Stolen by the Sinner (Russian Torpedo

Book 1) Hayley Faiman

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STOLEN BY THE SINNER
A RUSSIAN TORPEDO NOVEL
HAYLEY FAIMAN
HAYLEY FAIMAN BOOKS, LLC
 CONTENTS

Also by Hayley Faiman

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RUSSIAN BRATVA STRUCTURE

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Hayley Faiman
Stolen by the Sinner
Copyright © 2021 by Hayley Faiman
All rights reserved.
Editor: My Brother’s Editor. Ellie McLove. http://www.mybrotherseditor.net
Proofreading: My Brothers Editor. Rosa Sharon. http://www.mybrotherseditor.net
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system
without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events
or locales is entirely coincidental.
Visit my website at: http://hayleyfaiman.com
Created with Vellum
ALSO BY HAYLEY FAIMAN

Men of Baseball Series—

Pitching for Amalie
Catching Maggie
Forced Play for Libby
Sweet Spot for Victoria

Russian Bratva Series —

Owned by the Badman
Seducing the Badman
Dancing for the Badman
Living for the Badman
Tempting the Badman
Protected by the Badman
Forever my Badman
Betrothed to the Badman
Chosen by the Badman
Bought by the Badman
Collared by the Badman

Notorious Devils MC —
Rough & Rowdy
Rough & Raw
Rough & Rugged
Rough & Ruthless
Rough & Ready
Rough & Rich
Rough & Real

Cash Bar Series —

Laced with Fear
Chased with Strength
 Flamed with Courage
Blended with Pain
Twisted with Chaos
Mixed with trouble

SAVAGE BEAST MC —
UnScrew Me
UnBreak Me
UnChain Me
UnLeash Me
UnTouch Me
UnHinge Me
UnWreck Me
UnCage Me

Unfit Hero Series —

CONVICT
HERO
FRAUD
KILLER
COWBOY

Zanetti Famiglia Series —

Becoming the Boss
Becoming his Mistress
Becoming his Possession
Becoming the Street Boss
Becoming the Hitman
Becoming his Wife
Becoming her Salvation

Prophecy Sisters Series —

Bride of the Traitor
Bride of the Sea
Bride of the Frontier
Bride of the Emperor
 Astor Family Series —
Hypocritically Yours
Egotistically Yours
Matrimonially Yours
Occasionally Yours

Nasty Bastards MC —
Ruin My Life
Tame My Life
Start My Life
Dance into My Life
Shake Up My Life
Repair My Life
Sweeten My Life

Russian Torpedo—
Stolen by the Sinner
Bound to the Sinner
Caught by the Sinner
F*cked by the Sinner
Stripped by the Sinner
Rejecting the Sinner
Loved by the Sinner

Offspring Legends—
Between Flaming Stars

Esquire Black Duet Series –

DISCOVERY
APPEAL

Forbidden Love Series —

Personal Foul
Kinetic Energy

Standalone Titles
Royally Relinquished: A Modern Day Fairy Tale
 STAY CONNECTED

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Stolen kisses are always the sweetest.
— LEIGH HUNT
 RUSSIAN BRATVA STRUCTURE

Pakhan – The Boss: Controls everything.

Sovietnik – Councilor: Adviser and most close trusted individuals to the
Pakhan.
Obshchak – The Bookmaker: Collects all money from Brigadiers and
bribes from the government.
Brigadier – Authority: Captain in charge of a small group of men.
Boyevik – Warrior: Soldier, works for a Brigadier.
Kryshas – Covers: Extremely violent enforcers.
Torpedo – Contract Killers
Byki – Bulls: Bodyguards
Shestyorka – Associate: Errand boys. Lowest rank in the Russian Mafia.
 CHAPTER 1

DANILL

T he Pakhan across from me arches his brow, staring at me, waiting for an
answer. He curses under his breath, his hand reaching for his tumbler of
vodka before he brings it to his lips and takes a long drink. He presses his lips
together in a thin line as he stares at me.
He is probably pissed off at me for the amount of money that I’m
requesting, but I don’t give much of a fuck. He wants a job done. He wants it
done a certain way. He wants it done right. Then he’s going to pay me.
And he of all people knows exactly how much doing a job the right way
costs.
“I know you only work directly under one Pakhan and even then, you
have no allegiance to anyone other than the Bratva, but you must give me a
deal.”
“I must?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
We’re at a restaurant. In fact, the only restaurant where business can and
is discussed in open forum. Pozhaluysta is the only place to do such a thing.
It’s why most of the men sitting around the tables murmuring among
themselves are indeed Bratva and are talking business of some kind.
We may be from different parts of the city, under different Pakhans, and
doing completely different business, but we’re all Bratva. We can all meet
here safely and discuss life, jobs, or anything else comfortably.
 Which is the exact reason why Fyodor called me here for lunch.
He wants me to kill someone.
Not just anyone.
Not just an enemy or a business associate. He wants me to kill someone
that the world would notice went missing. For that reason, and that reason
alone, I can’t accept anything less than what I am owed for a job that big.
Because he wishes for me to make this look like nothing other than a suicide.
“What is in it for me?”
“Besides money?” he asks, arching a brow as he leans back in his chair
with his vodka in his hand.
“Yes, what is in it for me? You see, I am putting my ass on the line, not
you. Simply put, money is not enough.”
He hums. “You said there would be no discount, no deal for the job. So,
you will get money. Nothing else.”
Shaking my head once, I clear my throat. “The men that I will need to
help me in this, I will be cashing in my favors or getting markers for new
ones. This puts me in a position to use my personal gathered resources. I
want to ensure that I’m compensated properly.”
“Belsky,” he warns, using my last name as if I am a child.
I hold his gaze with my own. Fyodor Davydov does not intimidate me.
Nothing about this man does. He may be a Pakhan, but he’s not my Pakhan.
He may be powerful, but so am I. He is close enough to the same playing
field as I am that I don’t have to dip my chin to him, but I still do out of
respect.
“Davydov?” I ask, using his last name as well.
He watches me, his eyes never leaving mine, and then he sighs. That’s
when I know that he has relented. He leans forward, sets his vodka down,
then throws his hands in the air as if he’s given up. The white flag has been
raised. My lips curve up into a small grin as I wait for him to continue,
because I know that he has something to say.
“Fine,” he spits. “What do you want?”
Lifting my hands to my face, I steeple my fingers in front of my mouth
and chin. I sit across from him, staring at him, watching him, as I wait for
him to think of something that I might want. I have nothing to truly ask for,
as I don’t know what the terms could be.
So, I wait.
I want something that is more intriguing than just more money.
 So, I hold out.
Then I watch as his eyes widen and so do his lips, they pull up into a huge
smile.
“I think I might have something you’d be interested in. You’ll have to
take it for yourself. But it’s something I wouldn’t ever suggest anyone else
do.”
“I can do that,” I say with a grin. In fact, a challenge sounds like fun to
me.

