Kissing The Enemy (10 page)

I
made the right decision
.

I kept repeating it. I went over and over it in my head and I knew that, logically, I’d done the only thing I could. Since the party, I’d glossed over what Angelo was: a gangster. In the car with him, I’d been forced to confront it head on. Of
course
I couldn’t be with him. He was everything I’d run away from
and
he was my family’s mortal enemy.

So why did breaking up with him feel so wrong? Why did I suddenly feel so cold: not cold and numb, but
painfully
cold. Maybe being alone had always hurt. Maybe I only noticed it now because I’d escaped it for a while.

I wanted to just lie in bed, huddled under the comforter. But it was Saturday and Saturday was the day Vasiliy always dropped round for breakfast. He’d stop off at a Russian bakery and bring a box of
vatrushka—
soft,
glossy brown buns filled with cottage cheese and raisins—and brew tea the Russian way, with tea leaves and strawberry jam. We’d play chess, the way we’d used to back in Moscow. It was the one time I saw him without Mikhail and the one time we managed to connect like we used to, a reminder that he was the closest thing I had to a father.

But this morning, it was different. He was
pissed
and I knew why: Angelo. He tried not to let it show, but his whole body was rigid when he hugged me.

And I had to act like I had no idea what the problem was. I talked brightly about Fenbrook and helped him brew the tea and it was only when we sat down at the chess board that he suddenly thumped the table with his fist, sending the pieces jumping across the board.

I let my eyes go big and asked what the matter was. He told me about the docks and how that
bastard
Angelo had stolen their merchandise. “Mikhail should have had more security,” Vasiliy grumbled. “This was his project. He’s getting sloppy.”

I started to put the chess pieces back into their proper positions. “What will you do now?” I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral.

“I’ll kill the bastard,” Vasiliy said viciously. “No one does this to me!”

I forced my fingers to pick up a knight and gently put it on its square.
You see?
said the logical part of my brain.
This is why you had to split up. This is why it could never have worked.
But it was overwhelmed by the sudden, sick fear that rose up inside me.

I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to him. It didn’t matter that he was the enemy: we’d already formed too much of a connection. “Isn’t there another way?” I asked. “Can’t you make peace?”

Vasiliy almost spat. “
Peace?
The Italians don’t want peace. They’re too old-fashioned, too hot-blooded. They
want
a war!”

Had he always been like this? I was sure that I remembered him being less brutal, less ruthless when it came to expanding his empire. He’d grown colder and more bitter around the time I started to distance myself from the family, and I couldn’t understand why. “Maybe they could change?” I asked in a small voice.

He sighed and shook his head. “Men like us can’t change, Irina.”

I closed my eyes. If that was true, there was no hope at all. “I just don’t want to see people hurt.”

His voice softened. “I’ll be careful,
kotyonok
.” That was his pet name for me when I was a child—
kitten
. “And I’ll keep Mikhail and Yuri and the rest of us safe, too.” He smiled as he said it, to reassure me. “Baroni will be the one who pays.”

I had to swallow hard—I thought I was going to throw up. “Can’t you give a
little
ground? Work something out?”

He sighed, exasperated, and waved a hand at the apartment. “You’ve been wrapped up in your ballet for too long. This is how it works, how it’s always worked. We crush our enemies with strength. We can’t show weakness. You used to know that.”

I felt as if I was being torn in two. I might try to push them away, to deny I was a Malakov, but they were family...and yet here I was trying to protect our enemy. “Sorry,” I said at last, my voice tight.

He put a hand on my cheek. When I looked into his eyes, they were full of sadness. “
I’m
sorry,” he said. “I know this isn’t the life you would have chosen. But there
is
no choice, here. You’re a Malakov, whether you want to be or not, whether you choose to play a role or not. That’s why you need someone like Mikhail to protect you.”

My stomach twisted. This was my future: to watch this fight escalate into war, see Angelo killed and then marry Mikhail and be drawn right back into the gangster life again.

I jumped up out of my chair and ran.

