Chapter 56: Chapter 56

Syrah, Rostov, Russia

◆ NICCOLO ◆

"Is it done?"

I glanced up from my untouched glass of wine and stared at the man wearing an impeccably ironed suit and black tie.  If I didn't know any better, I'd say the guy just held a conference in some cold and stale boardroom in the metropolis.

But I knew what the big boss kept his scarred hands busy with these days. Or at least I had some ideas.

"Scrubbed all the evidence. All copies and traces. You won't die in maximum security prison."

"What about Sofija?" the boss asked me next.

"Give me two more weeks." I breathed a short sigh. He was impatient as much as I was tired of taking orders from him. But I had to pretend it didn't bother me. Or else he'd teach me another lesson involving a loaded gun, and some on-call henchman with a penchant for slaughtering total strangers using varying methods of torture. Early '60s Russian-style.

"Nerozumiem."

"That persistent detective almost fucked it all up."

"I didn't give you a year of privacy and freedom just so you could bring me nothing but bad excuses, Nicco." Ilya raised his glass to his nose and checked his drink twice, like always.

Although he owned all the men and servants in this cold and spacious dining room, I knew the boss only fully trusted a few. Myself included.  "I gave her enough, warned her about the Falcos. She's back in New York," I replied. In fact, I could still recall the contents of my encrypted emails to Mykaela some weeks ago. "Maxim still trusts me."

"More than Luca did, I hope." Ilya smirked and put down his half-empty wine glass.

"Touché." I ignored the cheeky insult and thought of my chronically ill father once again. Last time I checked, he was still going to the same dialysis clinic. My mother would accompany him every single time, selfless and loyal as she was.

The same bouquet of flowers got sent to their home every now and then. It was my cautious idea of telling my parents I was okay.  Alive, breathing, and making choices on my own.  I actually missed the house.  My childhood home.

Unfortunately, staying in contact with them while I worked another underground deal—while damn stuck here in Russia, no less—was nothing short of suicidal.

"Your mother's still waiting for you," Ilya said with a small smirk. "She's quite smart. Just too emotional." Seated at the end of the long dining table, Ilya cleared his throat and grinned slightly. His eyes just looked dull and gray under the chandeliers. "She figured it out by now."

"V pohode."

"When can I see Sofija?"

"She'll stay a while in New York, busy with school." I picked up my spoon and pretended to enjoy the warm soup in my bowl. It tasted of cream, fresh mushroom, and meat.  Was this the entrée?  Chatting over a formal dinner with the big boss wasn't what I imagined during the three-hour drive to the estate.

Matter of fact, I only drove out here today because Ilya personally called me up. If my life didn't depend on it,  I wouldn't even step another foot in this mansion. Or in any of Ilya Bôzìc's other mansions, in that case.

"Surprised you didn't know that."

"Doing business with other families is becoming a problem." Ilya let out an audible sigh, his faint Russian accent more detectable along the verbs. A feigned smile deepened the lines on his jowls.  "I don't have the time to hunt her mother down. That's why I gave you the job. Surprised you already forgot."

I sat back and tried not to pull a face. "That's the only reason you called?"

"I need to talk to her."

"Sofija?"

"This month."

"I have her new number."

"In person."

"Alright." I matched the boss' stare, intrigued by his imperative tone. I had known him since I could read, more than 20 years ago now, but I still couldn't figure out his angle this time.

What exactly did he want from Mykaela?  After all these years, why the sudden urgent need to see her now?

"Do I need to know why?"

"Do you want to know why?" Ilya squinted.

"Just curious." I shrugged casually to conceal my growing confusion over the issue.

"What does that Tomassini heir want from her?"

"Likes hanging out with her. I don't know. Maybe he wants to date her."

The boss gripped his cutting knife when he paused from eating his steak. His hands remained steady and succinct, as if he was waiting to hear more news. Good news based on hard facts, preferably.

Uncertain of what to say next, I shut my mouth and grabbed my wine glass. I drank some red wine. Strong, aged, expensive red wine I couldn't quite afford myself.

The temperature in the room was making my fingers cold and rather numb.  I wasn't scared, or anything. Just confused. A little bit bothered.

It had been more than a year ago since Ilya told me to do some undercover digging on the Falcos, as well as their mafia associates currently operating internationally while expanding their influence in the world of corporate finance, real estate, and even politics.

Despite my busy schedule and demanding full-time job being one of Stefano Falco's security staff, I hadn't forgotten the tasks Ilya had given me a year ago.

I should seek forgiveness for not finishing the job, but, knowing my uncle well,  a delinquent apology now wouldn't suffice anything.

If I did another highly risky job for him and his clan of mobsters, then maybe, just maybe...Ilya might finally let me live a normal life with my family.  Away from all this chaos.

"Keep my parents out of this. Don't touch Sofija," I bargained.  "Her family's not involved with the Falcos. I'm keeping an eye on her. I'll give you updates."

"As you should."

"The Falcos aren't planning to get rid of her, so no need to interfere. Can't blow my cover this soon."

"Ja som s tebou husi nepásol."

"She's vulnerable right now." I sighed, hoping my sentiments would reach his obstinate logic. "Her family knows nothing."

"Her mother thinks I'm dead?"

"I'll need to ask her myself. One of these days," I muttered while staring back at the most cold-blooded man in the room.

"Give me a call then. We'll talk about your father's balances afterward."

I reclined in my chair and kept my cool. I had to. To put it simply, I wouldn't make it out of here alive if I didn't agree and oblige the boss' wishes. "One week. I'll get in touch with her, and bring her here."

"I'm sure you will." Ilya chuckled and held the butter knife, his knuckles turning pale under the bright lights.  "Then you will take care of Stefano and his precious family."

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