Chapter 98: Chapter 98
Sicilia, Italy.
The bulb swung faintly above them. Its dim light cut shadows across the cracked plaster walls. The room smelled of stale smoke, whiskey and something older and daring. Something metallic buried deep in the stones of the room.
Grigor sat slouched in his chair. He had a cigarette balanced between two fingers. His gray hair fell slightly into his face, though his eyes were alert, sharp, never still.
He didn’t look at the smoke curling up from his lips; he looked at Carlos, who stood rigid, boots tapping against the stone floor with an impatience he could not hide.
"You invited me all the way down here to Italy," Grigor said, exhaling slowly, as though time bent to his leisure. His Russian accent scraped through the air, low and measured. "So. How can I help you?"
Carlos didn’t answer immediately. His jaw was tight, and grinding on an invisible rock. He watched Grigor in silence, his eyes hard and calculating, but Grigor’s smirk widened, as if Carlos silence itself was a joke only he understood.
Finally, Carlos sat.
The chair groaned against the floor as his weight crushed it. His hands were clasped together, and his knuckles turned white. His body leaned forward. "I have a proposition for you," he said.
Grigor chuckled, amused already. "Ah. A proposition. That word tastes expensive." He flicked ash into the tray already crovered with some ash. "I know what you want. But go on, say it out loud. Let me hear it in your own voice, so I can measure how stupid it is."
The muscle in Carlos’s cheek twitched. His boot tapped faster against the floor. Grigor’s words were needles, and Carlos hated that he felt them under his skin. He forced himself to breathe, and to keep himself steady.
"They say you’re smart," Carlos murmured, his voice tight as if he struggled to accept the words he had just said himself. His fingers drummed against the table in the same rhythm as his foot tapping on the floor. "But right now, you’re breathing in my oxygen."
Grigor tilted his head. His expression turned mocking, yet filled with curiousity. "Your oxygen?" He grinned, flashing his slightly yellowed teeth. "I didn’t know you owned Italy now. Should I kneel?"
The chair screeched as Carlos pushed back an inch. His temper was already becoming a storm, and Grigor was pushing him without care. He wanted to lunge across the table, and slam Grigor’s smug head against the wood, to wipe that smirk off his lips. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He needed Grigor.
"Dominic Cross," Carlos said finally, cutting into the tension like glass breaking. "He’s a very good friend of yours."
Grigor’s smirk faded immediately, and the air between them shiffted. He took another drag, held it, and exhaled a slow gray cloud. "Careful how you say his name," he murmured. "He’s still useful to me. My previous help to you was the last. I only wanted to shake him."
"I don’t want you to kill anybody," Carlos said quickly, his voice clipped. He leaned forward, both hands gripping the edge of the table as if he were holding back his own fury.
"Oh?" Grigor arched a brow, tapping ash into the tray. "That’s funny. Everyone who comes to me wants someone dead. You come to me, and you want mercy?"
Carlos’s nostrils flared. "Don’t mock me."
"You took it as a mock, so you’re worth mocking." Grigor laughed, shaking his head, his amusement was visible, genuine, and cruel. "You think you can sit across from me, with your little threats, and I will bow? You should know better. This—" he gestured vaguely around the dim room, the table, and the smoke "—this is my kingdom. Not yours."
Carlos slammed his palm flat on the table. The bulb above them trembled, swinging shadows across their faces.
"I could have you gutted right now," Carlos snarled.
"And I could have you poisoned two weeks ago," Grigor said evenly, without flinching. "But we are still here. Alive. So maybe, eh, we need each other."
Silence followed Grigor words.
Carlos’s breaths came rough, and sharp through his nose. His temper was burning through him, but Grigor’s calmness, his maddening calmness, kept him tethered.
Grigor waited, then he leaned forward, his eyes finally sharp, and cutting. "Your war with Dominic. You think it doesn’t concern me? It does. Every bullet fired between you two would shakes my table. Every corpse you leave behind would costs me money. So yes, I listen. But I test. Always, I test."
Carlos’s lips curled confidently. "So test me."
"I already am."
Carlos smirk dropped immediately.
Grigor took another drag, his eyes never leaving Carlos. Then he crushed the cigarette into the tray with slow, deliberate pressure. "Tell me," he said softly, almost like a whisper. "Do you know your daughter still wants to marry Dominic?"
Carlos froze. His jaw clenched so hard it cracked.
"Don’t speak of her," he growled.
Grigor leaned back, folding his arms. "It’s not me speaking of her. It’s her. You think your blood doesn’t betray you? She wants him still. Like a moth. Like a fool."
Carlos’s breathing grew harsher. His fist was tight on the table, veins bulging. His rage pressed so hard against his chest it almost tore through. All these years, he couldn’t control his temper.
"Funny thing, though," Grigor went on, tilting his head, "She’s not alone. Viktoria also wants him."
Carlos’s head snapped up. His eyes narrowed.
"Yes," Grigor said, almost smiling. "Two fathers. Both of them wanting the same man for their daughters. Both of them also sitting here, in smoke and shadows, ready to slit his throat if it comes to it."
The words hung heavy in the air. The bulb above them flickered once, and the shadows in the space stretching longer.
Carlos’s jaw worked, his hand curling tighter on the table.
"That," Grigor whispered, leaning closer across the smoke-stained wood, "is the joke of it all. Two fathers offering him crowns, while sharpening the knife for his back."
The silence broke with Carlos’s bitter laugh. He sat back in his chair, but his eyes were still flames.
"You think this is a joke?" Carlos rasped. "You think I wouldn’t burn him alive if I had to?"
"I don’t think," Grigor said softly. "I know."
Carlos hummed. "My daughters’ futures is tangled in the name of a man I can never allow to live freely." He said. "The only way I won’t male Dominic pay back for all he did, is if he marries Theresa."
Grigor scoffed. "We’re not on the same boat, then. If he marries Theresa, my little princess would be more heartbroken then she is."