The Arrangement (3 page)

With a sharp whisper in Russian, Boris grabbed her roughly and forced Viviana to move. The long barrel of a silencer pressed to her side. “Now, shut those lips of yours, Miss Carducci. We wouldn’t want to wake up the rest of this dorm and cause more issues than necessary. A car is waiting for us at the entrance. Viktor will meet us five miles past the border after he cleans up.”

Only then did she notice the plastic gas cans sitting outside in the hallway. Even though it was late afternoon and the hallways were seemingly quiet, there were still students and faculty in the building. “You can’t burn—”

“I will tape your mouth shut, girl, if you can’t keep quiet. I promise.”

As he dragged Viviana from the room, she made the mistake of looking back.

Sam’s still form was sprawled half on, half off the bed. Struck helpless, he was far too pale to be alive. Blood and matter had splattered across the wall behind him. Open, dead eyes stared blankly as blood ran red with spidery lines over the muscles on his arm, slipping in slow dribbles from his fingers to soak into the floor.

The vomit she had been holding back finally made its way out.

Seated in a black SUV with heavily tinted windows, Viviana trembled in the passenger seat. The side of her shirt was soaked with blood—Sam’s—and spatters of her own vomit. Bile rose in her throat again as she found herself staring at the large spot of morbid crimson.

“If you vomit in my car, I will knock you out and put you in the back. Are we clear?” Boris asked gruffly, sitting beside her, never once taking his eyes from the road. “It’s bad enough you vomited on my shoes. These were not cheap, my dear, at nearly six hundred dollars a pair, and detailing this car will cost far more when it’s blood and vomit they’re cleaning out.”

Wanting to keep that very thing from happening, she decided to engage him in conversation. “I didn’t realize bulls were paid that much in the Russian mafia.”

His dark laughter filled the vehicle. “A bull would not have treated you so well when you fought back, not to mention if you had made one bleed like you did to my friend. Besides, their job is to protect members and high family of the Bratva, not collect payments.”

“I’m a person, not a payment,” Viviana bit out, her teeth clenching.

“The Cosa Nostra will not be too bothered by your loss, girl. You are their liability.”

Curling back her lips in disgust, Viviana hated that he wasn’t wrong. “And what, now I’m Anton’s?”

“I’m sure that uncle of yours will attempt some show at getting you back, hoping you’ll be killed in the process. Worth the risk to Anton,” Boris replied quietly. “Though, I cannot begin to fathom why. You’re a pretty enough thing, that’s for sure. Lord knows he’s got enough women—taken enough women,” he corrected with a shrug as he turned onto the exit for the TransCanada Highway.

“
Cooz
chaser,” she muttered sarcastically. “Just what my mother always wanted for my husband.”

“
Cooz
?” Boris sounded confused. “Italian slang isn’t my speciality, but Russian on the other hand…”

“Pussy.” She smirked as he coughed under his breath to hide the surprise that flitted across his features. “He likes to
chase
it. How many whores does he have on the side?”

Boris considered his passenger for a quick moment. “You will have to ask him those questions. He does not lack female attention, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Great
.

“Do you think—”

“I am not paid to think about what Anton does behind closed doors,” he interjected sharply. “I am a
brigadier
—your equivalent to a capo. You, girl, are my boss’s … betrothed. That is all.”

“I am not marrying him!”

“Discuss that with Anton.”

She swallowed back her anger, wanting to keep him talking. “He’s a little young to have reached his ranking, no?”

“His grandfather prepared him well. He was a made man—a
vor
in our terms—at eighteen, never finishing his studies formally but still well versed and intelligent. He’s quick, cunning, and knew what he was doing because growing up, he had watched more than he spoke. The little Russian prince, his grandfather called him. They all called him that. It’s in his blood, girl, what he was meant for. Most of us respected that, and when it came time, Anton was the best choice to take over, given his own father was too sick by that point.”

