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“You know what this means.” It wasn’t a question. The Morellis had just declared war on them. There was only one way to answer fire, and that was with more fire.
Kristoff looked grim. “We’re not going to war with the Morellis.”
“Why the hell not?”
“The kills weren’t sanctioned by the Commission. Damian Caputo says Pedro operated on his own.”
Fucking fantastic. If the head of the Las Vegas families, Damian “Iron Fist” Caputo, had bothered to call about the Morellis, there was some deep shit going on. Shit that had sputtered all the way into their backyard.
“Operated on his own?” Viking scoffed. “If he did, that’s even worse. He should still take a bullet for it.”
Going against your Pakhan’s orders meant certain death in the Bratva, no matter your rank. It wasn’t any different in the Italian mob.
“He should,” Kristoff agreed. “But only Pedro and his associates, not the entire Family. Pedro isn’t the head of the Morelli family anymore. Caputo made sure of that.”
Which meant he was basically excommunicated from the Famiglia.
“Any reason why Caputo hasn’t taken care of him yet?” As always, Damon asked the most important question, looking for the strategic reason behind Caputo letting this insurrection within his ranks go unpunished.
“Checks and balances,” Kristoff said. “The Morellis are one of the five Vegas Families. There’s trouble brewing in Sin City. Capos killing rival capos. Every Family has a feud with another. Caputo’s been the unofficial boss for just a year now. He’s been patient, but that patience is growing thin. He put a second cousin of Pedro in command of the Morellis, but everyone knows the guy has no balls and is a puppet.”
Viking didn’t give a crap about the Vegas Families or their troubles. All he heard was that Pedro had been declared an outlaw.
“Pedro isn’t backed by his family anymore. So…” He needed to hear Kristoff say the words. There could be no misunderstanding about this. However much he wanted to rip Pedro into shreds, the Bratva came first.
Kristoff handed him a gun. “So, hunting season has just opened, and Pedro Morelli is the prey. May the odds be ever in your favor.”
CHAPTER 10
ELENA
Elena woke to pain and hushed voices arguing. The voices were growing angrier by the second, which only added to her misery. Her teeth chattered, and she tried to snuggle under the blanket to get warm. Except then she remembered there was no blanket, not even a bed. She wasn’t even able to open her eyes completely. Pain wracked through her body every time she coughed. Something cold swabbed over her forehead, giving her a temporary reprieve from this heatwave that cocooned her.
“It’s okay,” a soft, female voice crooned. “You’ve caught a nasty cold. Just try to get some sleep. The doctor’s taking care of you.”
She tried to open an eye, but it felt like a bag of cement was placed on her eyelids. She tried again, more determined this time, and succeeded to glimpse her caretaker. It was a girl with soft pink curls that hit her shoulders. Then her eyes dropped closed again, and she could no longer move them.
Maybe the girl was an angel. Or maybe she had truly gone to heaven.
Then a gust of wind passed through her, cooling her body. A voice boomed through her head. Angry voices spat back at each other. Loud voices. For a second, she was worried about the pink angel.
“Fine. Fine.” The angelic voice sounded irritated. “I’ll get her a female doctor. Sheesh. Since when did you become such a prude?”
The voices disappeared in the background, and everything faded back to black.
***
The next time Elena opened her eyes, she found herself staring up at a baroque ceiling. Rays of sunlight shone through the blinds. Shivers wracked her body, and she started to cough. It took her a minute to notice she wasn’t in that dreaded cellar anymore. She was lying in a bed with a comforter thick enough to almost smother her. However, it did nothing to warm her up.
She pulled herself up until her back hit a bedpost. Then she threw her covers off, and her feet hit a lush carpet. Someone had put her into pink flannel pajamas with ducklings on them. Curious.
Another spasm of coughing overtook her, sending little jolts of pain through her body. Determined to make it out of the room, she hauled herself up. Swaying, she had to grab hold of the bedpost when another spasm of coughing overtook her.
“Damn you, Viking.” She added a few more choice words for good measure, then dropped her butt back onto the bed. It was either that or do a face-plant on the floor. The carpet might not break her face, but she doubted if she’d be able to get back up.
Someone cleared their throat, and Elena froze. She blinked and only then noticed someone was in the room with her. It was the pink angel. She was sitting before the vanity, brushing her pink-blonde hair.
“Uncle Vik can be difficult sometimes, but he’s a nice guy,” she chided, a reprimand in her voice.