“Irina?” Vasiliy asked, sounding startled.

“I’m fine. Finish putting the pieces back, I’ll be there in a minute.” I raced upstairs to my bedroom, blinking back tears. I closed the door and then stood there in the middle of the room, taking deep, shuddering breaths.
Don’t cry, don’t cry….
I had no way of explaining red eyes to Vasiliy. I had to build up the layers of ice Angelo had broken down. I had to be cold and strong and—

Something small and hard hit the glass doors that lead onto my balcony. I walked over and threw them open, then looked down.

“Hi,” said Angelo.

I
couldn’t speak
. Couldn’t think. As soon as I looked into his eyes, all hopes of forgetting him, of moving on, of being a good, loyal Malakov girl, were gone.

“I’m coming up,” said Angelo.

That spurred me to action. “What?
No!”
But he’d already jumped and caught the iron bars that form the front of the balcony. His muscles bunched under his suit jacket and he hauled himself up. “
Vasiliy is here!”
I hissed.

He swung himself up over the rail and landed in front of me, lithe and powerful as a panther.
God, he’s gorgeous.
“Then you’d better keep quiet,” he told me, “and listen to what I have to say.”

Wide-eyed, I grabbed the lapels of his coat and hauled him inside before someone saw him, then closed the doors to the balcony. And then we were standing together in my bedroom. Alone. The hard, muscled bulk of him, the
presence
of him...he seemed to fill the room. The last time we’d been there, we’d very nearly had sex. Then the night before, we’d both fantasized about him fucking me, right there on the bed. I could feel myself being drawn to him, the animal heat of him melting through the layers of ice….

No! I broke up with him for a reason. This can’t work!
But it felt so good just to see him alive.

He took a step towards me. I took a step back, trying to stay out of range of the attraction. “You have to go!” I told him in a harsh whisper. “Vasiliy is downstairs. He wants to kill you for what you did!”

“I’m not scared of Vasiliy.”

I knew it was true. He didn’t seem to be scared of anyone. “Why did you come here?”

“You know why!” His voice was a low growl that I had to pray didn’t carry through the door. “I need you. I want you.”

My whole body seemed to sing and throb, a tuning fork responding to that bass voice. “You barely know me!”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He advanced another step, closing the distance between us. “I never met anyone like you before.” He put his hand under my chin, lifting it so that I was looking up into those brown and amber eyes. He looked almost angry—angry at me for doing this to him. “You’ve worked some fucking spell on me, Irina. I can’t let you go.”

I looked up at him helplessly. I felt the same thing he did, but we
couldn’t.
I opened my mouth to try to explain, but I couldn’t find the words—

And then suddenly his lips were coming down on mine, his hand lifting my chin so that he could plunder my mouth. I let out a startled
mmf!
And then I was panting up into his mouth as his hands stroked through my hair.

The heat of him poured down into me, driving away the cold. It was like being brought back to life—I hadn’t realized how much I needed his touch. My hands came up of their own accord, finding his neck and the hard muscles of his back. I gave myself up to it for long seconds, his tongue dancing with mine, ribbons of pleasure lashing down through my body to make my back arch and my toes dance—

I tore myself away and staggered backward. “
No!”
I told him in a harsh whisper. “
We can’t do this!
You’re not just a rival, you’re our enemy! You’re heading into a war against my uncle!”

He put his hands on my shoulders and just that simple touch felt so good I wanted to hurl myself against him again. “You don’t have to get involved in it.”

“I
am
involved! It’s my family!” I stared desperately up into his eyes, trying to find a way to get through to him. I could feel the tension throbbing through his body, his hands like iron on my shoulders. That
intent,
utterly focused, like no one else I’d ever met. Having me was the most important thing in the world to him, I realized, and that made my head spin.

And maybe it was just enough to save him.

“I told you last night,” I whispered. “We can’t do this unless you make peace. Stop the war before it starts.” I swallowed. “Give my uncle what he wants. Give him your territory. No one has to die!”

