Broken Whispers (Perfectly Imperfect #2)(42)

I look at her, confused. How does she mean for me to instruct the cook? I doubt he’s familiar with sign language. I guess Nina notices the confused look on my face because she waves dismissively with her hand.

“Don’t worry. Igor only speaks Russian, anyway. Just point with your finger. It works for me, most of the time, at least.”





“Did you talk with Dushku?” I ask Roman and take a sip of whiskey.

“Yes. He says he had nothing to do with the shooting, or with the guys who followed you.”

“And you believe him?”

“I’m not sure.” Roman leans back in his chair and grinds his teeth. “Everything about this is fucked up. All of the guys were Albanians, but none of them were working for Dushku. They were just some random gang members. What I am sure about is that the same person hired all of them.”

“Maybe it’s a setup to make us attack the Albanians. We have the product, Albanians buy it. If we start a war with them and cut the supply, the Albanians will have to search elsewhere.”

“Irish?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Nope. Italians.”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why did the don agree to the cease-fire, and the marriage to unite La Cosa Nostra and the Bratva if they were planning to make a deal with the Albanians anyway?”

“To buy some time.” I take out my phone and start browsing the photos. “I found it strange that Bianca’s brother wasn’t at the wedding. They are close. It didn’t make any sense. When I asked her where he was, she said Bruno sent him to arrange some business and he still isn’t back. Take a guess where he is.”

“Oh, I have a feeling I won’t like the answer.”

I open a photo that our contact in Mexico sent me this morning and pass the phone to Roman.

“Son of a bitch,” he says, staring at the screen.

“Yup. Bruno’s son and Mendoza, our main supplier.”

“Looks like the Italians framed the Albanians, or tried to at least, so we would turn on each other. Most likely, they were hoping to swoop in and offer to supply the drugs to the Albanians the moment our business dealings ended.”

“Yes. But I think this is all Bruno’s doing. He enjoys licking the don’s ass. I believe he planned to inform him only after he had set the events in motion.”

“Well, we are not going to war with the Albanians, so Bruno will end up with a lot of product and no buyer.”

“I’m sure Don Agosti won’t be happy with Bruno going behind his back,” I say. “Especially since the don himself agreed to the treaty between us.”

“You know, I always wondered why Bruno offered his daughter for the marriage.”

“He wanted exclusive inside info on the Bratva. Bianca told me so herself.”

“Oh? Did she now?”

“Yes. She said no. I have a silent alarm set on my home office door. Bianca has never tried to get inside, Roman.”

“Are you sure?” He looks at me sideways. “Absolutely sure?”

“I am. Why, do you doubt my judgment?”

“Of course, I do. You are desperately in love with her, anyone can see that.”

I look at the glass in my hand. The light is reflecting in the dark brown liquid much the same as it does in Bianca’s eyes.

“I am,” I say and down the drink.

Roman smiles and shakes his head. “Well, I’ll be damned! If someone told me that a woman would have you, of all people, wrapped around her finger in less than a month, I would have considered them mad.”

“You are one to talk. Remind me how much time it took Nina to have you eating out of her hand.”

“Way more than a month.”

“You were a goner after a week, Roman.”

“Okay, two weeks.” He shrugs. “And what about Bianca?”

“What about her?”

“Does she feel the same?”

“I don’t know. Bianca is hard to read.”

“Women are hard to read in general, Mikhail. Sometimes, I feel they came from another fucking planet.”

“I think she likes spending time with me.” I shrug. “We went to the mall last week.”

“I knew it.” Roman hits the chair with his palm. “She dragged you to watch some teen movie. Admit it!”

“Not exactly. We had sex in the restroom.”

“Mikhail Orlov. Had sex in the restroom.” He raises his eyebrows. “In a mall.”

“Yes,” I say, and he bursts out laughing.

I ignore him and continue, “She also said she wanted me to take her dancing.”

“You? Dancing? What’s next, pigs flying?” Roman sighs. “Did you tell your wife what you do for the Bratva?”

“She knows I’m in charge of distribution.”

“So, you haven’t told her.”

I look down at my glass. “Nope.”

“She’ll find out, sooner or later, you know that.”

“She won’t. I’ll make sure she never finds out.”

“Mikhail . . .”

“She doesn’t care about my eye. Or the scars. I don’t know how, but she doesn’t. She never asked what happened, even though I know she must wonder. But I can’t tell her what I do for the Bratva . . . I don’t think she would be able to get past that.”