," he assures me. "The mob leader just started a family. I don't think he would jeopardize that by starting a war."

A family.

That's something I've never thought about since becoming the Don. I would love to have one someday, but in less risky conditions, so it's not on my mind.

"The Caribbean Mafia?" I ask when Ivan comes to a pause on a picture with a group of men.

Ivan smirks. "A really small mob. They are so deep into politics that they haven't discovered the darker side of the mob. A small part of them fled to join the American mob that promised them protection."

The American Mob.

"If we were to look at any mob that might have been involved in this, our best bet would be them," he points to the screen. "Seeing as we're in their territory, and we've built companies where theirs used to be, they might not take it lightly."

"That's right," I agree.

My head is pounding with how much I've been thinking, but my eyes are still glued to the stamp on the pictures.

"They mostly stay in Los Angeles," Ivan starts as underground pictures of the mob members appear on the screen. "That's the state they can take the most cover. People describe it as the state of the powerful."

He's been doing his research. I won't admit it, but he has been really helpful during this investigation.

He scrolls quickly down the pictures, and something catches my eye just as he's about to skip to the next page.

"Stop," I order and sit up abruptly, keeping my eyes trained on something particular.

He stops on one of the pictures, and I take the mouse from him and zoom in on a guy wearing a cap and holding a cigar. There's a mark on his wrist, and that's my target. My eyes squint, and I finally make out the mark.

An injured eagle taking flight. Similar to the stamp on Harvey's pictures.

"That's the same mark," I tell Ivan.

I turn the picture over and scrutinize Harvey even more, and that's when I see the same mark on his neck. Almost like he's trying to hide it because a part of it is hidden under his collar, but I can make it out to be the same thing.

"How the fuck did I miss this?" I groan, feeling dumb.

My eyes are still frantically comparing the two tattoos, looking for a difference. Still, they're too similar to be a mere coincidence.

"Harvey is a part of the American mob." Ivan takes the words right out of my head.

"Apparently," I whisper. "Which makes sense as to when he came and how my father was murdered with tight security."

"He was sent as an undercover agent."

I can tolerate anything. Pain, anger, regret, bring it on. But one thing that makes me shake with terror is betrayal, and that's exactly what Harvey did.

"I want his blood," I seethe.

Ivan pulls up a computer and begins typing. I'm tapping the pen on my lips more furiously while staring into Harvey's eyes like he would somehow materialize in front of me.

"There's a gala on Sunday; it’s being hosted by Victor Kincaid, the Don of the American Mafia," Ivan reads from his screen. "It's a welfare gala where he brings businesspeople together."

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