He shook his head. The pain on his face was as if I’d just shoved a knife deep into his guts. “Jesus, Irina...no. That’s the one thing I can’t give you.” He stepped back from me and a floorboard creaked.

“Irina?” Vasiliy’s voice from downstairs. I winced and glanced fearfully at the door.
Chyort!
“
Why?”
I whispered. “It’s just...streets and businesses. Territory on a map. I don’t understand!
”

Angelo lowered his eyes and let out a long sigh. I recognized the look on his face because I’d felt that way many times myself. He was wishing he was someone else, a normal person with a normal life. But then he straightened and looked me in the eye again, his resolve back. “Let me help you understand,” he said. He reached up and ran his fingers through my hair, tucking a strand behind my ear. “Come to Little Italy and let me show you.”

“Irina?” Vasiliy again. And this time there was a creak: he was coming up the stairs!

“I’ll just be a minute!” I yelled. But I knew that wouldn’t hold him for long—he already sounded suspicious. “You have to go!” I whispered to Angelo.

To my horror, he shook his head. “Not until you say yes.”

I gaped at him...and then heard another creak from the stairs. Vasiliy was nearly there. “
I can’t!”
What could he possibly show me there that would change things?

“Irina?” God, Vasiliy was right outside my door! And when I glanced back at Angelo, his jaw was set—he was ready to fight. I think part of him almost
wanted
Vasiliy to find him.

“
Okay!”
I whispered. “Okay, I’ll come. Tomorrow. Now please,
go!”
And I pushed on his chest to get him moving, even though that was like pushing on a brick wall. Then I ran to my door…

...just as Vasiliy opened it. I caught the door when it was a foot open and gave him my best smile. “Hi! Sorry. I’m ready now.”

“What’s going on?” he asked. “I heard voices.”

“Voices? I was on the phone. Rachel called—”

But he wasn’t fooled. He stepped forward, pushing open the door and barging me out of the way. I staggered backward and looked in horror at—

Angelo was gone. The doors to the balcony were open, the drapes blowing in the breeze.

I forced my mouth to move. “I needed some air,” I said.

Vasiliy strode over to the balcony and stepped onto it, looking around the small, snow-covered yard. I hurried over and stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. There was no one in sight...but Angelo couldn’t have moved that fast. Where the hell was he?

Then I glanced down. The walls of my balcony are iron bars but the floor is a solid sheet of black-painted metal. Angelo, I realized, was standing right beneath Vasiliy’s feet.

Vasiliy turned to face me, still suspicious. His eyes searched my face for any hint of a lie. But it was one Malakov against another—he’d taught me how to hide my emotions too well.

After a long moment, his face softened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “An old man’s paranoia.” He reached out and lovingly stroked my cheek. “I just worry about you, Irina.

The
guilt.
I hated lying to him...but if he found out about Angelo, he’d kill him. I smiled and led him out of my bedroom, pushing him through the door first and then following behind.

Just as I left the room, I glanced back and looked out of the window. Angelo had come out from under the balcony and stepped back enough that I could see him. Our eyes locked and I felt that deep, irresistible
tug
.
Tomorrow,
he mouthed, watching my reaction.

I nodded. What else could I do? I’d go to Little Italy. I’d see whatever it was he wanted to show me. And then I’d have to break up with him all over again because there was nothing he could show me that was going to change my mind.

But I was wrong. The next day changed everything.

I
’d texted
Angelo to tell him where and when I’d arrive. I stepped out of the cab and straight into his arms.

“Someone will recognize me,” I said, my voice muffled by his chest.

His big hand smoothed down my back, calming me. “
I
barely recognize you,” he murmured in my ear.

I’d tied my hair back in a bun so that there were no loose strands. With the hood of my hooded top raised, you couldn’t even see I was blonde. Dark glasses covered my eyes—luckily, it was a bright day and with the sun glinting off the snow, plenty of people had opted for sunglasses so it didn’t look completely ridiculous. As long as I didn’t open my mouth, no one would have any idea I was Russian.

