"If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?"
- William Shakespeare
As Sawyer and I headed back home, I couldn't shake the feeling that we had someone tailing us. A sleek black Audi had been on our tail ever since we left Ronan's place. Its tinted windows shrouded the vehicle in a mysterious air, adding to my growing suspicion.
"For how long have we had the escort?" I asked, pivoting my gaze to meet Sawyer's in the rearview mirror. My concern seeping into the raw quiet.
"Not for long. Seems they just popped up. I'm gonna bring us to a halt and handle them, you stay put," Sawyer replied in his calm, deep voice.
"And miss all the fun? No way!" I said with a wicked grin, adrenaline gushing through my veins in anticipation.
We pulled over to the shoulder of the empty road, the mysterious Audi easing into place behind us. My fingers fished around in my satchel and promptly extracted my firearm, preparing myself. Sawyer followed closely behind me, his own weapon ready.
As we approached, the passenger door of the Audi swung open, revealing its occupant. It was a tall man with perfectly styled golden hair, dressed in a sharp black suit that screamed power. But it was the scar on the side of his face that caught my attention, a deliberate choice, no doubt, meant to make him look more intimidating. Yet his appearance was just the tip of the iceberg.
I recognized him immediately, even though I had never met him before.
Aleksander Ivanov. The fucking blond tower.
His height exceeded six feet, with an impressive frame under that exquisite suit, his piercing eyes scanning me from head to toe before acknowledging my presence. His voice, thickly laced with a deep russian accent, resounded through the silent air. "Frank Monroe, a pleasure to finally put a face to the whispers."
His knowledge of my identity unnerved me, but I quickly composed myself and shot back, "Aleksander Ivanov, why the hell are you following me?"
"I wanted to match a face with the name I've heard so much about from my uncle," he returned coolly, a spark of defiance in his gaze.
"And now you have," I said, my tone sharp and cutting.
Before the tension could escalate, Sawyer took a step forward, using his hulking frame to his advantage. His body language oozed silent threats, sending a clear message to Aleksander. "Go home Aleksander," he warned, his voice low and deadly.
Our Russian friend seemed momentarily threatened by Sawyer's audacity before smugly reverting his gaze to his car. "I'll be seeing you around, Frank," he said before getting back into the Audi and driving off into the night.
As we climbed back into the car, an inexplicable feeling of unease washed over me like an ice-cold wave. Aleksander Ivanov was trouble, and I knew I hadn't seen the last of him. There was something unsettling about him, like a dense cloud of menace swirling around him.
Sawyer noticed my contemplative silence and studied my face with a touch of concern creasing his brow. "Everything alright?" His voice was tinted with a quiet kind of apprehension.
I looked at him, shaking off the echo of unease. I managed to put up a brave front, nodding lightly. "Yeah, everything is fine," I assured him. "We need to be careful, though. This matter with Aleksander, it isn't settled, not by a long shot."
He was instantly all business. "Leave it to me," he asserted. The set of his jaw and the resolution in his eyes were a comforting sight. I knew I could count on him. Always.
Taking a deep breath, I detailed out the plan, "You'll head over to papà's house tonight, and spend the night. Tomorrow, escort him to the meeting, and please, stick to him like glue. We can't take any chances with papà's safety. Aleksander is a wildcard. We need to prepare for every possibility."
He digested my instructions, a furrow appearing between his brows as he mulled over it. Then he abruptly asked, "But what about you?"
A warm smile played on my lips at his evident worry. "Manny will be with me," I reassured him.
──●◎●──
Cradling my coffee in one hand and the end of a slowly burning cigarette in the other, I ambled my way out to the balcony. I invited the invigorating winter chill as it danced across my face, painting my cheeks with an icy rouge. The brutal and unyielding winter was a severe, unforgiving creature to most people. However, for me, it was the essence of the city I loved.
Having barely slept a wink the previous night, Aleksander consumed my mind. Thoughts swarmed around my skull like angry bees, constantly stinging me with doubts about his true motives. The memory of what happened with his uncle still fresh, and I had no intention of allowing history to repeat itself.
It was six in the morning, and just as I settled into the tranquility of the early hours, my phone shattered the peace with its insistent ringing.
Glancing at the screen, I hesitated for a moment before answering, "Frank," slipped effortlessly from my lips as smooth as a rehearsed script.
