Wicked Mafia Prince (A Dangerous Royals Romance, #2)(55)

And holds me.

Something in me breaks.

I begin to weep.

“You’re worthy of God’s forgiveness,” she says. “You’re worthy of God’s love.”

Like a baby I weep. I don’t want her fake god’s love or forgiveness.

But this strong fierce female feels so like Tanechka, shining with goodness. It f*cks me up.

Still she holds the gun—her hand isn’t on the trigger, but on the grip. She allows it to hang lazily from her hand in front of me as she holds me.

This, too, is so like Tanechka, her Glock an accessory as much as the hoop earrings she so loved to wear. As much as the snake chain necklaces that would lie across her skin, sliding slyly along the curves of her collarbone.

“I’m not worthy. Not of you.”

“Shh,” she says, pulling me tighter.

I’m so tired, so, so tired.

I close my eyes, imagining my fierce, glorious female has come back to me. Except Tanechka wouldn’t be holding me like this.

Tanechka was never one to forgive her enemies.

“Shh,” she says again.





Chapter Twenty




Lazarus


I’m sitting in my Mercedes on a street near Ping Tom Park. It’s a place I like to go and think, but right now I’m on a phone consultation with Valerie. She’s encouraging me to personally visit Dmitri, leader of the American Russians.

“Visit my enemy…” I say. “Maybe I should bring him a little gift, too. But what do you bring the man who wants your head on a platter? Fruitcake doesn’t seem quite right.”

She laughs. She thinks I’m using it as a figure of speech.

I told her that I’m in a rivalry with a Russian accounting firm. I told her how competition for some business got out of hand, right when I don’t need the extra headache.

“Your people stepped over a line,” she says.

“That’s one way of putting it.” I say. Another—more accurate—way of putting it would be that two of my guys got wasted on meth and shot some Russian mob soldiers. Managing criminals isn’t as easy as it might appear. A lot of them are hotheads and addicts. “Maybe I could bring him their heads on platters.”

“Is that what he really wants, though?” She thinks I don’t mean that literally, either. “What are Dmitri’s business objectives?”

“Operational expansion,” I say. “Conservation of human resources.” This is how Valerie and I talk. My guys would fall off their chairs if they heard us.

“What I’m getting at is, if you want to prevent more sniping between your firms, look at it from his point of view. Imagine you weren’t rivals. What becomes possible then? Who are you without this rivalry? What’s on both of your business bucket lists? What makes you both look good in the eyes of the rank and file? Is there any sort of joint venture you could undertake? Or a pooling of resources to catch a large account that you both want? Think out of the box here, Lazarus. Maybe you collaborate to put on a charity event for a cause you both believe in and the Russian firm name is at the top. You’ll make him look good.” Making people look good is one of Valerie’s go-to strategies.

“He’s gonna have some significant trust issues,” I say.

“Then overcome them, Lazarus. When was the last time you and Dmitri met face to face?”

Never, I tell her. No, not even at an industry function.

She’s surprised. “The first step is a meeting. Humanize yourself to him. Invite him to dinner.”

“Just the two of us?”

“Two guys. Who probably have very much in common.”

It’s an interesting idea. Insane, but interesting.

I imagine sitting down with Dmitri in an out-of-the-way restaurant. Something neutral—not Agronika, the Black Lion club. Not one of the Russki places, either. There would need to be guarantees of safety. “I don’t know. I don’t want him to think I’m fearful of his retaliation. Going to him on my knees. Kissing his ass.”

“In judo, a fighter uses his opponent’s energy against him. When the opponent pushes, you pull. Your Russian rival is in pushing mode. Instead of pushing back, why not surprise him? Why not find a way to pull him close? You let him know you didn’t sanction that action that your employees took. You’re disciplining them, right?”

“They won’t misbehave again.”

“Good. Let him know the steps you’ve taken toward bringing your team back under control. Then move forward—find some point of agreement and build.”

“It’s…out of the ordinary.”

“Guess what, Lazarus. You’re in control now. You get to decide what’s ordinary now.”





Chapter Twenty-One




Viktor


When I open my eyes again, it’s dawn.

Tanechka’s arm is still around me. I can barely move the fingers of my right hand, and my phone’s ringing from somewhere. And then it stops. I’m just stunned that it’s dawn. I can’t believe I slept through the night. I never do—not ever.

Tanechka mumbles from behind me.

I remove her arm from where it drapes over me and settle her on her back, gazing down at her sleeping form. Nobody ever held me like that. Nobody ever told me I was worthy—not even the old Tanechka. I knew she thought it, but she would’ve been too cool to say it.