“You don’t think taking me after my father was killed for striking that deal with Nicoli Avdonin is bad leadership?” Viviana snorted, crossing her arms and turning to look out the window. “He’s practically declaring war between the Bratva and the Cosa Nostra.”

“Perhaps that is what he wants; have you considered that?” Boris asked. “His decisions have to be approved by the other Pakhans who may have issues because of his desires. There were reasons his grandfather and your father thought you two would be a good match. Besides the obvious reasons why they wanted the families to join in certain aspects, you have to know it was about more than just money.”

He shrugged and added, “You shouted about not being Russian back at your dorm because the Cosa Nostra demands full-blooded Italians when joining. We do not, and any boys you birthed for Anton would still be eligible to join the Bratva, should they be what we’re looking for when they become of age.”

“My children would—”

“Not your choice to make,” he interrupted swiftly with a raised brow. “You know this, girl. You were raised in this life. You avert your eyes and ears. Walls do not speak, and windows do not see. And if your husband wishes for you to know things, only then will he tell what he considers safe for you to know.”

Viviana felt her jaw clench at his words. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not marrying him.”

Boris chuckled. “You’ve forgotten then, little Vine, what it was like nine years ago when you were a young sixteen and he only eighteen. You didn’t know he was already a dangerous man, but you knew he would be. It did not bother you, and you were both willing to fulfill the arrangement, happily.”

He’d shocked her speechless. Again, Viviana’s memories were filled with years long past. Of a time when she was young, dumb, and head over heels for someone she didn’t even know, not really. For years, her father had repeated words, conditioned and prepared her for a marriage that was simply understood—
accepted
—because he said it was so. While arranged marriages were rare in the modern mafia, it sometimes happened to gain more power or wealth, but it was never spoken of publically. Roman had made the mistake of celebrating Viviana’s openly after she turned twenty, and it resulted in his death. Not that it would have made a difference when it came time for the actual marriage to take place.

The Italian daughter of a mafia Don had no business marrying the Bratva prince, they said. She should have been picking from the many sons of the Cosa Nostra batch. They would have been better suitors.

Sure
…

“I was only sixteen; I couldn’t have known any better! And, anyway, how did you know that?”

“You don’t remember me, but I was always there as a bull of sorts for Anton. While he worked under his father and grandfather, I was there with him, ensuring he did what was correct and what we expected of him.”

“You were
there
.”

Viviana’s breathing halted for a split second, taking in what he said. That meant he probably knew what it had been like during the only two meetings between Anton and her, how happy the families had been that they took so well to one another as young children, and then when they were older, how they had fallen in …

“I didn’t … didn’t love …” She couldn’t finish the sentence as shame pulsed through her core and ached from the inside out. The words would be a lie because she had. And if she were an honest woman, Viviana would have to say those feelings never really went away. How could they when in her life there was only one person who was supposed to be just hers? “I
didn’t
.”

“You did,” Boris replied quietly, his hand reaching out to open the glove compartment. There, yet another small handgun sat atop a package of tissues. “Wipe your face, but do not touch my gun.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “It was a good match—still is—if you want it to be, Vine. Anton is taking major risks here. You were right in that assumption, but he is doing it for more than just the Bratva, too.”

“I don’t want to be his wife!” Not bothering to reach for the tissues, she slammed the glove compartment closed with a kick. “And I’ve been doing just fine since my parents died, without Anton or the Russians. Eventually, my uncle would have let this whole thing go.”

Boris didn’t bother to hide his displeasure. “
Eventually
, he would have killed you.” Clicking his tongue chidingly, he muttered, “Probably would have made it look like a suicide. Do not act so stupid, girl. He cares nothing for the blood you share.”

The truth in his words were a harsh reality that only added to her fear. Viviana wished she had grabbed for the gun in the glove compartment and turned the damned thing on him, but she knew it likely wouldn’t have made the situation any better. Not wanting to cry again, she steeled her emotions, sitting up ramrod straight in the passenger seat and staring ahead at the miles of highway they still had to travel.

“Where are we going?”

