Keep(Romanian Mob Chronicles 1)(8)
David would take me back. He always found me and took me back. But maybe here…
I met the man’s gaze head-on.
“I want to stay.”
Five
Vasile
* * *
I narrowed my eyes at her, taking in the stubborn tilt of her chin, the spark of intensity that flashed in her eyes, the first sign of fight I’d seen in her.
“Why?” I asked, assessing her.
“He won’t let me go. Not ever.”
The resignation and certainty with which she spoke were more tragic than the implication of the words. Bare of makeup, her eyelids not weighted by lashes, she looked younger, prettier, the fresh-faced innocence I’d glimpsed last night on full display now. As were the shadows that haunted her amber-brown eyes. Whatever she faced with Ashmore was worse than being with me, a person she didn’t know and one she likely didn’t want to. And fuck if for some crazy reason I wanted her to stay.
“I am Vasile Petran. You are welcome here.”
A faint smile curved her lips and the shadows in her eyes lifted. She was mine now. I wondered what I would do with her.
Vasile
“The purpose of that meeting was to reassure the other clans, not mess things up worse,” Priest said later that day.
I’d gone to Familie, the bar and restaurant that also was the base of Clan Petran operations. Priest had arrived before me, and now he stood, deceptively casual in his stance, his face betraying nothing of what he thought. Was he expressing genuine concern or testing me to see how I would respond to his meddling? With Priest, one could never tell, a fact that had served him well and made him the rarest of our community, one who had connections to everyone but formal ties to no one.
“Are you telling me how to run my business, Priest?” I asked, deciding that whatever his intention, I would not be questioned, not by him or anyone else.
“I wouldn’t, but more than your business is at stake here,” he said. “Ashmore washes for your clan and four others, the Peruvians, the Sicilians, and the street gangs. If things are bad with him, things are bad with the money, and people die when things are bad with the money.”
“Our arrangement stands,” I said. “We’ll send one hundred thousand per week, just as we always have.”
Priest blinked rapidly, which was about as lively as he got. “So that simple, eh? That woman you stole doesn’t matter?”
“I didn’t steal her. He offered, tried to give her to me. I accepted,” I said, allowing myself a grim smile, the memory of last night sparking anger anew. The woman—Fawn—shouldn’t have been with that porcine in the first place.
“He tells a different story.”
“Did he call you to complain, convince you to try to talk some sense into me?”
Priest laughed then, the sound surprisingly genuine. “I wouldn’t waste my time trying to talk sense into a Petran. But remember how deep the ties between your families run. Your father worked with his—”
“My father is dead. His father is in jail. The decision is mine to make now,” I said flatly.
“Why go to all this trouble for some whore?”
“Watch your tongue, Priest,” I said, voice low, menacing.
I couldn’t say why, but I didn’t like him talking about Fawn that way. It reminded me of how Ashmore had treated her and made me want to forget my obligations and go make him regret doing so. That desire should have unnerved me, but it didn’t, and I didn’t have time to question why.
“No offense, Vasile. I’m only asking,” he said.
“I don’t answer to you, Priest,” I responded.
“No you don’t, but if this gets out of hand, you will have to answer to much worse,” he said.
“So be it,” I said.
“God, you Petrans. So stubborn.”
I let out a quick smile and then turned serious. “And this is my opportunity,” I said.
“How?”
“You think I don’t hear the whispers, don’t know how their minds work? They are itching to try me, see if I’m as tough as my father. And if I back down now, you know it won’t be long until someone else tries to take advantage.”
Priest nodded.
“So forget the other clans, the Peruvians, the Sicilians, the street gangs, Ashmore. I’m keeping her.”
Six
Vasile
* * *
As I did most days, I’d stayed at Familie to handle business and later that afternoon, I sat in the private back room where Clan Petran met. Natasha Florescu walked toward me, drawing the appreciative gazes of the men who watched wherever she went. I understood why; her long black hair, slim yet shapely figure, flawless features, and wide blue eyes made her an attention-grabbing package. And that she was clan, the daughter of a respected soldier, one who had ultimately died rather than snitch, only enhanced her appeal.