"I knew you were an early riser," A voice filled with familiarity responded from the other end. "It's me, Francesca. Salvatore. I hope I haven't disturbed anything?"
"Not at all," I reassured him. "What can I do for you, Mr. Lombardi?"
There was a sigh on the other end of the call, a resignation or possibly relief. "It's a personal matter, Francesca," Salvatore confessed, the worry etched in every word was impossible to miss.
"I'm all ears, Mr. Lombardi. Just tell me what you need," I responded attentively.
"It's about a friend of mine who's been hospitalized at Conor's." He wasted no time getting to the point. "She needs some legal guidance. Can you lend her your expertise?"
Assurance escaped my lips almost instantaneously, "Absolutely, just provide me with the details and I'll make my way there."
There was a hushed sigh of gratitude, "Thank you very much." And then the call ended, plunging me back into the wintry stillness of my early morning.
Not long after, I received a text from Salvatore with all the essential details about his friend.
Allegra Capano.
The name rang with an odd familiarity. She was the daughter of the legendary mob boss, Giuseppe "The Blacksmith" Capano or as he was known in our circle, "Il Fabbro". Giuseppe's passing saw Allegra taking up the family mantle at the age of twenty-four. She was an extraordinary woman, and I always admired her ability to thrive in a male-dominated world.
In no more than half an hour, I was ready and heading out the door. "Manny!" I shouted. "We're leaving."
"Right away, boss!" Manny immediately jumped in the car and we hit the road.
We arrived at papà's hospital without a hitch, but as I was about to enter, I was stopped by four armed men.
"I'm here for Allegra Capano, she's expecting me," I coldly told the intimidating wall of muscle blocking the doorway.
"Let her through, boys," Another one of her men intervened. "Ms. Monroe, I'm Stu, Allegra's personal security. I appreciate you coming at such short notice. This way, please."
With a curt nod, I allowed Stu to guide me through the winding hallways of the hospital. An overwhelming sense of urgency spurred me to ask, "Where is Allegra?"
"She's having her wound taken care of, should be ready soon," Stu responded.
"I need you to walk me through the incident, Stu. I need to understand exactly what happened," I demanded, already trying to piece things together.
"On our way here from the airport, two black SUV's suddenly swarmed around us. Before we could make any attempt to respond, they initiated a shootout without a word of warning," he relayed. "We'd come here with an objective to conduct a business meeting, Ms. Monroe. We're always equipped for unpleasant scenarios, but this ambush came out of the blue."
"So you're saying you have no clue who was behind the attack?" I questioned, the sharp edges of worry digging into me.
"It wasn't easy to tell at first," he explained. "But at one point, I heard one of the attackers bark an order in Spanish, which caught me by surprise. We don't usually run afoul with anyone from that background."
A sudden dread overcame me at the mention of the word 'Spanish', leading me to a frightening conclusion that Allegra's assault might have been a part of a planned series of attacks.
My pulse pounded as I yanked out my phone, my trembling fingers punching in papa's number, but with no success. Another unsuccessful attempt at reaching Sawyer escalated my panic.
My instincts screamed at me that this wasn't just a coincidence and signalled impending danger.
I punched in Hector's number in desperation and breathed a sigh of relief when I heard his voice on the other end.
"Hector, I can't reach Conor or the others. You need to get to his house immediately, and I'll be there soon," I urged him, panic seeping into my voice. Then I turned my attention to Stu, "Keep her safe until I get back. Don't allow anyone in or out until then!" And with that I raced out of the hospital, heading towards papà's house as fast as I could.
──●◎●──
"Papa! Sawyer!" The desperate cry echoed in my voice as I dashed into the house, terror swirling in the depths of my chest.
"Ma'am, everything alright?" Vito questioned, concern seeping through his voice.
I demanded urgently, barely holding my anxiety at bay, "Where are they?"
"Everyone is inside, ma'am. No one has left," he responded.
Brushing his reassurances aside, I sprinted inside the mansion, fear threading its way through every shout of my father's and my Sawyer's names. "Papà!" My desperate cry once again tore through the suffocating silence of the house.
"Sweetie, we're in here," came the reassuring voice of my father from his office.
