Reign (The Syndicate: Crime and Passion Book 2) (6 page)

“No,” she said, her voice quiet.

“But he didn’t have to,” I supplied.

“No. I knew the consequences without him having to spell them out,” she said.

I glanced at her, but she quickly lowered her eyes and looked away.

“And you want me to do the same?” I said, trying to ignore how much that hurt, especially after what had happened between us just hours ago.

“It’s a reasonable concern, don’t you think?” she asked, her voice still low, now almost timid in a way I hated.

Reasonable or not, I didn’t like it, not at all. I pulled to a stop and then turned to face her.

“Perhaps, but make no mistake, Daniela. I don’t hurt innocent people,” I said.

Of its own volition, my hand lifted, and I cupped her cheek again, her soft skin against my hand soothing me in a way I hadn’t even realized I needed.

She stared into my eyes, her own brimming with emotion and wariness as she struggled with something, probably whether or not to believe me. I was on the verge of reassuring her when she spoke. “Take me home, Sergei,” she whispered on a husky breath.

D
aniela

I
nnocent
.

That word had floated around my head all night, at least during the time Sergei hadn’t been driving me to climax after climax. It still did so the next morning.

Sergei thought me innocent.

I hadn’t corrected his mistake.

The chirp of birds and bright sun that again filled the room were completely at odds with the swirling confusion in my mind.

He thought of me as an innocent person, and he’d told me he didn’t hurt innocent people.

I believed him.

Day three of my marriage, and I was as confused as I’d been the entire time, with no end seemingly in sight. Only the reasons why had shifted.

I’d started out afraid, wanting to protect myself and my family, and now I was grappling with the fact that I found myself trusting my new husband, wanting him desperately, despite all reason that told me to do otherwise.

He’d taken me to his room, but was gone when I awoke. So, mind not really there, I made my way to my own room, and then I showered and dressed, preparing for another day. I paused, though, when I realized I had slid my wedding rings on my finger without conscious thought.

I looked down at the platinum band that had been heavy on my finger but now felt right there. It was beautiful. The stone was large, but not over-the-top, the band thick, with a simple filigree pattern that gave it a little flair.

I wondered if Sergei had picked it out. Certainly not, but I still felt that little bloom of warmth in my chest at the thought that he had.

I’d carefully considered my outfit today like always and had settled on a light blue shirt dress that hit midcalf. It was a little informal, but I didn’t expect more visitors today, and for what I had planned for the day, it would do. I’d brushed my hair down and decided to let it fly wild and untamed today and then, after I slipped my feet into nude flats, I headed downstairs.

As I made my way down the staircase, I tried to focus on what was to come, anticipate what it would be like to face him after last night, wondered how things would change, thought of when I might have him again.

When I reached the kitchen, I paused long enough to have my morning glass of juice and then began preparing breakfast.

As I cracked eggs, I couldn’t help but think of my mother. My sister and I had done this countless times, cracked thousands of eggs in this kitchen, done countless other little things to prepare us for the life that was ahead of us.

I’d always paid attention, wanting to show my mother I was worthwhile, that she hadn’t made a mistake in taking us in. Trying to prove I belonged, but I’d never really thought this would be my reality.

Yet here I was, and I was falling into the role easily, and worse, I was enjoying it.

Enjoying him.

“Something smells delicious.”

I smiled at the sound of his deep, melodic voice, but it was only when I had cleared the expression off my face as best I could that I turned to look at him. It was silly I didn’t want him to see how happy I was he was here, but I felt shy now, vulnerable, and felt an urgent need to try to protect myself, even if only from the emotions that crashed through me.

The sunlight filtering through the French doors hit him and illuminated him. He looked amazing as he had every time I’d seen him, and my breath again hitched.

I blinked and looked away quickly and went back to cutting toast on the diagonal.

Though I didn’t look, I still listened to the sound of his approaching footsteps, the uncharacteristic loafers he wore banging against the hardwood floor.

“I love toast,” he said as he took the plate I held from my grasp. “Bacon! Eggs! Awesome,” he said.

Then he looked to me, his brown eyes dancing with delight.

