Arranged Mafia Marriage

Chapter 33Kiril

33

Kiril

T he phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. I answer it, my voice calm despite the tension coursing through me. My wife just hinted that she’s heard from somewhere that the Irish are getting bolder, but she refused to reveal her source. I’m irritated, she’s irritated with my pressure, and we’re both currently on opposite sides of the penthouse to cool off.

“Kiril, we’ve got a problem,” says Viktor without preamble. “O’Malley’s men were spotted in the nightclub district last night. They’re making moves.”

I sit up straighter, my jaw tightening. “How many?”

“At least a dozen. They were scoping out ‘Club Noir’ and ‘The Red Room.’”

“Damn,” I mutter. Those are two of our most profitable venues. “Any confrontations?”

“Not yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Our boys are on edge.”

I scowl, considering our options. “We can’t let this escalate. Set up a meeting with O’Malley. Neutral ground.”

“Where?”

I think for a moment. “The private dining room at ‘Bellini’s.’ It’s upscale enough for this kind of meeting, and the owner owes me a favor.”

“Got it. When?”

“Tonight. The sooner we nip this in the bud, the better.”

Viktor agrees and hangs up to make the arrangements. I stand, walking to the window overlooking the city. The nightclub district has been a point of contention for years, but it’s always been under our control. If O’Malley thinks he can muscle in, he’s in for a rude awakening.

I seek out Felicity, who is in the home studio I had built for her, stretching. I clear my throat. “Viktor just confirmed your intel.”

She seems surprised but nods. “What’ll you do?”

“I’m trying to meet with O’Malley.”

Her eyes narrow, and something about her stance tells me she knows exactly who I mean. “That’s probably a good idea. Maybe you can find a diplomatic solution.”

I curse, suddenly angry again. “Why are you hiding the source of your information?”

She glares at me. “Because it doesn’t matter. It’s verified now. Let it go.”

“I hate secrets between us.” I meant to sound irate, but I just sound morose.

Her expression shifts, and she abandons her stretching to come to me, taking my hand. She kisses my knuckles. “Honor is important to you?”

I eye her with curiosity. “Yes.”

“It is to me too. I can’t compromise my honor and tell you my source, but I told you what you needed to know. Please let it go for now?”

I sigh, feeling the resistance drain from me. “I’ll try, but will you tell me soon?”

“As soon as I can.”

That’ll have to do. I pull her into a kiss, preferring not to be at odds with her, though I’m still burning with curiosity to know how she found out about stirrings of trouble even before Yuri or Viktor. I’ll let it go… for now.

Hours later, I’m seated at a table in “Bellini’s” private dining room, waiting for O’Malley to arrive. The room is tastefully decorated, with soft lighting and elegant furnishings. A bottle of expensive whiskey sits on the table between us, untouched.

The door opens, and Sean O’Malley strides in, flanked by two of his men. He’s a big man, with fiery red hair and a beard to match. His green eyes are sharp and calculating as they meet mine.

“Pimaslov,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Nice place you’ve picked for our little chat.”

I stand, extending my hand. “O’Malley. Please, have a seat.”

He shakes my hand firmly before sitting across from me. His men take up positions by the door, mirroring my own security detail.

I pour us each a glass of whiskey, sliding one toward him. “I trust you know why I’ve called this meeting.”

O’Malley takes a sip, savoring the burn. “I’ve got some ideas, yeah, but why don’t you enlighten me?”

I keep my voice low but dangerous. “Your men were seen in my territory last night. Care to explain?”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “New York’s a big city, Pimaslov. My boys like to go out and have a good time now and then.”

“Cut the bullshit, Sean,” I snap. “They were casing ‘Club Noir’ and ‘The Red Room.’ Those are my establishments.”

O’Malley’s eyes narrow. “Are they now? I wasn’t aware you had exclusive rights to the entire nightclub district.”

I take a slow sip of whiskey, letting the tension build. “It’s been under my protection for years. You know this.”

“Times change,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe it’s time for some new blood in the area.”

I glare at him. “New blood? That’s an interesting choice of words. I hope you’re not implying what I think you are.”

O’Malley shrugs, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not implying anything, Pimaslov. I’m stating facts. The nightclub district is prime real estate, and it’s time for a change.”