HOLLAND

M Y FATHER STARES at me from across the table. We’re eating dinner. Though
I’m not consuming much. It’s obligatory for me and I really don’t want to be
here. I’d rather be out shopping, dancing, drinking. Anything except sitting
across a table from him and pretending to be… civil.
“You’ll be coming to the holiday party. It is black tie, as always.”
I almost roll my eyes. My father puts on a pretentious holiday party every
single year and every single year he makes me come. Not because I want to,
not because he necessarily wants me there, but because he wants to show the
world what a perfect family we are.
Looks are what matters in my so-called family, nothing else… well,
except for money.
My mother even flies in from Paris for the event every year, to play make
believe, and pretend to be his perfect wife for all of the paparazzi and the
who’s who of Los Angeles. I personally couldn’t give a shit either way.
I’d prefer to stay completely away from the whole thing, stay home in my
pajamas and drink a bottle of wine. But he holds my Christmas present
hostage if I don’t show. And I love Christmas presents. He also threatens me,
telling me that he won’t pay my rent for the year if I don’t appear.
“You know I’ll be there,” I mutter.
“I’d like you to be here for the entire weekend.”
“Why?” I ask immediately.
My heart starts to race in a panic at the thought of spending the whole
weekend with not just him, but my mother and him at the same time. We
don’t get along. They don’t get along. When we’re actually all together, it’s
so toxic that I’m surprised that I don’t glow from the atmosphere.
He never wants me to stay for anything. I usually go home the night of
the party, every now and then I’ll crash in the bedroom upstairs, but for the
most part, I want out of that environment as soon as possible.
Except now, this year, for whatever reason, he’s asking me to stay? There
has to be some kind of reason. There has to be something up his sleeve.
I haven’t trusted my father… well… ever. And I’m not going to start
now.
He’s famous, he’s entitled, he thinks he’s untouchable. He thinks that
he’s some kind of god and I just have no fucking need for his bullshit.
Ever.
I left home when I was fifteen and have lived in an apartment in Santa
Monica, paid for by my father, of course, ever since. So, when he wants me
to play nice, I reluctantly do just that. Which is what I’ll do this time because
the way he’s looking at me, I can tell that I don’t have much of a choice in
the matter.
“I’m having people over for the weekend. A little pre-soiree to speak of.
It would be nice if my family could be there too.”
“Are you winning an award or something?” I deadpan.
He smiles again, and that’s when I know that’s exactly what it is. I’ve lost
count of the red-carpet events I’ve joined him at. Standing next to him and
smiling for the cameras. I have hated every single one of them. I’m not an
actress. Pretending to be happy while screaming inside as I stand next to him
is exhausting.
The only thing that he’s good for is his name. It gets me anywhere and
everywhere I ever want to go or be. There are definitely perks to being a
Wanger. I take full advantage of that part, always have. In that way, I’m too
much like my mother.
“I am,” he announces as he claps his hands together.
He then goes off on a fifteen-minute tangent about this award and why
he’s being awarded whatever it is, and having a huge party to celebrate. So
basically, he’s having two huge events in two days and wants to play happy
family.
What. Ever.
Sounds like a nightmare to me, but at the same time, I want my bills paid,
so like the good selfish daughter, I will be there with a fake smile.
When dinner is finished, I thank him for the food, promise I’ll be there
for his parties, dressed to perfection, then I leave.
There are photographers outside of the restaurant because he always picks
the fanciest places in town, the ones that are always being hounded by
paparazzi. Ones where he knows he’ll be seen and fawned over.
My father wants to be seen, no matter where he is. I don’t blame him
really, I kind of like it myself. I am my mother’s attention whore of a
daughter, after all. Attention is nice, no matter who it comes from, and to be
honest, I’m not getting it anywhere else currently.
Leaving him, I slide into the front seat of my car after the valet brings it
to me. I head straight for Santa Monica. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive to get
to the club where my friends are waiting to meet me, but with traffic, it will
take me well over an hour.
That’s fine, nobody wants to be early to a club anyway. They can wait,
I’ll make an entrance. Though, don’t I always? I’m famous for being Barry
Wanger’s daughter, but I’m also just famous for no particular reason. I’m
famous for being seen, I’m famous for partying, smiling, and being anywhere
and everywhere there are pretty people.
Maybe because I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen, maybe because
my mother ran off to Paris when I was ten. Who the fuck knows. I don’t
really care either. I’m going to continue to live this life until I’m ready for
something else.
Until it’s time for a change.
I’m not sure when that will be. I’ve been living it for eight years. Though,
I do have to admit that it’s the same thing every day. It’s getting a bit
monotonous. There is nothing exciting or new that happens. I’m definitely
bored, but I don’t know that I’m bored enough to implement change myself.
And what change would I try anyway?
The club comes Into view and I hand my keys to the valet as I slip out of
the car. My heels are as high as possible without looking like a newborn baby
giraffe when I walk. My skirt short enough that it’s obvious what I have
going on, but you can’t see my vagina or my ass cheeks.
I’m classy club girl. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, because I don’t
show nearly as much skin as I did when I was fifteen or sixteen. I’m twenty-
three now, I’ve grown up a little… not a lot, but a little.
As soon as I step into the loud club, I look up and see Nate standing at
our reserved table alone. As soon as his eyes lock on mine, he lifts his hand
and waves me over.
 I don’t ask him where Marie and Claudia are. I’m sure they’re out on the
dance floor, considering they do everything together, which is honestly
exactly where I want to be right now.
Inhaling a deep breath, I hurry toward him and wrap my arms around him
in a quick hug. He returns the embrace, kissing me on each cheek before he
takes a step back and looks down at me. As soon as his eyes find mine, his
lips turn down in a frown.
“You okay?” he asks.
Shaking my head, I slide my fingers through my hair, then reach for the
bottle of champagne. Lifting it to my lips, I suck back as much as I can
without coughing it out of my nose. Once I’ve consumed at least three
glasses worth, I lower the bottle and give him a smile before I speak.
“I’m sure that I will be.”
 CHAPTER 2