“You made this for me?” he asked.

I nodded faintly, his enthusiasm for something so small as breakfast making me blush. That blush deepened when I caught his eye, saw the way he looked at me like I was breakfast. He sat the plate down quickly and then brushed his lips against mine, soft at first, then harder. I opened to his touch, had reached up to curl my fingers in the hair at the base of his neck before I could blink.

He slipped his tongue between my lips, kissed me until I was breathless. Then he broke the kiss and stared down at me.

“I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast like this,” he said with a wicked smile. “Thanks!”

He smacked a wet kiss against my cheek and then turned and walked toward the dining table, munching on a piece of bacon as he went.

How did he do that, go from passionate to playful in a moment, while I stood there, barely able to force breath out of my lungs and keep myself from begging him to fuck me right here?

I swallowed, turned away, and gripped the edge of the counter, trying to regain my balance, and listened as he ate happily.

“You gonna join me?” he asked between bites.

I shook my head. “No. I’m not hungry.”

“Then just sit with me,” he said.

My elation at those words, at the fact that he seemed to want my company was almost too much to contain, but I breathed deep and then turned, walked to the kitchen table, and sat, not realizing I’d chosen the chair closest to him until I was seated and not even remotely tempted to move.

We sat in silence, him eating, me watching. After a moment, I said tentatively, “Busy day?”

He didn’t even slow down. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Not a helpful response, or an illuminating one, but I couldn’t quite think of a way to press the issue without being too aggressive. I had an inkling of what was happening today. This was a time of transition and his attire told me that today would mark the one where he introduced himself. A big day, a dangerous one, potentially, but not one he seemed willing to discuss with me.

So instead, I stayed quiet, continued to watch him.

“That was great,” he said a few minutes later after he’d dropped his fork.

“Thank you,” I said.

He pushed his chair back and then looked at me, assessing me openly. He started at my shoes and worked his way up my body to the top of my head and then back down.

I again felt that awareness under his gaze, wondering what he saw, trying to read his expression to figure it out at the same time as I remembered what it had been like to have him inside me.

I locked eyes with his.

“You look pretty,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice almost trembling, not nearly as strong as I wanted it to be. “You too.”

“Thanks,” he said, but his expression had changed again.

He went silent again for a moment and then stood. I followed suit and we faced each other, looked at one another awkwardly. We were close enough to touch and I couldn’t help but notice how tall he was. When my eyes clashed with his, my heart stuttered again, and I watched him, unsure of what to say next.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said. His voice wasn’t tentative. I didn’t think he was capable of that, but there was some question in it.

I nodded.

“How do I look?” he said.

I smiled. “Fishing for compliments, Sergei?”

He lifted one corner of his mouth. “No. Just looking for an opinion.”

I broke his gaze, ostensibly to look at his clothing but mostly because I needed some relief from the intensity of his stare.

I looked up again, letting my gaze rest on his jaw, which was smooth, freshly shaven, instead of meeting his eyes again. And as I waited, I weighed his question, weighed his words, tried to think of the response that he wanted to hear.

“You can be honest, Daniela. I was asking because I really want to know,” he said.

I looked into his eyes, saw what I thought was truth there. “You do look really nice,” I said. “It’s nice,” I said, nodding toward the blue-striped tie.

“But?” At the sound of his deep voice I looked up into his eyes again, searching for some hint of anger, some confirmation as to whether I should express what I thought.

All I saw was patience, and it gave me the confidence to continue.

“But…” I trailed off, considering my words as I stared at the blue-striped tie.

I looked up at his eyes again. “You should lose the tie.”

He lifted his brows. “Lose the tie?” he said.

I nodded. “It doesn’t fit.”

“I look like a kid playing dress up?”

I smiled. “I would never say that, but yeah.”

He nodded. “I thought so too.”

As he spoke he reached up, unknotted the tie, and slid it off, the swish of silk against linen filling my ears, immediately conjuring the image of Sergei taking off more.

“Better?” he asked.

I looked up at him, my gaze centered on his strong throat and before I could suppress the instinct, I reached up and popped open the first two buttons of his shirt.

