Chapter 84: Chapter Eighty-Four

“Explain again why Ivan Rubanov is strapped to my chair and not yours?” Matteo asked, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face as he glared down at the small TV broadcasting the live feed inside the box.

“‘Cause Gloria won’t let me fuck her if her dad is downstairs,” Frankie said with a chuckle as he locked the door and slapped his hands together. “There’s also no vacancy at the inn as we still have Gromov’s son, just in case. Plus, most importantly, I don’t trust this fucker,” he added. “Better to have more of our men on him.”

“My men,” Matteo corrected.

“Really?” Frankie asked. “You’re already going in with that?”

Matteo shrugged and nodded toward the screen. “The Rubanov Pakhan is tied to a chair awaiting his daughter’s command for execution. An execution that I’m assuming you will carry out and you’re still fighting the fact that our business arrangement has come to an end?”

Frankie gasped and placed a hand to his heart. “Is that all our time together has been to you? A business arrangement? What about that time in Italy? In the hot tub? Did you not mean what you said when…”

“For the last time,” Matteo replied, his head falling back in exasperation. “I’d had five glasses of Glen McKenna. I don’t remember what color the sky was, let alone what the fuck I said to the likes of you.”

“You said you loved me,” Frankie whispered, milking the moment.

Matteo’s head fell forward and his arms tightened about his chest. “Well, I do.”

“Wait… what?” Frankie asked, for once being the one taken off guard.

Matteo sighed. “Don’t act all surprised.”

“Who’s acting?”

Matteo groaned as if he regretted saying anything at all. “You’re my best friend, Frank. I trust you more than anyone… except Leo.”

“Even Gen?” he asked, aghast.

Matteo chuckled. “Last night I caught Gen in the kitchen with red-stained lips and orange coated fingers but when I asked where all the cherry Kool-Aid and cheese puffs had gone she told me Jada came over the night before and she must have done it.” He looked over at Frankie with a raised brow. “Normal Gen I trust with my life, Pregnant Gen… I have my doubts.”

“I’m… honored?”

“The point is,” Matteo said, brandishing his hand like a knife held above a chopping block. “Whether you choose to follow Gloria or stay here with me, it won’t change our friendship. Alright? Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Frankie sniffled. “That was… that was beautiful, man.” Matteo groaned. “You’re going to name your kid after me. Frank for a boy, Francesca for a girl. I just know it.”

“In your dreams,” Matteo said, though his lips threatened to lift in a smile. “Your man is waking up.”

Frankie turned toward the screen and, sure enough, the device working its way through the Pakhan’s system seemed to have finally lost its effect. Frankie whacked Matteo on the shoulder and went back into the walk-in cooler turned interrogation room. Ivan stretched his neck from side to side and flexed his fingers.

Without opening his eyes, Ivan growled, “I am going to kill…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Frankie said, leaking every ounce of boredom he felt into the words. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No,” Ivan hissed. He opened his eyes, but they were cast down at the concrete floor. “I’m going to kill them.” His dark eyes flicked up. “Your parents. Your little friend, Nora.” He nodded toward Accardi. “Your boss’ new mistress. All of them. They’re all dead.”

“Quite a list,” Frankie mused, fidgeting with the torture instruments. “My parents died long ago, though, so sorry to disappoint."

Ivan chuckled. “No, they didn’t. You think I wouldn’t know what your weaknesses are, Donati? Mother named Mary, father Frank Senior and your brother… Well…” Frankie’s hand tightened around the handle of a crowbar. “Sergei took care of that whelp already, didn’t he? You think I don’t know about the ramshackle little lean-to they have in Harlem? Wedged between two abandoned houses? Annoying yappy little mutt in the front yard with a ‘beware of the dog’ sign as if that runt could do any kind of damage?”

Frankie’s stomach twisted but he had learned long ago that what men like Rubanov craved was that twitch of fear: the raised hair along a man’s arm, the dilation of their pupils, the pursing of their lips before they smiled big and made a joke. He was a particular fan of the latter. Frankie kept his face impassive as he scraped the metal chair from the table toward where Ivan was seated. He sat heavily and sealed his lips in pity.

“So I guess this isn’t the right time to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage?” Frankie asked with a hopeful look and hands clasped in prayer.

Ivan’s right eye twitched violently in answer.

“Pity… You know, I wish I could make the same threats to you, Ivan. I really do. But I’m looking around and…” Frankie looked left and right. “You’re all alone already. Aren’t you?” He held his hands up in surrender. “I know that makes you a big, tough man, right? No noticeable weaknesses? It certainly makes my life harder,” he said, bringing both hands into his chest. “But see… To accomplish those threats, you’ll have to make it out of this room.” He leaned forward. “I’ll let you in on a secret. You won’t.”

Ivan laughed through his nose. “You think I’ve kept my title out of sheer luck? That I haven’t gotten myself out of hairier situations than this from men with twice as much power as you?”

Frankie cocked his brow. “You’re intelligent enough, Ivan. You make the best deals. You spare no expense in training those in your inner circle. You, yourself have been put through the wringer before your dad passed the business on to you, right? Rumor has it he had you kill your own uncle." He sucked air between his teeth.

“So, I don’t doubt you’ve had more than luck on your side. But… There’s a reason men like you don’t make it to retirement age, hm? You get elderly, you make a mistake, maybe two. A deal goes bad…” Frankie coughed into his sleeve. “Sergei.” He cleared his throat. “And suddenly you’re all alone, stuck in a web, strangling in the noose you’d tied yourself. You’ve had a good run. But your daughter is going to perform the same ritual your family has partaken in since your great-great-great-great-great-great…” Frankie held up his fingers and pretended to be confused by the number before waving his hand in dismissal. “Whatever he was, great-grandfather did to his daddy… She’s going to kill you so you don’t have to watch your empire fall into her arms like they did for you when you took over: seamlessly.”

Frankie smacked Ivan on the knee. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of your precious family for you. Maybe even grow it for you a bit, hm?” he asked with a wink.

Frankie stood up, and Ivan’s hot glare followed the movement. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Ah, there it is!” Frankie said, clapping his hands together. “Couldn’t resist, could you? I’m’ma head out. You wanna guess what I’m going to do?” Frankie asked at the door with two suggestive raises of his eyebrows.

Ivan scoffed. “Let me guess, fuck my daughter?”

Frankie pursed his lips and tilted his head from side to side, considering. “Maybe after,” he admitted, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “First, though…” He yanked the door open and turned back. “I’m going to get down on bended knee and swear my loyalty to her and her reign over the Rubanov family.”

Ivan’s scream of frustration followed Frankie out the door. Frankie shoved his pinky finger in his ear and worked his jaw as if the scream had burst his eardrum. Accardi was waiting in the center of the room, smug smile firmly in place.

“What?”

“You know if you quit, you don’t get any severance, right?” Matteo mocked.

Frankie pouted. He looked around and walked toward the TV that showcased Ivan violently yanking at his bonds. He glanced back at Accardi with raised brows and, without taking his eyes off the Don, swept his arm, knocking the TV and various computer monitors to the floor.

“Grounds enough?” Frankie asked.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Matteo said, smiling despite himself.

As Frankie walked past, he paused. He clasped Matteo’s shoulder and squeezed. “I love you too, man.”

Matteo shivered in disgust. “You were right. Doesn’t feel right.”

“Yeah?”

Matteo glanced over and shrugged his other shoulder. “Let’s at least pretend.”

“Sure thing. I’m going to go take a smoke to get rid of this icky feeling. Wanna join?” Frankie asked.

Matteo’s face fell. “You’re fired.”