DANILL

B arry Wanger.
That is who I am supposed to take care of and make it look like a
suicide. Should be easy enough, on paper he’s fairly pathetic.
His wife, though they’re legally married, lives in Paris full time and keeps
several lovers. He is not devoted to her, so I’m not sure if he knows about her
activities or simply does not care.
Then there is the fact that his daughter left his home eight years ago when
she was just fifteen. He’s been paying for her lifestyle, including her Santa
Monica apartment and all of her bills. She doesn’t work. She doesn’t, and
never did, attend college. From what I can gather, she parties, and spends
money.
So, to be certain, it seems as if this man doesn’t have much. No
relationship with his immediate family. No serious lovers, or even consistent
ones. No wife at home, nothing but his things and his money. For the men
that I know in the Bratva, this would be devastating. It would be rectified
before it ever got to this state though.
Maybe this man cares not. It’s up to me to figure out how to get in and
how to make all of this look like an accident, then pay off the people who
need to document that apparent accident on paper.
I didn’t ask Fyodor why he wanted Wanger taken out. It’s not my place.
There could be a million different reasons, but none of them matter. All that
does is that he’s asked me to do this, he’s paying me, and he wouldn’t do
either if it wasn’t tied to the Bratva in some way.
Fyodor could get in some serious fucking trouble if he used a Torpedo to
take care of his personal business. We have rules. We may not believe in
conventional laws, but we have our own and they are not to be defied.
Ever.
Pulling up to Barry Wanger’s house in the Hills, I watch as a sporty little
Porsche zooms out of the driveway. I recognize the flash of blonde hair that
whizzes by me and I decide that Wanger can wait another day, I’m going to
take a little look deeper into my prize.
She drives toward Santa Monica and I stay paced behind her. I don’t
think that I have to worry about her catching on to me following her. From
what I’ve gathered, she’s pretty much as lost to her own world as Barry is his.
When she pulls up to a club, I watch her unfold from the car and my cock
hardens instantly. Fuck, she’s beautiful. I don’t know if Fyodor knew how
truly beautiful she was when he told me to just take her for myself.
But he did and I’m going to. It’s not something I would have agreed to a
year ago, but I’m getting older, making my way closer to forty every year. I
need to settle down, and she appeals to me more than anyone else I’ve ever
laid eyes on.
Is it wrong?
Absolutely.
Am I going to do it anyway?
Absolutely.
Will I feel guilty about it?
Absolutely not.
Leaving my own Audi with the valet, I follow behind her. They don’t
make her get in the back of the line, nor do they me. They know understated
money when they see it. I may not dress with flash, but everything I own is
more expensive than these bouncers could dream of owning.
Plus, my Vacheron Constantin watch doesn’t lie. I’m a big goddamn
spender and somebody, even if they don’t know who.
Walking into the club, I take a moment to look around. It’s like any other
club, but then again, it’s not. This isn’t for the lower class, fuck, it’s not even
for the middle class. This is for the upper crust and it’s obvious in every
person here.
 Every person on the dance floor is money from their shoes to their heads.
They are not my concern though. I only have an interest in one person in this
entire building.
It doesn’t take me long to find her.
She’s standing toward the VIP roped-off area next to a man. But it’s clear
that she’s not with him, her body language says comfort, but not lover. She
has a bottle of champagne to her lips and is gulping down the contents.
The man next to her reaches out and touches her shoulder. I watch as she
turns to him, her eyes wide, and then she nods her head before she turns and
runs toward the dance floor. I don’t let a single man get a chance to touch,
dance, or even see her before I close the distance between us and am directly
behind her.

HOLLAND

I’ M NOT sure if he saw me when he walked through the door, but I sure as
shit saw him. He’s gorgeous. He has short, impeccably styled hair. His
clothes, shoes, and watch lush as shit, I caught their quality from across the
room.
They aren’t dupes.
They’re real.
He has money, but beyond that, he’s not cocky and gaudy about it. He just
has it, he knows it, he doesn’t need to boast about it.
Fuck, he’s hot, too.
I can’t remember the last time I even went on a date and seeing him is
just too much. I decide to dance, because if I don’t, I’ll be watching him all
night long and it will just turn into this weird obsession and I don’t need
anything extra right now.
Shaking my head, I turn to Nate and let him know that I’m going to go
and dance. I need to get this guy off of my mind. I need to forget he exists.
I start to dance and almost immediately, I feel someone’s fingers wrap
around my waist. Spinning around, I look up and come face-to-face with the
man himself. The bad decision dressed in designer. Jesus, but he’s even more
gorgeous up close.
The blue of his eyes is so light that they’re almost white. I gasp at the
sight. They’re focused on me as his fingers apply pressure against my lower
back, forcing me closer to him. Although, I don’t think he’d really have to
force me. I have a feeling my body would go willingly.
I open my mouth to say something, but no words will come out. He leans
forward, his lips resting against the shell of my ear.
“Dance, kroshka.”
His words come out almost as a purr. I don’t know what he’s said, but it’s
sexy a shit in whatever language he’s speaking. I dance, just as he’s
demanded. I let him take the lead. I don’t know why, but my body wants to
please him.
Lifting my arms, I wrap them around his neck as I shift my body closer to
his. Pressing my chest against his, I almost whimper as my nipples harden
and rub against his strong muscles. Jesus. He’s not overly huge, but he’s
definitely hard under there.
“What’s your name?” I breathe.
He chuckles, and his chest vibrates against mine. My lips part as my eyes
flutter closed. I’m wet for him, instantly. He’s not only hot, sexy, and
completely gorgeous, he makes me want him. I would never classify myself
as horny, I don’t really care for the word, but right now, that’s exactly what I
am.
This man could put his hand beneath my skirt, he could lift said skirt, and
he could fuck me right here. I think that I would let him. I’m not sure that I
would tell him no about any of it. Licking my lips, I continue to dance,
waiting for him to tell me his name because I know without a doubt it’s going
to be absolutely sexy as shit.
“Danill Belsky,” he rasps.
Fuck.
Me.
Right.
Now.
One of his hands slides down to my ass. He grips me tightly there, and
holds my body still, firmly, against him. Sucking in a breath, my lips press
together as we dance. We continue this way the entire song, then another, and
another.
We don’t speak.
Our bodies doing all of the talking and I’m perfectly okay with that.
I’ve never met anyone that I’ve been so instantly attracted to before like
this and I’m completely mesmerized, not only by him, but also by my body’s
reaction to him. I just can’t believe how badly I want this man.
Crave him.
Almost need him.
He dips his chin, his lips against the shell of my ear again and I think that
he’s going to kiss me, but instead he speaks. His accent is light, I can hardly
even tell he has one, but it’s there nonetheless.
“Come. Let’s go home,” he murmurs.
“Home?” I ask.
He lifts his head, those eyes find mine and his lips curve up into a grin.
“Yes,” he says.
Then he lowers his lips to mine. He holds them there for a long moment,
neither kissing me nor pulling away. I can taste him. He tastes like mint and
tobacco. My god, it’s sexy as shit. Everything about him is, I’ve just decided
that. I bet his car is sexy too. Maybe even his sheets.
Fuck.
Sheets.
Home with him.
“Where do you live?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away and I realize that this is so stupid. I should
not be asking him where he lives, I should not be even thinking about going
home with him. Then I wonder why I’m doing this at all. I never do this.
Most people probably assume that I’ve been with a lot of men. I’ve done
enough partying that someone would think that. But only a few people know
that I’ve only ever been with two men.
I’ve partied a lot.
I’ve gotten myself in some tight spots, but I’ve managed to at least keep
some part of myself sacred and honored. Even if it surely wasn’t my liver.
“West Hollywood West,” he murmurs against my lips.
Jerking my head back, my eyes widen. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone
who lives in West Hollywood, any part of it. I didn’t know people really
lived there anymore. I don’t know why, but I assumed that part of Los
Angeles was left to rot.
“We’ll go to my place. I live a mile away,” I state, instead of asking him
why the fuck he would live in West Hollywood.
His lips twitch into a smirk and then he takes a step back. He is the victor.
He is the king, and me? I’m probably nothing but the court jester, but I don’t
think I could even live with myself if I didn’t have him tonight.
Selfishly, I want him. He’s too beautiful to just not have for myself.
 CHAPTER 3

