Page 84 of His Enemy's Daughter
“I know.” I move to stand beside Regina, my hand finding the small of her back automatically. “Now, are you going to stand in my entrance criticizing my life choices, or are you going to come in properly and tell me why you’re really here?”
“Can’t a friend visit without an agenda?” But David’s already moving deeper into the villa, his trained eye cataloging exits and sight lines even as he maintains casual conversation. Prison habits die hard. “I was in Naples on business; thought I would see how you’re settling into this new life of legitimate enterprise and Italian sunshine.”
“Business.” I guide him toward the terrace. “What kind of business?”
“The kind that doesn’t need discussing in front of beautiful women who cook dinner.” He settles into a chair with the ease of someone comfortable anywhere. “Though I will say that Naples is much changed since the last time I visited. More tourists, and fewer opportunities for enterprising businessmen.”
“Translation: the local families are tightening control and you’re looking for alternative markets.” Regina appears with wine—three glasses and a bottle that’s definitely from the expensive collection I’ve been saving. She pours with practiced grace. “Which is why you’re really here. To see if Mauricio’s import business has room for a silent partner with Russian connections.”
David stares at her for a long moment, then turns to me with exaggerated shock. “This one. She is dangerous. You should marry her before she figures out all your secrets.”
“Already proposed.” I point at the ring she’s been wearing for two weeks. “She said yes, surprisingly.”
“Not surprisingly.” Regina hands David his wine, her smile sharp. “I have excellent taste in reformed criminals.”
“Reformed.” David tests the word like it’s foreign. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”
“That’s what we’re being.” I lean back, watching my old friend process the changes three months have wrought. “The import business is completely legitimate—proper licenses, legal contracts, taxes paid on time. No side operations, no gray areas, nothing that brings unwanted attention.”
“Boring,” David pronounces, but there’s approval beneath the criticism. “But also smart. You survived fifteen years because you know when to fight and when to disappear. This?” Hegestures at the villa, at Regina, at the life we’ve built. “This is very good disappearing.”
“It’s not disappearing.” Regina’s correction is gentle. “It’s rebuilding. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” David studies her with renewed interest. “In my experience, men like us don’t rebuild. We just find new battles to fight.”
“Then maybe it’s time for new experiences.” I sip my wine, letting the conversation flow naturally. “Speaking of which—how’s your brother? Last I heard, he was expanding operations into Eastern Europe.”
“Ivan is Ivan.” David’s shrug conveys volumes. “Always expanding, always risking, always certain he’s untouchable. I tell him to be careful, he tells me I’ve gone soft like Mauricio. Brothers.” He shakes his head. “Cannot live with them, cannot shoot them without mother getting upset.”
Regina’s laugh is unexpected, genuine. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”
“I am maybe thirty percent joking.” David’s grin is wolfish. “Ivan is good brother but terrible listener. Someday his risks will catch up with him. Until then, I manage what I can manage and worry about what I cannot change.”
We fall into easier conversation—talking about Naples, about Sicily, about the differences between prison systems in Americaand Russia. David tells stories that make Regina’s eyes widen, then laugh, then occasionally look at me with renewed appreciation for what I survived.
“So this is the man whose life you saved?” Regina asks during a lull, her attention shifting fully to David. “Mauricio mentioned it but never gave details except something about a knife wound.”
“Because details are depressing.” I wave away her curiosity, but David’s already leaning forward.
“No, no. She should know.” His expression grows serious, the jovial mask slipping to reveal something darker beneath. “She should understand exactly what kind of man she’s marrying.”
“David—”
“Year seven of his sentence. Maybe eight.” David ignores my warning, focused entirely on Regina. “I’d been inside for three years, still learning how American prisons work. Very different from the Russian system. More rules. Less... flexibility in handling problems.”
He pauses, swirling his wine. “There was a man. Vlad Drogon. Russian mafia, connected to families I’d crossed before my arrest. He found out who I was, decided to make a name for himself by killing David Kalinin in an American prison where I had no protection, no allies.”
“How many were there?” Regina’s question is quiet, but I hear the steel beneath.
“Four.” I answer before David can. “Vlad and three others. They cornered him in the showers—classic prison hit. Supposed to look like an accident. Slip and fall, tragic outcome, no one sees anything useful.”
“Except Mauricio saw.” David’s voice carries something that might be reverence. “Sees four men with improvised weapons attacking one man, and he doesn’t think. Doesn’t calculate odds or consider that getting involved means making enemies he doesn’t need. He just... acts.”
“I evened the odds.” The memory is clearer than I’d like—blood on tile, the sound of impact, Vlad’s surprised expression when he realized intervention wasn’t coming from guards but from another prisoner. “Four against one isn’t fair. Four against two is better.”
“Better.” David’s laugh is sharp. “He puts two of them in the infirmary with injuries requiring surgery. Vlad himself ends up with broken ribs, a collapsed lung, and a face that needs reconstructing. The fourth one runs away like a rabbit when he sees what Mauricio can do when properly motivated.”
“And you?” Regina asks David, though her eyes are on me.
