Arranged Mafia Marriage

Chapter 30Kiril

30

Kiril

I sit in my study, gazing out the window at the glittering glass buildings without really seeing them as my thoughts drift to the child growing in Felicity’s womb. A surge of protectiveness hits me, mixed with a determination to do better than my own father.

My childhood flashes through my mind, the harsh lessons, the constant playing off against Nikolai, and Father’s unforgiving expectations. I shake my head, pushing away the memories. No, my child will know love and will understand the delicate balance between strength and compassion.

“I’ll teach you how to survive in this world,” I mutter, imagining holding my son or daughter. “I’ll also show you there’s more to life than just power.”

A knock at the door interrupts my musings. Viktor enters, looking grave.

“What is it?” I ask, straightening in my chair.

He approaches with a file in his hand. “We’ve received intelligence about the Irish mob, sir. They’re making moves on both our territory and Damiano’s.”

I frown, taking the file from him. As I scan the contents, my jaw tightens. “How reliable is this information?”

“Very. We’ve confirmed it through multiple sources.” He scoffs. “O’Malley’s not really taking any pains to hide his intentions.”

I slump back, considering the possible outcomes. The Irish have been a thorn in our side for years, and vice versa, with both of us periodically testing the other, but this level of aggression is new. It’s a threat we can’t ignore, and one that affects both Damiano and me.

“We need to act,” I say, standing up. “But we can’t do it alone. This might be an opportunity.”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. “An opportunity, sir?”

I nod, pacing the room. “To test our truce with Damiano. We’ve been at each other’s throats for too long. This Irish threat might be just what we need to truly find common ground.”

“Do you think he’ll agree?”

I pause, considering. “He’s not stupid. He knows the Irish are a threat to him too. We’re stronger together than divided.”

I walk to my desk, picking up my phone. My finger hovers over Damiano’s number for a moment before I press Call. It rings several times before he answers.

“Kiril?” Damiano’s voice is cautious. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We need to talk,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. “Face to face. It’s about the Irish.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “What about them?”

“They’re making moves on both our territories. I have solid intel. This is a threat we can’t ignore.”

Another pause, longer this time. Finally, he speaks. “And you’re proposing what, exactly?”

“A meeting. Neutral ground. We discuss the Irish situation and discuss concrete details about our proposed truce.”

He hesitates before saying, “I pick the location this time. Your house was a little too cozy for such discussions.”

“Agreed. Send me the details,” I grunt.

“I will, and don’t make me regret this.”

The line goes dead. I lower the phone, meeting Viktor’s questioning gaze. “He agreed. We just need to wait for the location.”

Viktor nods. “It’s a start, sir.”

That evening, I arrive at the agreed-upon location, a private room in an upscale restaurant. Damiano is already there, sitting at a table with a glass of scotch in front of him. He grimaces as I enter.

“Kiril,” he says, his voice cool. “Let’s cut to the chase. What’s this about the Irish?”

I keep my voice low as I pass him the folder Viktor gave me earlier. “They’re making moves on both our territories. We have solid intel that they’re planning major operations against us.”

Damiano’s jaw tightens. “What’s your plan?”

I outline our strategy, detailing how we can combine our forces to defend our interests. As I speak, his skepticism slowly gives way to grudging agreement. “It could work, but how do I know I can trust you? You virtually blackmailed me into that family dinner with the information you’re hosting my woman and son.”

I shrug. “You don’t. Just like I don’t know if I can trust you, but right now, we need each other.”

Damiano nods slowly. “What about Isabella and Tony?”

I keep my expression neutral. “What about them?”

He hesitates, and an internal struggle plays out on his face. Finally, he sighs. “I think it’s best if their presence remains a secret for now. With the Irish threat, exposing them could put them in danger.”

“Agreed,” I say, relieved that he’s come to this conclusion on his own. “They can stay with Felicity and me for the time being and for however long it takes. We’ll keep them safe.”

Damiano’s shoulders relax slightly. “Thank you,” he says, the words sounding like they’re being dragged out of him.

We sit in silence for a moment, our history hanging between us. Then, to my surprise, Damiano speaks again.

“I... I owe you an apology,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes. “For ordering the hit on Felicity before I knew her.”

I tense, anger flaring at the memory. “That was a mistake you won’t make again.”

He nods. “I know. I felt threatened, by her, by Papa’s clear affection for her from the documents I found despite never being part of her life, and by your alliance with Papa. I blamed her when I should have come after you and Papa. I reacted poorly.” He gives a small smile, indicating he might be joking. It’s hard to say.

“You did,” I agree, my voice hard. “And let me be clear, Damiano. I’m only a threat to you if you try to hurt Felicity again. As long as she’s safe, we can coexist.”

Damiano looks at me with a flicker of respect. “Understood, and you must know I hold the same view for Isabella and Tony. As long as there’s no threat to them, I’m prepared to honor our truce.”

An hour later, after more negotiation, he rests back in his leather chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “So, we’re agreed on the Rossi territory?” His dark eyes, once cold with hostility, now hold a glimmer of grudging respect.

I nod, tapping my pen against the notepad filled with our scribbled plans. “Yes. Your men take the docks, and mine handle distribution inland. We split profits sixty-forty in your favor, given your higher risk.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Generous of you, Kiril.”

“Strategic,” I say, allowing a hint of a smile. “Your success there means my success here. We rise together or fall apart.”

Damiano chuckles, a low, rough sound. “You Russians, and your metaphors.”

We continue like this for another hour, voices rising and falling as we debate finer points, occasionally punctuated by the scratch of pen on paper or the clink of ice in our whiskey glasses. The tension that had filled the room when we first sat down gradually dissipates, replaced by a wary but constructive atmosphere.

As we wrap up, he extends his hand. “I never thought I’d say this, but... it’s been productive, Pimaslov.”

I shake his hand firmly. “Agreed, DeLucci.”

It’s not friendship, the memory of his attempt on Felicity’s life still simmers too closely beneath the surface for that yet, but I can feel the shift. We’ve taken a step away from being enemies, toward being not quite allies, but something less volatile.

As we stand to leave, Damiano lifts his whiskey glass, which contains a bit of amber liquid. “To a successful partnership,” he says.

I lift my glass, which is mostly melted ice. “To keeping our families safe.” The glasses clinking together softly is a symbolic gesture, just like drinking to our truce with the dregs of our drinks, but it suits the nature of the deal and feels like a solid start.

We part ways, each heading back to our respective territories. As I drive home, I think about Felicity and the child growing inside her. This alliance with Damiano is a risk, but it’s one I have to take. For them and for our future. There’s work to be done and preparations to be made, but for now, I just want to hold Felicity and remind myself for what I’m fighting.