“Better,” I finally said, meeting his eye.

The moment passed between us, suddenly rich, heavy, so intense, I forgot who he was, who I was, and instead lost myself in the reflection of his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said a moment later, bringing me back to the present. “You’ll be here tonight?”

The promise in his words set off a beat of desire that thrummed through my blood. I nodded.

“Good,” he said.

Then he turned his back to me and walked out of the kitchen.

S
ergei

S
he’d been right
about the tie.

The thought occurred to me as I sat in the SUV next to Adrian and watched as the men assembled at Santo’s favorite club, or at least what used to be. In a moment of uncertainty, I’d gone against my first instinct and my preference and put on that stupid thing. It had been a mistake, and I planned to show Daniela my gratitude for her correcting it as soon as I saw her again.

But first things first.

I watched the cluster of five men who stood outside. The group looked anxious, which was understandable given the circumstances, but more importantly, seeing them reminded me of a fact I had momentarily forgotten. I didn’t need to impress or try to influence them.

Tie or not, they worked for me now, for the Syndicate.

“You figure out what Michael was up to yesterday?” I asked Adrian.

He shook his head, but didn’t look at me, instead keeping his eyes focused on the front door, no doubt taking stock of who entered and left.

As was I.

Given what I had seen of Santo’s business, I wasn’t expecting any standouts, and so far, none had looked the part. But I’d long ago learned not to take people at face value, and I wouldn’t start now. Perhaps there would be some useful talent in this group.

“Give them two hours before I go in?” I said, looking at Adrian.

“You won’t need that long,” he replied.

“One, then,” I said, settling against the car seat to wait.

I wasn’t nervous, hadn’t been that in more years than I could remember. But I was excited, which might be just as bad. It wasn’t today, or even the days that would come after that I cared about. No, what mattered was the opportunity I had been presented with, and I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about what this would mean for my future. I needed to keep that under wraps, though. Focus. One step at a time as Maxim had always taught me.

The hour passed quickly, and once it had, I emerged from the SUV, and swiftly made my way toward the club.

It was hours before the place would be open to the public, but you wouldn’t be able to tell that simply from looking at the parking lot, which was filled to near overflowing.

I was completely alert now, not on edge but getting close to it. These types of gatherings drew attention, and one of the Syndicate’s main methods of survival was to not draw attention.

Still, this couldn’t be avoided, and Adrian would alert me if anything came up. So, I pulled open the door and stepped in.

I blinked, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim room.

The space was small, dingy tables and chairs shoved into every corner and what I thought was supposed to pass for a dance floor at the center.

In back were three rooms that got rented out on the quarter hour and beyond that, Santo’s makeshift office. Adrian had swept the place before, but without speaking, I made a show of walking across the dance floor and to the back. Once I’d confirmed no one lurked, I went back to the main room and stood in the center, looking out over the assembled faces.

All conversation had ceased when I’d walked in, and the room was still unearthly silent, the air so tense, it was enough to choke on.

No one moved.

So far, so good.

“You know who I am?” I asked.

No one responded.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” I said. “Do you know why I’m here?”

There were a few grumbles, and then, finally, a man who stood leaning against the back wall spoke. “There’s been a change in management.”

“Yes, Vincent. There’s been a change in management,” I replied.

His eyes widened and then narrowed at my use of his name. “I didn’t know we’d been introduced,” he said.

“We haven’t been, but I know who you are. All of you,” I said, looking away from Vincent to the other men.

“Is that a threat?” Vincent asked.

I looked back to him. Either he was reckless or he spoke for the others. I hadn’t decided which yet. But I was a little surprised. I’d thought Michael would be the one speaking, but he’d stayed silent, looking almost disinterested in the conversation.

“No. No threats. I hope we’ll all have a long and mutually beneficial relationship,” I said.

“So we’re supposed to buy this Syndicate bullshit?” Vincent said.

“Buy it. Don’t. It makes no difference to me. Just understand that whether you believe it or not, the Syndicate exists, and from now until forever, you work for it and no one else,” I said.

“And if we don’t?” Vincent said.

“What would Santo do?” was my reply.

