Page 9 of Marrying the Mobster
Diego studies me in silence, considering what I’ve said. After a while, he gives a small nod. “Fine. I’ll let you send a message to one person … after you’ve proven you can abide by my rules.”
It isn’t exactly what I wanted to hear, but it’s enough. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be back this evening. If I’m pleased with your behavior, you may send a text using my phone.”
He stands and leaves the room without a look back. The lock clicks before his footsteps fade down the hall. Leaning against the headboard, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. The panic is starting up again, but I have to fight it. I calm myself down by running through the steps of my missions for the day—shower, fresh clothes, food, and maybe a little yoga if I’m up for it later. Rest. Tonight, I’ll send out my message.
Tomorrow, I find a way out of here.
5
Diego
“Atoast … to our partnership, and the eventual alliance between two families.”
I raise my bourbon and clink it against the glass presented to me from across the table. My brunch companion prefers vodka—but then, his family name is synonymous with the finest that money can buy. Yezhov Vodka is only one of several businesses and shell corporations owned by the man sitting across from me—most of them shelters for money laundering, or cover-ups for hacking and illegal online gambling rings. If there’s a single cartel who can claim to equal the Pérez Family in power and wealth, it would be the YezhovBratva. It feels odd, at thirty-two years old, to sit across from a man who occupies the same position of power that I do. Oleg Yezhov—thepakhanof hisbratvafamily—is now the age my father would be if he were still alive. His prestige was earned after decades of scheming, plotting, and ruthless violence. What does it say about me that at my age, I’ve climbed as many rungs on the ladder as this old-world boss in a pin-striped suit and hair turned white? Was this what my parents wanted for me? To be as hardened and jaded as a man twice my age—so cold and heartless that I’d stoop to kidnapping a woman for thirty days, only to prolong the inevitability that I will have to kill her.
“Try the crepes,” Oleg says in his thick, Russian accent. “They’re exquisite.”
And just in time, because the slightest shift in my thoughts toward Elena has my cock twitching in reaction. It’s too easy to imagine her as she was this morning, her bikini and flimsy cover-up doing nothing to hide her toned body from me. She’s even sexier in the light of day.
I can’t think of her like that—not while I’m doing business. Not ever. One of the many lessons my mother taught me was to never let my dick guide me in business decisions. Once I was old enough that she noticed me spending more time than usual in the shower, she sat me down and told me in her no-bullshit way to fuck whoever I wanted as long as they weren’t connected to any business dealings. She forbade me from fooling around with any woman who belonged to another member of the cartel, past or present. I was never to knock up any woman who wasn’t my wife. Such mistakes were enough to get a man killed. It was hard for me to believe that at the ripe old age of fourteen, but experience has shown me that Mother’s lessons were always right on the mark. I’ve seen entire criminal dynasties fall apart over a piece of ass, so I keep business and pleasure separate. Which means Elena Aguilar is absolutely off limits.
With that in mind, I help myself to cream-cheese filled crepes with strawberries, even though I’m not hungry. Oleg is old-school, and his strict Russian upbringing dictates certain protocols. He never discusses business in front of women, and he won’t get around to the reason for a meeting until pleasantries have been observed.
We’ve been sitting at our table in a secluded corner of the Indian Creek Country Club for an hour, engaging in small talk. Now, I force myself to eat slowly so as not to offend him. He might here as my guest, but he’s footing the bill. Aside from that, the deal I’m trying to broker with Oleg will take the Pérez Family to the next level, ushering us into the digital age. It’s one segment of the underworld we don’t yet have a stake in, aside from the handful of commodities I refuse to touch—human trafficking and sale of endangered and exotic animals. Everything else is fair game, and the Yezhovbratvais light-years ahead of us on that front. A partnership would also add additional muscle to our ranks, which will be needed if things continue heating up between us and the other crime families fighting for dominance.