DANILL

I s meeting her face-to-face, then going home with her the smartest move in
the world?
Definitely not.
Will it be my most rewarding… We shall see.
I’m not someone who can just take something that I’m going to keep for
any length of time if I haven’t tried it out for myself. So, instead of waiting
until I take care of Wanger to keep his daughter for myself, I decide to take
the opportunity and have her now.
Test drive the future, if you will.
There are other things that I could do with her if I don’t wish to keep her
for myself. We’ll see how this evening goes though, so far it is very
promising. Very fucking promising. Maybe I won’t have to actually steal her,
maybe she’ll want to just stay with me willingly.
She doesn’t want to get in my car with me, apparently, that is something
that is beyond the boundaries that she has set. Even though she’s going to let
me fuck her inside of her own home. Being in the same car is simply too
much. I almost laugh, but instead, I just smile and nod.
I don’t argue with her, mainly because I do want to fuck her. The rest of
the shit doesn’t matter. She should be goddamn terrified of me. I would be if
I were her. I’m the last fucking person anyone should ever trust.
 Pulling up to her place, I smile. It’s an apartment. I knew that it was, but
seeing the whole building, it makes me realize that yes, it’s a nice space, but I
live in a house. However, what makes this any kind of special is that it’s on
the beach and swanky as shit. I know quality when I see it. I know what is
expensive and what is impostor trash.
This shit is legit.
Maybe I’ll buy it when I take care of Barry. That way, we can get away
from West Hollywood West when we want. Be on the beach, enjoy the fresh
sea air.
Unfolding from my car, I jog toward her and open her door. She doesn’t
jump out immediately. Instead, she turns to me, her lips parted as she stares
up from the driver’s seat.
“You opened the door for me,” she whispers.
Leaning down slightly, I extend my hand. “You’re a good little kroshka
and I’ll open more than that for you,” I offer on a murmur.
She gasps, sounding as though I’ve offended her, but I know that I
haven’t. I can tell by the look in her eyes, the way that they sparkle. She
wants that, all of what my words imply. Her lips curve up into a grin and she
nods her head once, then takes my hand and shifts her legs over the seat, her
heels touching the pavement, before standing to her feet directly in front of
me.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I pull her close to my chest. She tilts
her head back, her lips gently parted as she looks up at me. She looks like she
needs to be kissed, that she wants it, craves it, but I don’t give in to her
temptations.
Not yet.
Taking a step back, I wrap my hand around hers and together we make
our way up to her apartment. Though I’m using the term apartment loosely.
This is not what I imagined when I saw the outside of the building. When I
walk inside, I’m a bit surprised that her place is at least three thousand square
feet and two stories.
It’s more like a penthouse and less than an apartment and what I think
I’m more surprised at is the fact that she’s lived here since she was just
fifteen, all alone. It’s a pretty big space for a young girl to stay all by herself
the way she did.
I wonder if she’s stronger than outward appearances seem. She plays a
good party girl, but I think there could be more to her. It’s my intention to
find out if there’s something else beneath her outward layer. I’m going to
start tonight and then I’ll decide if she’s worth finding out more about. If
she’s worth taking for myself.