Vincent shrugged. “If someone disobeyed, he’d punch them until he got tired, and then kick them to death.”

“The Syndicate will do much worse,” I said.

Vincent didn’t respond, but he didn’t ask any more questions either.

“Looks like I’ve gotten my point across. I’m going to talk to all of you separately. Wait around, Vincent,” I said. “I’ll talk to you last.”

D
aniela

I
squeezed
the porcelain container I held, wrapped my fingers around it tight, needing something to hold on to.

My heart was racing, racing so fast I could barely breathe, let alone move, so I waited, praying for calm to take over me. I could do this. I would do this, and the sooner I did it, the sooner I could leave.

Still, it wasn’t until long minutes later that I managed to move myself out of the car. I walked up the rickety front steps and knocked at the weathered door frame.

Then I waited.

I didn’t bother to look around. I’d seen this house before, the neighborhood before, and I knew what would greet me should I choose to look.

Desperation, despair, most of it wrought by the man I called Father.

Ironic that he was here now, and I no longer was, but this was not the place or moment to consider irony. When dealing with Santo, I needed all the focus I could muster.

I heard heavy, plodding footsteps, and then waited as the door swung open.

“Daniela,” Rita said. She blinked fast, her dull brown hair almost covering her eyes, but I could still see the edge in them, the weariness. And I well knew its cause.

“Hello, Rita,” I said, trying to give my most sympathetic smile. “Is he in?”

Rita nodded and then pulled the door open and moved aside. I stepped in and looked at her. Rita was only three years older than me, but it would be hard to look at her and tell. Rita had once been far more beautiful than I ever could have hoped to be, but the time, the stress had caught up with her. She’d been married off to one of my father’s associates, and what had once been a youthful face was now worn down with stress and disappointment. It weighed on her now, made her shoulders slump, her features droop, made even the simplest movement seem like a great chore.

Her new houseguest wasn’t helping matters, I was sure.

“He’s in the living room,” she said.

The simple sentence held the weight of all that she couldn’t say, but I held her gaze for a moment, let her know that I understood. Then I stepped farther inside the house, trying to ignore the faintly mildewed scent of the carpet. There was no doubt the place had seen better days, but it was still clear that Rita tried to keep it up.

Its other occupants, not so much.

I followed the sound of voices to the living room and stopped in the doorway.

He saw me, but he didn’t stop speaking, too enraptured in the story I had heard before.

“So, I have this fucking guy. Got my arm around his neck,” Santo said from where he sat on the couch. He hadn’t gotten to the good part, but I knew what was coming. Davey did too, but that didn’t keep him from looking at Santo, seeming to hang on his every word, as he asked, “What did you do?”

“What the fuck do you think I did? I choked him until he passed out,” Santo said.

“That’s all?”

“Nah, I let him come to and then choked him back out a couple times. Got bored, so I kicked the shit out of him and then let him bleed out,” Santo said.

Davey shook his head, though his expression was not disapproving.

“What?” Santo said, shrugging. “I told the asshole not to put wax on my car.”

He then laughed uproariously and Davey joined him. I’d heard this story so many times that it no longer sickened me, a fact that left me vaguely disgusted with myself.

When his laughter finally died down, he waved me over. “Daniela, come over here,” Santo said.

I moved, crossing over the thick, smelly carpet and then stopped in front of Santo.

He reached out for me, and I leaned down, allowed him to kiss my cheek. I somehow managed not to flinch.

What was wrong with me? He was my father. He wasn’t perfect, most times wasn’t even nice. But he loved me. And I owed him.

“You look good, Daddy,” I whispered.

He scowled. “I look like shit. What did you bring?” As he spoke, his gaze turned to the dish I held.

“I thought you might be hungry, so I brought some dinner,” I said.

“Your mother’s recipes?”

I nodded. “Of course. Your favorite.” I lifted the dish slightly.

“Rita, put this shit away,” Santo barked.

Rita, who hadn’t come into the room, appeared almost instantly and grabbed the dish from my hand.

“Let me help you,” I said quickly, looking at Rita.

“No. She can handle it,” Santo said.