“A change?” I scoff, taking another sip of whiskey. “You mean a hostile takeover. Let’s call it what it is, Sean.”

He leans back in his chair, spreading his arms wide. “Business is business, Kiril. You of all people should understand that.”

I set down my glass, my fingers tracing the rim. “I understand perfectly. What I don’t understand is why you think you can waltz into my territory, or the Sicilians’, without consequences.”

O’Malley’s eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me, Pimaslov?”

“Not at all,” I say, my voice dangerously calm. “I’m simply reminding you of the natural order of things. You stick to your turf, Santino, now Damiano, sticks to his, and I stick to mine. It’s worked well for years.”

His eyes narrow. “Times change, Kiril, and so do alliances. I hear your new pal’s weapon shipments have been running into some difficulties lately.”

My jaw tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. “Is that so? And where did you hear that?” So, he’s aware of the escalating tension between Damiano and me, but it doesn’t seem like he knows about our truce yet.

O’Malley smirks. “I have my sources. Just like I’m sure you have yours. Speaking of which, how are your friends in City Hall these days? Still playing nice?”

I take another sip of whiskey, buying time to formulate my response. “They’re doing well. Thank you for asking. Always happy to grease the wheels of progress, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” says O’Malley with a cold grin. “It would be a shame if someone were to expose those connections. Might make things difficult for your operations.”

I glare at him. “It would indeed be a shame. Just as it would be a shame if certain information about your dealings with the port authority were to come to light. I hear they’re not too fond of unauthorized shipments these days.”

O’Malley’s smile falters for a moment before he regains his composure. “Rumors and gossip, Pimaslov. Nothing more.”

“Perhaps,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “But rumors have a way of becoming reality if they’re not handled properly. Don’t you agree?”

The tension in the room is tangible as we stare each other down. O’Malley breaks first, reaching for his glass and draining it.

“Where does that leave us?” he asks, his voice gruff.

I refill both our glasses, considering my next move. “It leaves us at an impasse, Sean. You want to expand, and I want to safeguard what’s mine. There’s got to be a middle ground.” I study O’Malley’s face.

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife. As I reach for my glass again, I notice his phone on the table, screen lit up with a notification. A photo of a young girl with fiery red hair and bright green eyes catches my attention.

“That your daughter?” I ask casually, nodding toward the phone.

O’Malley’s eyes narrow as he glances at the screen. “What of it?”

I shrug, taking a sip of whiskey. “She’s pretty. Takes after her old man, I’d say.”

His jaw clenches, and there’s a flicker of fear in his eyes that he quickly hides. “Leave my daughter out of this, Pimaslov.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m just making conversation. No need to get defensive.”

His entire posture changes to reflect aggression. “If you so much as look at her wrong…”

“Relax,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “I’ve got no interest in hurting kids. That’s not how I operate.”

He sits back, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

I nod, letting the silence stretch between us. I can see he’s trying to figure out if there was a hidden threat in my words. Let him wonder. Finally, I speak. “Neither of us wants an all-out war. It’s bad for business.”

He grunts in agreement. “What do you propose?”

I consider for a moment. “A temporary ceasefire. Give us both some time to cool off and reassess the situation. Say, two weeks?”

O’Malley strokes his beard, thinking it over. “And during those two weeks?”

“We both stick to our current territories. No expansion, no tricks. Just business as usual.”

He nods slowly. “And after the two weeks?”

I shrug. “We meet again. See if we can come to a more permanent arrangement.”

O’Malley studies me for a long moment before extending his hand. “All right, Pimaslov. Two weeks.”

I shake his hand firmly. “Two weeks.”

As we stand to leave, I’m sure he’s already planning his next move, just as I am. This ceasefire is nothing more than a brief pause. “Take care, Sean,” I say as we reach the door. “Give my best to your daughter.”

His eyes flash with anger, but he forces a smile. “And you take care of that pretty wife of yours, Kiril.”

We part ways, each of us knowing this peace is fragile at best. As I slide into the back of my car, say to Viktor, “I need you to dig up everything you can on Sean O’Malley’s daughter, and I mean everything.”

“Consider it done,” he says. “Anything else?”

I pause, thinking of Felicity and our unborn child. “Yeah. Double the security on Felicity and set up a meeting with Damiano for tomorrow. We need to talk strategy.”