I hurried into the office, relief momentarily steadying my trembling heart, drowning in waves of worry only moments ago. Seeing them safe, I exhaled a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"The phone signals seem to have been jammed. That's likely why you couldn't reach them," Hector speculated, drawing my attention to him.
"Those fucking bastards!" I spat in rage, instinctively raking my fingers through my already messy hair.
Papa's tone echoed his confusion, "Frankie, what is happening?"
"I'm not sure, but I think the Colombians are targeting us, the members of the council," I explained.
The Council, also known as The Table, is a group of mafia Bosses who handle underworld activities in major US cities under the Camorra. The Council's mission was to ensure smooth operation and clear dominance within the world of organized crime. Headed by Salvatore Lombardi, with Carlo De Luca as his advisor, the Council members include Conor Jones, Allegra Capano, Theodore Pierce, and Sergei Ivanov. But now, they were one member short, and I couldn't help but wonder who was going to fill that void.
"We hit their shipment at Sergei's Englewood warehouse months ago. Why would they act now?" Hector mused.
Reflecting my own thoughts, papa noted, "Someone is fanning the flames," he uttered, the severity of his tone magnifying the situation.
The frustration was evident in Sawyer's retort. "It has to be Aleksander. I need to cross-check our security measures." With an abrupt dismissal, he exited the room.
"I've already had Zane and Goat secure the area around the hotel. We've got men posted all over. If the Colombians show up, they'll have a very bad day," Hector reassured us.
His words drew a slight, appreciative smile from me, glad for the precautionary steps he'd taken to protect papà and Ronan.
"I need to make a series of urgent calls," papa mentioned before excusing himself, leaving only Hector and I behind in the spacious office.
Hector seemed thoughtful, his dark eyes staring out through the large windows behind papa's desk. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling cold all of a sudden. The weight of everything that was happening settling heavy on my shoulders.
"Hector," I murmured, biting my lower lip anxiously.
"Yes?" he asked, his deep voice soothing in the still silence.
"I..." I faltered, unsure of what to say. Was I frightened? Yes, but it was more than that. It was an ache, a fear for my family that twisted my insides, kept my heart racing, my mind filled with dreadful scenarios.
"You're worried," he deduced, and it wasn't a question. His expression softened, dark eyes filled with a gentleness that had me drawing in a slow breath.
"We have always been targets. From rival families to other gangs," he continued, coming closer, his presence engulfing me. "But we have survived so far and we will survive now."
I silently nodded, trying to keep my mounting concerns at bay.
"So, what's the plan?" Hector asked me with a soft persistence.
I squinted at him slightly, confused.
"I know you have a plan, Frankie," he continued, leaning in closer. "Let's hear it."
As Hector patiently awaited my response, I started to map out the details of my carefully designed strategy. He leaned in further, listening closely to every word I said with rapt attention.
There was something almost spellbinding about Hector, I realized. His magnetic eyes bore into mine, grey depths holding mine captive in an unyielding stare as I spoke. The intense gaze sparked a flurry of unfamiliar emotions within me, sending heat radiating up my spine and spreading throughout my entire body. It left me breathless, causing my heart to race.
It was as if some inexplicable force was pulling me to him, throwing me into the arms of a man I'd barely known but desired with every ounce of my being. An insurmountable curiosity bubbled up within me as my gaze continued to travel back and forth between his eyes and lips. My mind and body were in a fierce battle, grappling with the irresistible pull of his charm.
In the blink of an eye, I found myself closing the gap between us, pushing my lips onto his with a wildness I didn't know I possessed.
My actions were reciprocated as he cradled my face in his strong hands, pulling me in for a deeper, passionate kiss.
Yet, in an instant, the electricity that bound us was cut short as he pulled away. My breath hitched, caught between disappointment and longing. I found myself chasing the enticing feeling that lingered, craving the sparks of heat he ignited in me. I wanted, no, needed more.
"Frankie.." His voice interjected, catching me off guard. He was gentle but firm, confusion brimming in his grey eyes. "I know you don't want to do this, so why are you doing it?"
"I do want to," I answered firmly, clenching my fists in a desperate attempt to quell my chaotic emotions. Driven by an overwhelming need, I jumped back into his arms, losing myself in his kiss once again. "You have no idea how much better you taste when I'm sober."
I could feel his grin against my lips as we kissed.