HOLLAND

H E ’ S SO SEXY .
I’ve dated some beautiful men in my time. Walked the red carpet with
celebrities and models. But I don’t think any of them could hold a candle to
the man who is looking around my apartment. I don’t know if he’s judging
the opulence, or if he’s trying to figure out how I pay for this.
Doesn’t matter.
Once he finds out who my father is, he’ll learn the truth. I’m nothing
special. I’m nothing but a spoiled little rich girl and he’ll either be into that or
he’ll bounce. Unless he already knows who I am? He’s not giving me any
vibes that he does. I can usually tell, but I can’t read this man, not at all.
I’m thinking if he doesn’t already know, once he finds out who I am, he’s
the type to bounce.
They always do.
This time is going to be different, though, because I’m going to fuck him.
I usually don’t do that. I don’t get that far, or they don’t, whatever the case, it
doesn’t happen.
He turns to me, lifting his hand, he extends his index finger and touches
the tip of my nose. Then he drops his gaze, his eyes finding mine.
“Come, kroshka.”
“What does it mean?” I ask.
His lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”
“But today is not that day?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Correct, let’s go… unless?” he asks, then turns his head to
look back at the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the ocean.
“Unless?” I ask breathlessly.
His lips curve up into a grin. “Unless you want to fuck against that
window, maybe outside? It’s a nice night.”
“Danill,” I breathe.
He snorts, then before I realize what’s happening, his warm hand is
wrapped around the front of my throat in a firm grip.
“You want that?” he asks, his tone sharp and almost angry sounding.
“Not really,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He nods his head, dipping his face closer to mine. He doesn’t loosen his
grip around my neck, but doesn’t loosen it either. “We only do what you
want, Holland. That is, unless I think you can take more and trust me, you’d
like it.”
“Yeah?” I ask. He nods his head, but I continue. “Do you think I don’t
know what I want?”
I’m trying to sound tough, trying to sound sure. Trying to sound like I
know exactly what I want and how I want it. The truth is, it’s been so long,
and my last boyfriend wasn’t nearly as exciting as even the promise of
Danill. I honestly don’t know what I want or how I want it, but I’m not going
to admit that out loud.
“Oh, kroshka. You have no idea what you want.”
I open my mouth to say something, to attempt to deny it, but he doesn’t
let me speak even a word. Instead, he presses his mouth to mine and his
tongue invades me and it’s the sweetest invasion I’ve ever encountered.
When his hand leaves my throat, I suck in a breath, except it’s his breath
that I take inside of me. Instantly, I’m light-headed and I wonder what would
happen if I only breathed his air. If it was him giving me life, and only him.
His lips shift from mine, moving down the side of my neck and to the
hollow of my throat. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall backward. He sucks
on my skin, his teeth sinking down into my flesh. Then he releases it and
takes a step backward.
Lifting my head, I look at him. His eyes are downcast and I lift my hand,
touching my neck when I realize that’s what he’s looking at. There is a
moment of silence between us and I’m not sure what he wants, but I feel the
intense urge to walk toward him.
I don’t.
Instead, I turn from him and kick off my high heels, then I prance toward
my bedroom. I know he’s going to follow, at least I hope that he does. Before
I lose any of my nerve, I start to undress on my way.
Shimmying down my panties, I leave them in the hallway, then I shove
my dress down and leave it just outside of my bedroom door in the hall.
Closing the door behind me, I don’t lock it.
Without looking back, I hurry to the bed, completely naked, and pull all
the decorative pillows off, tossing them haphazardly on the floor. I yank the
bedding back and am sliding between the sheets when the door flies open.
When the silky sheets touch my skin, for whatever reason, my entire body
starts to tingle. I feel so damn sexy right now. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this
way before. I want him so bad, I need to be touched, I’m halfway tempted to
warm myself up just at the thought of him walking through that doorway.
Then I hear a noise.
Lifting my head, I look over at said doorway and my breath hitches at the
sight of Danill. He’s standing there wearing nothing except his suit pants.
They’re low on his hips, his body even more beautiful than I’d imagined.
He’s covered in long corded muscle, his hips are narrow. But there is
something else that has me breathless. He’s tattooed—everywhere.
Absolutely everywhere.
Almost every inch of his torso is covered in tattoos. They’re gorgeous,
black and gray, mixed with colors. There are some words in another
language, but there are also images.
My gaze slides down his arms and I realize that the backs of his hands are
tattooed as well. I hadn’t noticed it before, the club was dark and I wasn’t
really looking at his hands, but I am now and they are hot.
So damn hot.
Every inch of him.
 CHAPTER 4

HOLLAND

D anill stalks toward me. He’s slow and steady, as if he’s a lion and I’m
his prey. Stalk me, baby, stalk me. That’s all I can think about as he
starts to climb onto the bed. I hold my breath, the sheet still wrapped around
my chest.
He reaches for the sheet, gripping it in his fist before he roughly tugs it
backward. I’m completely naked and now completely exposed. His gaze
slowly slides up my body, stopping at my breasts, then when his eyes find
mine, his lips curve up into a grin.
“Danill,” I whisper.
He chuckles, still wearing his pants, he lowers his upper body down and
touches his lips to my own. His tongue slides across my bottom lip, then his
mouth touches mine in a hard kiss. I wish that I could bottle him up, keep
him right here forever.
The man can seriously kiss.
He clears his throat before he lowers his head and I feel his mouth at the
hollow of my throat again. He sucks my skin between his teeth, biting down
again, and I have to press my thighs together in an effort to relieve the ache
that’s building between them.
“Spread,” he demands.
Fuck.
 I do just what he says without a second thought. My thighs spread wide
for him and I let out a sigh, knowing that relief is on the way.
He shifts backward, rising to his knees, and looks down at me. I hold my
breath, scared that if I move, if I even breathe, that he’ll somehow disappear.
He lifts one of his hands, placing his palm against the center of my chest,
between my breasts.
My entire body trembles at the touch. It feels almost out of this world.
His gaze finds mine, holding it and I want to scream and beg for him to touch
me. To do more. To take me and make me feel amazing. I think that he can, I
take that back, I know that he can. Everything about him is pure sex.
Then, slowly, his hand drags down my body, his fingertips barely
touching me as it does. His fingers move down until they stop just above my
pussy. He doesn’t go any farther and I almost curse him.
I want more, right fucking now. But he’s not going to give it to me, I can
feel it. He’s going to make me wait, make me squirm, maybe even make me
beg.
“Danill,” I rasp.
He chuckles, but I can tell he’s not laughing at me as much as he thinks
I’m being cute. At least that’s what I tell myself. I don’t know if it’s true or
not, but I’d rather believe that than think he was laughing at me.
“Look at me,” he demands. My eyes shift from the ceiling to meet his in
an instant. “Show me what you’re giving me.”
I gasp. Nobody has ever spoken to me like this before, has demanded this
of me. I like it—too much. Spreading my thighs, I open for him, knowing
that’s exactly what he wants. He flicks his gaze down, then shifts it back to
meet mine.
“Nyet. More,” he barks.
I shake my head, but he doesn’t elaborate. And then I realize what he
wants. I can’t do it. I start to tell him just that when he reaches for my hand,
wrapping his fingers around my wrist, and forces my fingers between my
legs.
“I’ve never. Not in front of anyone,” I whisper.
“Show me,” he demands. He is not letting me get away with not doing
anything. He wants this, and he’s going to have it. A shiver of pure need rolls
through me at that thought.
With trembling fingers, I pinch my eyes closed, and I spread myself for
him. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t know why I don’t tell him to
just leave me alone.
That’s a lie, a huge lie.
I don’t want him to leave me alone. Not right now, and maybe not ever. I
want to tell him to touch every part of me.
With my eyes closed, I don’t watch him, too embarrassed to see the look
on his face. If he thinks this is hot or gross, I don’t know and I don’t want to
find out. Nobody has ever seen me like this before.
The lights are off, but I left a lamp on and it’s really bright in here. I’ve
spread myself completely open for him. Something he’s demanded. It’s as if
he’s inspecting me and I’ve never been through anything like this before.
“Holland,” he calls out. “Open your eyes.”
Again, I force myself to do something extremely uncomfortable, I open
myself, though this time it’s not my body, but just my eyes. Looking down at
him, my breath hitches. He’s staring at me intently. Then he grins.
“Fucking beautiful, kroshka. Perfect.”
I don’t know why, but my entire body fills with pleasure, with pride at his
words. I want to be beautiful to him, perfect too, and I don’t understand why
because he’s a stranger.