“Yeah, I got it, Daniela.” As Rita spoke, she scurried toward the kitchen.

“Thank you for allowing him to stay here, Davey,” I said, hoping to cover the tension of the moment.

“Of course. It’s my honor. My pleasure.”

Davey’s voice rang with sincerity, but I couldn’t tell if he was lying.

Santo was very difficult to get along with, but Davey had been around for years and managed not to get on his bad side, so maybe he was one of the few who could appreciate my father’s personality.

But then again, what else could he say? If he had expressed even a hint of displeasure, Santo would have left. But Davey would have paid a high cost for the insult.

One thing was sure, Rita wasn’t comfortable with this arrangement, but women like Rita—like me—didn’t get a vote.

“Davey, you and Rita get the fuck out of here. I need to talk to my daughter,” Santo said.

Davey stood quickly. “We’ll go to the dining room.”

Santo frowned. “Are you fucking stupid? Get out. Leave the house. Or do I need to say it another way?” Santo growled.

Davey shook his head. “Take your time, Santo. We got shit to do anyway. Rita, get your shoes on,” he called.

Rita didn’t say anything, but when she came out of the kitchen, she was wearing shoes and had her purse thrown over her shoulder. She was probably used to stuff like this, or maybe she just didn’t have the energy to protest.

“They didn’t have to leave,” I said when they had left, trying to ignore the bitter sting of the cowardice that had kept me quiet earlier.

“I needed to talk with you privately.”

Santo’s entire demeanor had changed.

With Davey, with everyone, he put up a front that all was good. Pretended that we couldn’t see the bruises that still hadn’t faded. Couldn’t see the way he favored the side where all of his ribs had been cracked.

That we didn’t know of his humiliation at having been delivered to his own front door naked and hogtied, ironic for one who had so often humiliated others.

But we knew, and we saw, and when I was alone with him, I could see that he hadn’t forgotten that.

Again I was resolved.

Because I saw his awareness and I saw what came with it, too, saw the thirst for vengeance that Santo might not even know was there.

It was there, though, and no matter what he’d said, what he’d promised to Sergei and the Syndicate, he wouldn’t be able to abide the humiliation.

I understood that the Syndicate was far more powerful than my father was, more powerful than he’d ever been. But he didn’t or wouldn’t accept the fact that they were. My father’s capacity for self-delusion knew no bounds, and in something as key as his status, Santo wouldn’t relent, not even in the face of certain defeat.

So it was on my shoulders now to keep Santo from lashing out.

I was the only one left, was the only one who could try to reign that anger in, the only one who might have a chance to keep people safe, to protect those who wouldn’t deserve what would happen to them when Santo broke his word.

And I wouldn’t let it happen, wouldn’t let Santo destroy himself, who knew how many others, all to protect his ego.

“Have you been taking your medicine?” I asked when he grimaced as he shifted on the oddly delicate Queen Anne sofa that was so out of place in this home.

He shook his head. “I had Davey sell them. Can you fucking believe that, Daniela? Me, selling pills for twenty each. Fucking disgusting.”

I could believe it.

“Why?” I said, looking at him, his features now twisted in pain.

“Because the pills take the pain away. And I need that pain. Every twinge, every ache, every stab is one I want to remember, because I’m going to return every one,” he said.

As he spoke, his voice got deeper, threaded with an unsettling mix of calm and mania that almost made me tremble with fear.

“Are you planning something, Daddy?” I asked. I could feel the way my face twisted, knew he could see it as well, but I needed an answer.

“Why do you ask, Daniela?” he said, eyes on me, now focused fully, daring me to question him.

I swallowed, paused, wished I had something to fill my hands so that I could resist the urge to ball them up, do some other nervous motion that would only be like blood in the water for Santo. Somehow, I managed to keep them hanging limply at my sides as I spoke.

“I did as you asked. I married him for peace,” I said. I’d found more, hoped I had, anyway, but that wasn’t important now.

He laughed then. Loud, so hard that his body shook, and then he cut off quickly, undoubtedly because of the pain. “You really are your mother’s daughter,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“She was like you. Stupid. Naive.”