Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(5)
Malek pauses to drink his vodka before answering. “Inconvenient.”
“You have no idea.”
“What if it looks like an accident?”
“If the Irishman’s woman doesn’t live to an advanced old age, no matter the cause, I’ll be held responsible.”
We stare at each other. He says, “By your woman.”
“Yes.”
He pauses another beat. “She’d get over it eventually.”
My smile is dark. “You don’t know Natalie.”
He’s starting to look confused. “So you’re not the head of this family? She is?”
He’s got about ten seconds of life left, and the clock is ticking.
I snap, “I take it you’re not married.”
He grimaces. “Of course not.”
“In a relationship?”
“Is that a joke?”
“Then you couldn’t possibly understand.”
He looks around the room as if trying to find someone more reasonable to speak to.
“You don’t have to comprehend, Malek. You just have to abide by the request.”
“It sounded more like an order.”
My smile is grim. “Call it what you like. The result of noncompliance will be the same: death. I’ll make it slow and painful.”
We gaze at each other in tense silence until he says, “It’s been a long time since anyone threatened me.”
“I believe you. It isn’t personal.”
“Of course it’s personal.”
“Like I said, you couldn’t understand. Get yourself a fiancée, and it’ll become clearer.”
I have to admit, the expression of incredulity on his face is perversely satisfying.
He takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Stroking a hand over his dark beard, he watches me with calculating eyes. There’s a distinct possibility he’s debating how he’d like to kill me, but I simply wait for him to decide which way this conversation will go.
Eventually, he says, “A fiancée. I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Knowing that’s as close as he’ll get to admitting he’s decided not to bother with an attempt on my life and also will spare Sloane when he kills Declan, I smile. “Thank you. You’ll come to the wedding, of course.”
He looks like he’d rather be roasted alive and fed to wild dogs, but he finally shows some manners and says solemnly, “It would be my honor.”
We drink another toast. We talk for a few more moments. I give him a picture of Declan and another of Sloane, both of which he tucks into his coat pocket. Then he rises unexpectedly and informs me he has to be on his way.
Without a farewell, he turns and heads to the door.
“Malek.”
His hand on the door handle, he pauses to look back at me.
“Don’t harm any other women while you’re at it, either.”
He gazes at me in that silent, annoying way he has that makes me want to grab the nearest machete and start hacking away at his neck, if only to get a reaction.
“Just don’t kill any fucking females that might be around when you’re taking care of your business, all right?”
“What difference does it make?”
“I’ll be able to sleep better at night.”
Contempt in his tone, he says, “This is why men in our line of work should be alone, Kazimir. Women make you soft.”
Before I can shoot him, he walks out the door and is gone.
On the desktop, my cell rings. The screen tells me it’s Sergey, a trusted member of my crew. I answer the call and wait for him to speak. When he does, his voice is tense.
“We have a situation.”
“Which is?”
“There’s a fire.” He pauses meaningfully. “At the warehouse.”
The warehouse I’m keeping Diego captive in, he means. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know. I just got the call from the alarm company. I’m on my way now. Fire department’s already been dispatched.”
“Get there first and get him out. I want him alive, understood?”
“Da.”
“Call me when you’ve got him.”
Sergey murmurs an acknowledgement and disconnects, leaving me to ponder the thousand ways this could go wrong.
And if perhaps Malek was onto something when he said women make men like us soft.
The old me would’ve put a bullet in Diego’s head weeks ago.
The old me also wouldn’t feel a twinge of regret if one of his enemies died in a fire. The old me, the person I was before I met Natalie, would find the thought of Diego screaming in agony as he burned alive highly amusing.
The new me?
Not so much.
I mutter, “Fuck. Next thing you know, I’ll be running off to try to save Diego myself.”
I chuckle at that idea.
I pour myself more vodka.
Then I grab my keys and head to the warehouse, cursing this horrible new conscience I’ve grown since falling in love.
3
Riley
When the cabin door opens, I blink against the bright light.
We’re at another airport, this one teeny-tiny compared to the one in San Francisco. There are a few outbuildings and a smattering of other private jets, but there’s only one main runway, and no commercial planes.