DANILL

S HE ’ S FUCKING PERFECT . I want to taste her, but I can’t right now. I need to
be inside of her even more. I’ll have a lifetime to do with her what I wish.
Right now, I need to feel her cunt wrapped around my cock. I need to know
what she feels like.
Sliding my finger through her exposed and beautifully presented pussy, I
watch as she twitches against my touch. Keeping my gaze on hers, her eyes
widen, then her lips curve up into a small smile as she lets out a sigh.
Fuck.
She feels amazing.
Slipping two fingers inside of her, I turn my hand over and curl my
fingers. She lets out a gasp, then lifts her hips to meet my movements. That’s
the spot. I fuck her with my fingers, my eyes on hers. I can’t wait to be inside
of her, but I have to warm her up first.
I’m going to take every goddamn part of her when it’s time. Every
fucking piece of her. Lowering my head, I touch my lips to her clit. I hear her
cry out when I do that. I didn’t intend on putting my mouth on her, but I want
her to come.
Sucking her clit between my teeth, I flick it with my tongue over and
over. Her hips jerk beneath my mouth. My fingers continue to move inside of
her. I want to taste her release, to know it’s as sweet as I think that it will be.
If this is going to be mine for life, I want to make damn fucking sure I
like every flavor she offers, not just her mouth.
When her thighs start to shake and her hand disappears from her pussy,
diving into my hair, I know that she’s close. Her hips lift, they move, and she
searches to try and find her release.
Then her fingers grip my hair so goddamn tightly that I think she’s going
to pull it out of my scalp before she lets out a noise that’s a mix between a
cry and a purr.
Lifting my eyes, I look up at her and watch as her orgasm takes over her
entire body. I continue to lick her clit in even, slow strokes as she rides her
release. Slowly, I remove my hand from inside of her, shifting upward before
I sink deep inside.
Holland lifts her arms, wrapping them around my back at the same time
she lifts her legs and wraps her thighs around my hips. Then she looks into
my eyes. Tilting my head down, my lips still wet from her release, I lower
my head and touch my mouth to hers.
It’s my turn to take my pleasure, and I do.
Hard.
Shifting my hips backward, I slam them forward. She lets out a noise,
ripping her mouth from mine and burying her face in my neck. I fuck her. My
hips moving hard and fast, searching and chasing my own orgasm.
Before I get too close to my release, I pull completely out of her. Shifting
back onto my knees, I reach out, wrapping my hands around her hips before I
roll her onto her stomach. Then, I yank those sexy as fuck hips back toward
me.
Aligning my cock with her center, I grip her flesh and I fuck her from
behind. My first thrust is balls deep, unapologetic, feeling every fucking inch
of her. So goddamn hard and perfect. Closing my eyes, I let my head fall
backward and I just feel.
Yeah.
Fuck. Yes.
 This I will keep.
She reaches forward, her hands finding the top of her headboard, and then
she pushes back against my thrusts.
“Yes,” she hisses. “Fuck me hard, please,” she exhales.
Please. Holy fucking shit. Per-fucking-fection.
She does not have to ask me twice. At the same time, I’m afraid my hard
will be too much for her. So instead of fucking her as hard as I can, I take her
somewhere in the middle. She pushes back on each of my thrusts forward and
I feel her climb again.
“Are you going to come again, kroshka?”
“Yes,” she whimpers. “I want to.”
Leaning forward, folding over her back, I lift one of my hands and gather
her hair in my fist. Tugging her head back, I smile at her sharp intake of
breath. Shifting my hips, I close my eyes as I fuck her, feeling her back
against my chest, her hair in my fist, and her whimpers escaping her lips.
The hand that is still gripping her hip, I slide that around and touch her
sensitive clit. She turns her head slightly, her lips touching the underside of
my jaw. Turning my head, I press my lips against hers. I suck in her breath,
taking it inside of me at the same time I fill her with my own exhaled breath.
My fingers move against her clit, my air is her air, and I fuck her. I can
feel her body beneath mine, her muscles tremble and I know that she’s
getting closer to the edge. She’s so goddamn close she’s about to fall over.
I can’t fucking wait.
I need to feel her cunt squeeze me.
Her breathing starts coming out in pants against my lips and I know she’s
got to be light-headed. The hand in her hair, I move it around and grip her
throat. One. Two. Three thrusts with my hips and she screams in my mouth,
her pussy clamping down around my cock, her body jerking and bucking
beneath mine.
I continue to take her, my hand still between her thighs and the other
around her throat. Then I bury myself balls deep inside of her and I come.
I fill her with my cum.
Marking her as mine.
Only fucking mine.
No man will ever touch her again. I’m not even sure if I’ll allow another
man to ever lay eyes on her again.
She is mine.
 CHAPTER 5

HOLLAND

I don’t think that I could accurately describe what’s just happened to me.
After catching my breath and trying to come to terms with the fact that I
had two orgasms in one sex session, I just can’t deal. Turning my head, I look
over at Danill, who is breathing heavy next to me, lying on his back.
Then I feel something between my legs. Slipping my hand between my
thighs, I assume that it’s just my own juices. I rub my fingers together and
realize that it’s not just me, it’s us, it’s semen. I’m knocked out of my hazy
afterglow immediately.
“You didn’t use a condom.”
He doesn’t say anything immediately. I turn to him and push up slightly.
Then repeat myself.
“You didn’t use a condom.”
“I didn’t,” he agrees.
“You didn’t use a condom,” I shout, shaking my cum-soaked fingers in
his face.
He turns to me, reaching out, and wraps his hand around my wrist. Before
I know what’s happening, he turns my hand around and shoves my fingers in
my mouth. I try to fight his hold, but he’s too strong.
“Suck them,” he demands. My eyes widen and I wrap my lips around my
fingers, sucking them. “Taste them,” he says. “Taste yourself, taste me—taste
us.” His words end on a purr, then he slowly shifts my hand from my mouth
and holds it at my hip. “I did not and never will use a condom with you.”
“You don’t even know me, and I don’t know you,” I breathe, unable to
raise my voice at him because this is hot as shit.
He shakes his head once, then reaches over and flicks off the lamp at the
side of the bed. “I know what I need to know. I know that I don’t need a
condom with you and neither do you with me. You’re safe.”
“You’re crazy,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “You have no idea, Holland.”
The way that he says my name causes my entire body to jerk. And it’s
then I realize something. “I didn’t tell you my name,” I say.
He releases my wrist but doesn’t respond right away, instead, he wraps
his arm around me and pulls me against his side. “Hmm?” he asks.
I repeat myself. “I didn’t tell you my name,” I repeat.
He touches his lips to the side of my neck, then my shoulder. “Sleep.”
I open my mouth to say something, but then I feel his tongue taste me
from my shoulder to my earlobe. “Sleep, kroshka.”
My eyes slowly close, with his warm body wrapped around mine, my
own body completely exhausted. I sleep. I still think he’s crazy for not using
a condom. I still want to discuss that further, but I’m too sated and too
physically exhausted to talk about it right now.
In a few weeks, I’ll have to play the good daughter for the weekend with
my father. Attend his parties and pretend to be the loving child, but right
now, it feels so damn good being naughty for this man. This stranger.
It feels really good to just let go for once in my entire life. I don’t know
why I feel safe with him, I’m sure that I shouldn’t. There is absolutely
nothing safe about this man, but I do, and I hope that it doesn’t come back to
bite me in the ass.