Even so, being there on Arthur Avenue—the
real
Little Italy, Angelo claimed—felt
wrong
.
The street didn’t
look
scary: it was busy despite the cold and the people looked happy, nodding to each other as they hurried between cafes and delis. But to me, this was enemy territory.

The cab pulled away but Angelo kept holding me. His big hands roamed down my back and over my ass. The embrace changed. He drew me harder against him, arms iron-hard against my back, and I felt the outline of his cock through his pants. Then he was kissing me, his tongue slipping into my mouth, and I melted against him, forgetting my fears. When he reluctantly released me, he took hold of my hand and squeezed it tight. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s walk.”

My stomach knotted tight. What was it he wanted to show me? Whatever it was wouldn’t solve the problem: we were still on opposite sides. But I fell into step beside him.

First, we passed a cafe. The owner did a double-take as we passed, then ran to the door. “Mr. Baroni!” he called. “Wait!”

We stopped and waited—Angelo relaxed, me nervous. A few seconds later, the cafe owner returned and pressed espresso cups into our hands. “Please,” he said.

Angelo knocked his back and I hesitantly did the same. It was rich and perfect with a kick that hit me a beat later, warming me from the inside out, the perfect counter to the icy air. Angelo patted the cafe owner on the shoulder as he took the empty cups and the guy almost bowed.

Seconds later, we passed through an indoor market. Everyone wanted Angelo to try their fruit, or to give him a free scarf to guard against the cold, or to just say hello and tell him how they were doing.

It went on: store after store, street after street. Angelo strode along with his coat billowing out behind him, head high, regal and yet approachable...and
everyone
approached him. Some had questions. Some had concerns. Most just wanted to shake his hand.

These weren’t his friends, I slowly realized. These were his subjects. And they worshipped their king. It was awe-inspiring...and weirdly familiar, but I couldn’t think where I’d seen something similar.

Then Angelo put his hand on my arm, stopping me. His gaze was focused on the street corner up ahead. I couldn’t figure out what he was staring at...then I saw him, a thin guy leaning against a building, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was furtively scanning the street...looking for customers, I realized.

Then he glanced in our direction, saw Angelo...and went white. Angelo lifted his chin a millimeter, as if to say,
I’ve seen you.

The guy broke and ran. And that’s when I finally understood. Angelo must have seen the look on my face because he turned to me and leaned down so that he could murmur in my ear. “
Now
do you get it?”

I’d been wrong. It
wasn’t
just about streets and businesses, places on a map. It was about people. His people. He helped them, lent them money, protected them from street crime. They needed their king. And he wasn’t prepared to abandon them and hand them over to Vasiliy. Not even for me.

I stared up into Angelo’s eyes and nodded. I got it.

And that’s when I remembered where I’d seen this before. When I was a child, Vasiliy had sometimes taken me, along with his son, Luka, with him when he made his rounds of Moscow.
He’d
had people running up to shake his hand.
He’d
kept the community alive.

Angelo was Vasiliy a decade ago, before he became cold and bitter. I stumbled on along the street, trying to process it all.

A white-haired guy hurried out of a bar as we passed. “Angelo!” he said, grabbing his hand in both of his. “You gotta help me. The Russians are leaning on the liquor merchants. They won’t sell to us. I’m running dry.”

Angelo glanced at me for a second, then nodded. “I’ll look into it,” he promised.

The guy clapped him on the shoulder. “God bless you, Angelo.” He disappeared back into his bar, but I just stood there staring at the place where he’d stood. Seeing it for myself made all the difference. Angelo had protected these people for years. Vasiliy and Mikhail had suddenly muscled in. Sure, Angelo had pushed back hard, but it was we Russians who were the aggressors. The war, when it happened, would be our fault. The blood would be on our hands.

I’d known Angelo and I were on opposite sides; I’d never considered, until now, that I might be on the wrong one.

And now that I realized it, I felt sick at the implications. Vasiliy and Mikhail wouldn’t back down and neither would Angelo. That meant it was up to me.

If I wanted to be with Angelo, I had to stop the war.