“A safe place. More specifically, a place in Brooklyn. It’s where Anton has always lived, and where we work out of, as you already know. Settle in, it’s a long drive from Toronto.”

Panic raged under her calm exterior. Viviana’s uncle worked out of Long Island, mostly. “It’ll be a war inside the city.”

Boris still looked unaffected. “It’s happened before.”

“Not between the Bratva and Cosa Nostra. Would it be bigger than just New York?”

With a disgruntled grunt, he suddenly leaned over and opened the console between their seats. Viviana didn’t get the chance to see what he grabbed before the flip door to the console was shut once more.

“Anton doesn’t want you worried and bothered when you arrive. I need you quiet at the border. It’s not so easy bribing officials, you know.” With those words, his hand shot out, and a sting radiated deep in her bare arm. Striking out at him with a startled yelp, the car swerved. She glanced at where the pain originated only to see him push the plunger down in the needle he stabbed her with. “Mostly just a mild sedative that will keep you quiet for a half a day or so. It’ll do the trip at least.”

“What … what di-did … ju …” The words trailed off and Viviana slumped down in the seat almost instantly.
Mild sedative, my ass
, she thought drowsily. “I’m telling … Anton … you … tell Anton … drugged me.”

Boris laughed. “You do that, my dear. Sleep for now.”

Just as her body began drifting off into a forced slumber, a ringing sounded through the car’s speakers. Boris answered in Russian, and she tried to keep her eyes open long enough to see his facial reactions to what he was hearing. The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar, but the wearier Viviana got, the less she was able to focus.

That was, until her name was spoken in the caller’s mother tongue:
Viviana
. She hadn’t been addressed by that name since her parent’s death, and publically everyone knew her as Vine. It was a nickname given to her years ago by her older brother Tony when he was unable to speak her given name properly. She was always introduced as Vine. Never once did she use Viviana unless it was necessary.

But nine long years before, Anton had been the odd man out. He was the one person who called her by her given name; she had only ever been just Viviana to him.

In her chemical-induced slumber, she dreamt of an earlier time …

“Come on, they don’t all call you Vine, right?” Anton asked in the dark.

“Yep, everyone.”

His hand traced a light path across her naked legs wrapped in his under the blanket. She’d snuck into his room, since it was both their last night before they left from vacation to return to New York. It’d be a long while before they would see each other again. Really, Viviana just wanted to be close to him; one week was all it took for her to feel that way.

“Mom calls me Ant. I hate that.”

She laughed. “Ant, really? Oh, God, that’s horrible.”

“Shut up, or you’ll wake the house.”

“Don’t think your bull doesn’t already know someone is in here with you.”

Anton shrugged and rolled to his back with a sigh. “He won’t tell, and they wouldn’t care. Well, maybe Roman would. You shouldn’t be in a boy’s room in the middle of the night, Vine.”

“I thought you liked Viviana better,” she whispered, biting her lip and grinning.

“So, Viviana, why did you sneak out of your warm, safe bed to climb into mine?”

Before her sixteen-year-old self could think better of her actions, she leaned up and kissed him. His large hands tightened on her trim waist, gripping hard as the air turned thick. He muttered harshly under his breath.

“I wanted to say goodbye before morning,” Viviana said as his thumbs brushed against her sides. Shivering at the new sensations driving through a body still too young to understand, he drove her a little closer, wrapping both tighter in the blanket. “I’m not cold.”

“Me, either.” Hands moved under the flimsy short and tank set she wore, hesitating only long enough to ask, “Can I?”

“Say it again,” Viviana demanded.

Anton’s brow furrowed, blue eyes lighting up in his confusion. “Say what?”

“My name.”

Russian fell from his lips so smooth and deep, but there was one word above the rest that she understood well enough: Viviana. It ached so badly, the pads of his thumbs brushing away salty tears that escaped from the corners of her eyes. He was so careful, though, and oh so gentle.

“Giving this to me makes you mine, Vine. I don’t care about who comes after, or the in-betweens. Not when we both know I’m going to be your last.”