DANILL

T HIS IS TROUBLE .
She is trouble.
But I find that I don’t mind it overly much, mainly because in just a few
short weeks she will be my trouble only. And only mine. Once she falls
asleep, I leave her there, but not before I send myself a text from her phone,
that is without a passcode or facial recognition lock. This will change when
she is mine.
Jogging toward my car, I look back up to her place. Fuck me, but it’s a
good apartment. The view is the best I’ve ever seen, a private beach just for
residents, and I don’t think that I want her to get rid of it when I take her.
It’s well after three in the morning, but I send my realtor a text with the
address and ask her how much it would cost for me to purchase the residence.
Not all apartments are for sale in buildings like these, but anything is for sale
at the right price.
She doesn’t respond right away, not that I expect her to, she will when
she wakes, especially for the payout this commission will be. Slipping into
the driver’s seat of my Audi, I turn toward home. I need a few hours sleep
before I need to be at my computer in the morning.
I still have some research to do on Holland’s father, Barry Wanger. I need
to make sure that this goes off flawlessly, without a hitch. I need to get my
markers and favors lined up neatly in a row so that there are no hiccups.
Barry will be gone and Holland will be mine. I’ve made my decision,
being with her only solidified that decision in a way where there is no other
option. She could have my child inside of her, but beyond that, she is simply
mine to take.
Pulling up to my house, I’m not surprised to see the car parked in the
driveway. Opening my door, I unfold from the car and make my way toward
him.
“Grisha,” I call out.
He’s leaning against the house, in the dark, like a goddamn shadow on
my porch. Most people wouldn’t see him, but I have known him almost my
entire life. He could never hide from me.
“Where’ve you been?” he asks.
“Out,” I say.
He makes a tsking noise as I open the front door, lifting my hand to
silently invite him in. I hear him close the door behind me, but I don’t stop as
I make my way toward the kitchen and the vodka in the freezer.
“Drink?” I ask.
“Of course,” he says with a wave of his hand as if I’m asking a stupid
question. Which, to be fair, I probably am.
I pour each of us a tumbler of vodka. Shoving one of them toward him, I
grab the bottle and my glass, then I lift my hand with the bottle in it and jerk
it forward, then walk. I know that he follows behind me as I head into the
game room.
There is a pool table, a big-screen television, a pinball machine, and a
couple slot machines that I got from a friend who lives in Vegas. Flicking on
the television, I set the bottle down on the bar and find a music channel to
listen to in the background.
“Grisha, you’re here,” I say.
He chuckles, lifting the tumbler to his lips, and takes a drink. “I am,” he
announces. “Wanted to ask you something.”
“What’s that?” I ask when he doesn’t continue right away.
The rock music plays on a low hum in the background and I appreciate it
being there to break up the quiet when he doesn’t say anything immediately.
There is a long moment of silence and then he finally clears his throat before
he speaks.
“Davydov came to you, I hear,” he murmurs, speaking of Fyodor and the
job that I am currently enjoying immensely.
“Did you want the job?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Absolutely fucking not,” he says on a chuckle. “But
I heard something else about that little meeting.”
“What’s that?” I ask, playing dumb.
I want to know just how much talk is being spread around. And I know
without a doubt Grisha will tell me. He always has the latest information on
what the fuck is going on in our world, and why. Arching a brow, I wait for
him to answer me.
He lets out a low whistle. “You were told as a bonus you could keep
Wanger’s daughter, have you seen her?”
Pressing my lips together, I roll them a few times, then let out a sigh. “I
have seen her,” I admit.
Though what I don’t tell him is that I was inside of her just moments ago,
that I know what she tastes like, that my entire body still smells like her
sweet cunt.
“How are you going to get away with this? She’s just as famous as he is,
maybe more. You can’t just go in and take her from her bed.”
“I’m going to make her an offer that she cannot refuse.”
Grisha shakes his head before taking another long drink from his glass.
His eyes find mine and he holds me with his gaze. Then he lets out a sigh. He
knows that he cannot break me. No amount of staring will make me talk. Not
to him, not to anyone.
“You gotta have something big to barter. I’m not sure telling her you’re a
Torpedo, that you’re Bratva, is going to be enough to not only keep her silent,
but to just plain keep her.”
Shrugging a shoulder, I give him a sly smile, then take a long drink from
my own glass. Pouring each of us some more, I lean forward. My lips are
curved up into a grin and I let out a low chuckle.
“I have my ways. Wait and see, it’ll be a show without a doubt.”
He smirks. “I do love good entertainment.”
He stays for a while longer, we finish the bottle, then he heads home.
Both of us have jobs to do in the morning. Mine is going to be to research
Barry Wanger, maybe watch Holland a little as well. He has some other shit
to do. I don’t know what because I don’t know his schedule.
We may be Bratva, but we’re also our own bosses at the same time. It’s
the best of all worlds, in my opinion.
 CHAPTER 6

