Chapter 78: Chapter 78

◆ NICCOLO ◆

"Where's Sofija now?"

"Stop calling her that."  I held back a frown and took the vacant seat beside the boss.

"Why should I?"

"She doesn't like it."

"Funny."  Ilya paused signing the crisp white papers on the table to glance up, his expression almost too blank for words. "How you just decided she doesn't like to be called by her real birth name."

"She knows. Okay? She knew about it months ago. But she's not doing anything about it." I sighed to myself. At least I wasn't answering the questions with pure lies. "If you can't accept that, just leave her be,"  I said in a quieter voice as I tried to stop frowning.

Although I had initially told myself not to interfere with his plans and just tell him whatever he wanted to hear, I was done acting like I didn't care if the mob interfered with Mykaela's life. I had enough guilt to keep me depressed for a lifetime.

Therefore, whatever it was Ilya wanted me to do next, I would inform the Falcos.  Firstly, Maxim, only because we gained each other's trust back just recently.  If Stefano treated me better this week and less like a hostage slash errand guy, I might share more than the nitty-gritty details with him, too.

"Leave her be?"

"Don't touch her family." I stared at Ilya, hoping he would listen to me and my unsolicited advice.  "They don't have any involvement."

Ilya ignored my retort and went on reading the sheets of paper on the table.  Impossible as it might seem, his soundless breathing and vacuous stare didn't change.  If he played poker, he could definitely win millions if not more.

"Remember when you were little? You liked to run around. Hide till the servants gave up." Ilya let a hint of a smile show on his thin lips.  His short and slightly graying beard reminded me of his age, but nothing else about him or his plans had changed over the past decade.  Only his physical appearance. "Often they come crying to your mother because they couldn't find you anywhere."

"I recall some of it," I muttered. I only came here to discuss my departure soon—not reminisce to old, happier times. Because, frankly, my family had too few to recall.

I sat back in the chair, fighting off a scowl and a heavy feeling of discomfort.  I was trying to enjoy the panorama of our family's century-old vineyard.  It was all greens until the fading sun touched the never-ending horizon, reminding me of our clan's first ever business.

A winery.  I once thought I would inherit the business like my parents had originally imagined. But life happened, and some things didn't turn out the way they were supposed to. I had eventually left town to pursue another path.

Not to make a name for myself, but to escape from the demons of my past that always haunted me in my nightmares. And despite my efforts to keep convincing myself the monsters were merely unpleasant memories, turns out life had more than unresolved night terrors coming for me.

"What's keeping you from doing what I told you?"

Were we discussing the Falcos now?  Well...I guess that meant small talk was over.  "I did what you asked—   What more do I have to do to get this all over with?"  And get my life back.  Get the freedom I wanted for myself, basically.

"Not everything I told you."  Ilya cleared his throat and flipped the spate of papers on the table.  "Stefano and his clan. They're still alive, breathing chaos into my operations."

I made a face at his exaggeration but stayed reclined in the chair.  "You're asking too much."

Ilya forced a chuckle. "Need I remind you what could happen if you abandon your responsibilities?"  He kept signing the papers before him, his strokes sharp and precise, like his words that were meant to threaten my peace of mind.  "I may be getting old, but I'm not senile, boy."

Ah. There it is. The same old emotional blackmail.  By now, it was getting too old to sound believable.  But he actually sounded impervious to reason or persuasion.  "Why can't you accept that I just dig up dirt and steal some from time to time?" I scoffed and checked my phone.  "I don't kill people for a living."

"Right. I pay other people to do that for me, since you just don't have the guts."

"Let it go," I muttered calmly to counter his acerbic tone.  "A good competition can't hurt that bad."

"I would if they're not messing up Sofija's life." Ilya squinted at me and grabbed his wine glass on the table.

"Too bad she doesn't think so," I murmured with a short sigh.

"They're just parasites." Ilya's gray eyes, almost always void of emotion, resumed reviewing the small printed words on the paper.  "Everybody wants them out of the trade."

I watched him read another contract.  Probably a draft from one of his new business partners. And by 'business', that could mean pretty much anything that gave him unbelievable power and control over a lot of people.  Like Stefano Falco, Ilya liked to be the boss and he wanted to rise to the top of the food chain.  Whatever it took.

Ever since I'd gotten to know him better, I discovered he was more than my Russian godfather who liked to send me some money and sometimes lavish gifts during my birthdays.  I almost didn't believe it at first, but my family had told me enough for me to understand why Ilya wanted to be a part of the Božić mafia family.  He even changed his name to make it official.

Before I turned 18, I had known about his real profession and business dealings within the underground networks.  I also knew about his plans of expanding the Božić clan's operations beyond Europe.

It was no secret to anyone who was doing business with him that Ilya was aiming for 'world-renowned mafia boss' status,  Escobar-style.  Such a cliché, really.  But power was addictive.  Almost as addictive as money.  It made him one of the most dangerous men I'd ever met in this lifetime.

Sometimes he even terrified me more than Stefano did, but, I had to pretend I wasn't scared shitless, that I was still the same kid he used to mentor till I finally felt I could make life-changing decisions for myself.  Ilya was still my godfather, after all.

Honestly, I felt lucky that he was giving me some leeway despite my shortcomings in the last couple of years, and that he didn't just shoot me in the head that second time I stood up to him, to tell him I wasn't going to finish the job he wanted me to do.

Maybe I was still living and breathing because he still thought I was useful to him?

So, to stay alive for another few years, I would keep faking it till he eventually decided that my existence had become a liability to him, or that I would no longer serve a purpose in his plans to achieve world domination.  Either might be the reality soon, I imagine...and either way, I would still end up dead.

Shit.  I needed more than a good Plan B this time.

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