Oleg talks to me about his wife, children, and grandchildren, a new house he just purchased in Martha’s Vineyard, and the litter of puppies he’s expecting from his impeccably bred hounds. I answer his questions about how my sister is doing and sidestep anything having to do with my dating life or marriage prospects. But Oleg won’t be put off. As is customary between us at these meetings, the moment our plates are clean he segues into talk about his youngest daughter.
“You’ve avoided me long enough, Diego,” he says with a teasing smile. He’s a large man—as tall as me and built like a bull. Only the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and white hair give away his age. “My little Nataly is beginning to worry you do not find her beautiful. When will you allow me to host a dinner in your honor? It would be a good occasion for you to get to know my little girl, and for your men and mine to break bread together.”
I take a long swallow of my bourbon to buy myself some time to think. Oleg introduced me to his twenty-two-year-old daughter, Nataly, last year at the party for her twenty-first birthday. It was the first step toward partnership, and the first time he thrust Nataly under my nose like a prime cut of juicy steak. The rumors of her stunning beauty were brought to life when I laid eyes on her, but something inside me failed to react in a visceral way. Appreciating Nataly’s looks was easy; trying to imagine spending the rest of my life with her … not so much. It wasn’t only because I’ve always been against marrying and starting a family. Maybe it was the age difference, or the weird 17th century vibes I get at the idea of an arranged marriage. Either way, marrying Oleg’s daughter isn’t something I want, so I’ve avoided this conversation wherever I can.
“A dinner party sounds like a good idea,” I say carefully, not wanting to commit to anything permanent. “I agree, it feels like the next logical step as we negotiate the terms of our alliance.”
Pushing his empty glass toward the edge of the table, Oleg leans in and looks me in the eye. His expression smooths out, becoming stark and serious. “It’s time for us to stop dancing around the matter, Diego. You’re a smart man, just as your father was … God rest his soul.” He pauses to execute the sign of the cross, and I follow suit, a hollowed pit of guilt growing in my middle. “We both know that a partnership between us will benefit you better than it will us.”
“That’s an interesting assumption, considering you’re only able to traffic your goods through any port on the southeast because I allow it.”
Oleg shrugs. “Da, but business at your little club will dry up like the Sahara if I enforce the same protection rules on you as everyone else. I never wanted to do that because your papa and I were friends. He offered aid when I needed it, and I did the same for him.”
“I don’t see why that arrangement can’t continue between us. I’m not my father, but I’ve capably run and expanded our business since I became head of the family.”
“You have, and it makes me proud to see,” Oleg relents. “But if the Yezhov and Pérez families are to become partners in every sense of the word, then a deeper commitment is necessary. I cannot consider moving forward without certain assurances.”
Fuck. This is what I had hoped to avoid. Instead of sly suggestions and manipulation, Oleg is now resorting to an outright ultimatum.
“I won’t be forced into anything,” I warn him, my voice low. I might be half his age, but we are equals here. “I’m open to negotiations, but ultimatums won’t be considered. At all.”
Oleg’s nostrils flare, and I suspect he wants to take me by the ear and shake me like the young boy he sees me as. “Be very careful,moy drug. With the Irish and the Armenians nipping at your heels, you cannot afford me as an enemy.”
I could remind him that the Irish gangs have limited power outside the northeast, but that would be splitting hairs. Besides, the threat of the Armenians is a real one—though Oleg neglected to mention that those bloodthirsty bastards hate Russians as much as they hate Colombians.
“I don’t want you for an enemy,” I reply instead.
“Then you, your sister, and your lieutenants will attend the dinner party. We’ll eat and drink and leave all talk of business at the door. You will sit beside Nataly and charm her—take the time to know her. I’ll allow you to court my daughter, an honor I’m sure you know has been denied every other who has asked. When an adequate period of courtship has passed, I am certain you will come to love her. A marriage making our two families into one will then be a natural progression.”
“That doesn’t sound like much of a suggestion. It sounds more like a demand.”
