Benny looked dazed as he blinked at her. “Carla…?”
“Yes, it’s Carla,” she snapped before turning her attention back to Russo. “Where’s your brother keeping Leon?”
He looked her up and down between bruised and puffy eyelids. “Vaffanculo,” he finally told her contemptuously.
“Hey.” Benny was the one to protest. “You can’t speak to her like that.”
“I just did, idiot,” the older man scorned.
Carla wasn’t in the least concerned by anything Russo said to her, but Benny’s defense of her was a bit of a surprise. It didn’t absolve him of the guilt for any of his other actions, but even so…
She had spent the drive over here discussing Leon’s rescue with Padraic. Apparently, Leon had already put in place a plan of action for his own and Natalia’s extra security during this visit to London. That plan involved, because Matteo was now on his honeymoon, their recent alliance with the London Russian bratva. Padraic had put a call through to them on the drive here and spoken to a man called Nikolai Volkov, who had promised to make some enquiries regarding Leon’s location and then meet them at the warehouse with his men.
Carla was just filling in a time before Volkov and those men arrived.
“Actually, Benny,” she continued scornfully. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, and I also think it’s far too late for you to act the gentleman where I’m concerned.” She gave him a sweetly insincere smile before turning back to Sebastian Russo. “And I really don’t like being told to fuck off, in any language.” She straightened before slapping him hard across one of his bloated cheeks. Fresh blood instantly gushed from his nose.
Russo swore. “Puttana.” Whore.
Carla didn’t hesitate to retaliate. “Stronzo.” Arsehole.
A reluctant admiration entered Don Sebastian’s eyes. “You are una degna donna.”
Carla wasn’t sure what this elderly Italian thought she was a “worthy woman” of, nor did she require compliments from a man who had ordered an unarmed man be gunned down in cold blood. The unarmed man Carla loved.
Carla wanted to kill Russo herself for even daring to attack Leon.
But before she could think of a suitable reply, she turned toward the sound of more people entering the building. A dozen or so men, and at the front of them was a tall and harsh-faced, blond-haired man, with eyes an even paler gray than Leon’s.
Carla recognized him as the Russian, Nikolai Volkov.
He and his bratva boss, Gregori Markovic, had been at the wedding on Saturday accompanied by their wives, but Carla hadn’t actually been introduced to any of them. At the time, she hadn’t believed there would ever be a reason for her to see any of them again.
Nikolai now strode confidently across the warehouse until he stood in front of her. “Miss Andretti.” He gave her a formal bow. “I am here to offer our help in the recovery of our good friend Leon.”
Carla had no idea why Nikolai was showing such deference to her or why he bowed to her with such respect, but it was enough to crack the shell of single-minded determination she’d wrapped around herself ever since she learned of Leon’s disappearance.
To her complete embarrassment, that crack in her armor developed into a hole and then a crater, and seconds later, she found herself wrapped up in Nikolai Volkov’s arms sobbing as if her heart was breaking.
Because if they didn’t recover Leon alive that’s exactly what was going to happen.
Chapter Thirteen
Leon eyed Roberto Russo pityingly. “Did it ever occurred to you that you could just have killed your brother months ago and then you would have been free to take over his New York borough in whatever way you chose?”
It was almost possible to see the cogs turning inside Roberto’s head as he frowned, revealing it was the first time he’d even considered such a plan.
Some people were just too stupid to live.
As Leon heard the sound of shooting outside, he knew it was Roberto’s time to die.
“How do you live like this?” Carla paced the comfortable sitting room in the Volkovs’ London home.
She had been doing so for the past hour, too agitated and worried to sit down as her hostess, Daisy Volkov, was doing, a beautiful baby boy bouncing on her knees. Her almost four-year-old blonde-haired daughter, Natasha, looking very much like her father, sat on the carpeted floor playing with her dollhouse.
Daisy, a beautiful blonde-haired Englishwoman in her early thirties, smiled at Carla. “You learn to trust in your man to come back to you.”
Was Leon Carla’s man?
Yes, he damn well was, whether he knew it yet or not. Leon was hers, and Carla was going to make sure he knew that when she saw him again.
When she saw him again.
Carla had been shocked earlier when Nikolai Volkov questioned Sebastian Russo for only a few minutes and received nothing but abuse for his efforts. The Russian had then asked her to leave the room. She heard a gunshot seconds later, and knew Sebastian Russo was dead.
After that, Carla had been too numb to object when Nikola said he was taking her to his home for her own safety while he and Leon’s men went to attack the building where he already knew Leon was being held.
“What did my husband do?” Daisy prompted knowingly.
Carla didn’t really want to say the words. For the sake of herself and for Daisy. Although, if the other woman had been married to Nikolai for any length of time, she probably knew exactly what sort of man he was.
And what sort of man was that?
Seconds before Nikolai and his men arrived, Carla had wanted to kill Russo herself.
Her smile was rueful. “He put a feral dog out of his misery.”
Daisy’s expression softened to one of sympathy. “Is that the first