HOLLAND

D ay one, I don’t worry too much. Men don’t always call the next day,
but now I’m on day seven and I’m worried that he’s disappeared
forever. My heart aches at the thought of never seeing him again. I fell for
him, in one night, I fell hard. Too hard, and now I’m wondering if it was a
mistake.
A big one.
A one-night stand that I didn’t anticipate to be that, although can I really
be upset? I only knew him for a few songs before I allowed him to follow me
home. I just knew, knew without a doubt, that he was special in some way.
But he fucked me with no condom and now I’m here, with no way to
contact him. What if I’m pregnant? What happens then, or worse? Well, I
refuse to think about worse. I’m going to live in denial on that.
Looking over to my closet, I see my two dresses hanging up for the
parties my father is forcing me to attend. I don’t want to go to either, but I
don’t have much of a choice. Maybe it will be a good distraction. God knows
that I need something to distract me. I’ve been in hiding all week, waiting,
anticipating, and then feeling sorry for myself over and over again.
Clearing my throat, I roll over in bed and stare at my cell phone, willing it
to ring, although why would it? It’s not like he has my number. He knows
where I live, not much else. And I don’t hear him knocking down my door.
 Pushing up to a sitting position, I decide that I can’t wallow in my self-
pity for another moment. Instead, I reach for my phone and find Nate’s name.
I haven’t talked to him all week. I’ve been avoiding the hell out of him and
Marie. Both of which have called more than once.
Touching the FaceTime icon, I hold the phone up to my face, then I fix
my hair as it rings.
“So, she’s alive,” he announces as his greeting.
I don’t know where he is, but he’s not at home. He’s outside somewhere
and I’m instantly jealous that I wasn’t invited. As if I would have answered
the phone anyway. Like me, Nate comes from money.
Unlike me, his family is actually mostly functioning. Well, they see each
other more than a couple times a year, and they don’t despise one another
completely. So, to me, that’s functioning. I mean, at least that’s what he says.
In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve yet to meet them. They live in New
York and he’s here in Santa Monica. He leaves a couple times a year to see
them, but that’s as much as I know.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
He smiles, showing me his perfectly white smile. He paid a pretty penny
for it. I know that he did because I sent him to my master oral surgeon. He
clears his throat, then gives me a wink.
“I’m outside your building. Come down. You know going inside your
place just makes me all kinds of jelly. Let’s get a coffee, a facial, and you can
tell me about that guy that you left with at the club, and who is no doubt the
reason you’ve been in quarantine.”
Standing, I walk over to the closet and slip on a pair of sandals while
pouting. My hair is done, so is my makeup. I had anticipated leaving the
house today, then thought against it, so I was prepared to walk out of the door
at any given time. Unsure of what I was really going to do. Isn’t that silly as
hell?
Grabbing my purse, I continue to make my way toward my front door,
still feeling stupidly silly, before I wrench it open, then I stop when I see a
bright-yellow paper taped to the outside. It says the word NOTICE in bold
letters.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper as my eyes scan the document.
At first, I’m completely embarrassed because I think that perhaps my dad
forgot to pay the rent and it’s some kind of notice about nonpayment and I
think I might just die if my neighbors saw that.
Then I realize that’s not what it is at all.
“Holy shit,” I breathe.
“What?” Nate demands.
“Somebody bought my apartment.”
“What?” he screeches.
Locking the door with a shaky hand, I grip the paper tightly and hurry
downstairs to meet Nate. He’s standing in front of the building, his mouth
hanging wide open.
“Give that to me,” he demands.
Nate snatches the paper from my hand and I watch as his eyes scan the
sheet before he lifts them back to meet my own. He presses his lips together,
rolling them a few times, then lets out a low whistle, again.
“Says you can continue to pay rent to this new company. But sure as shit,
someone bought your apartment.”
“I didn’t even know you could buy these places. I thought it was all
owned by one person or company, not individually. I asked my dad to try to
buy it a few years ago and he told me that they said no.”
“Sometimes offers are too good to resist, maybe that’s what this was.”
“But why mine?” I ask.
Nate shrugs a shoulder, folds the paper, then slips it into my handbag.
“Let’s go get that coffee. Nate needs to hear all about that sexy as shiit
stranger with the tattoos.”
He says the words, but there’s a bite to his tone that I don’t quite
understand. I shrug it off before looping my arm in his, and we walk down
the street together.
There is a small café just a few blocks away. It’s where we always go to
discuss life’s major issues, for either of us. Today those issues revolve around
me, next time they’ll revolve around him, I’m sure.

DANILL

B ARRY W ANGER IS EASY . Too easy. Which is why I watch him a bit longer
than I typically would for a job this simple. Mainly because I think that there
could be more to him, to this, but there doesn’t seem to be. Everything about
him is superficial and surface level.
He even makes a call to Davydov in public and discusses business. He’s
cocky as hell. Not a good trait to be when you’ve tried to fuck over the
Pakhan of a Bratva in a drug deal. Tried to keep his money, spent that money
with no goddamn recourse. I’m not sure what Davydov is getting from him,
what was promised, what was delivered, and what wasn’t, but it has to be big
if he wants him taken care of the way that he does.
The Bratva doesn’t typically take care of anyone high profile. We have in
the past, but in general, we try not to be on any authority radar that way.
Staying inconspicuous, keeping out of the limelight. Except, when I officially
take Holland, I’ll not just be in the limelight, I’ll be in the fucking middle of
it.
My phone rings and I look down at the name on the screen. It’s my real
estate agent. Normally, I wouldn’t take a call while I’m watching and
gathering information on a job, but this is an important one.
“Everything has cleared, it’s been posted, and the deed has been recorded
as yours.”
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Can I ask why you’d want that? It’s not that far from where you already
live.”
Smiling, I chuckle to myself. I can’t tell her the truth. If she knew, she’d
probably think that I was insane. She might even try to turn me in to the
authorities.
So I lie. “I wanted something for investment.”
“I could have found you something with a much larger return, Danill.”
I hum. “I understand, but this is what I wanted.”
She thanks me for the job and asks that I call her if I need anything else.
Ending the call, I continue to watch the fuck across from me. He’s talking
loudly. Telling Davydov that he’s sorry, that he’ll find some more product
and that he’ll make sure he’s paid back in full, plus ten percent.
All lies.
And ten percent would not even be the goddamn tip of what Davydov
would want as interest. Davydov knows this. He’s just biding his time,
playing the game. I don’t blame him, there’s no need to tip anyone off on
what will happen.
“I will get your product. I swear it. I’m good for it,” Barry announces. “Is
there something that I can give you to keep you happy until I can get your
Another random document with
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 Tuskallisesti pettyneenä ja kiroten sitä hetkeä jona syntyi, lankesi
Battista armollisen herransa jalkain juureen, syleili hänen polviaan ja
silitteli hänen kättään. — Voi hyvin, virkkoi päällikkö, ja vie vielä nuo
pois. — Hän osoitti juoma-astioita ja eroitti näin käskynsä rikkojan
suopeasti palveluksesta.

Ennenkun hän jälleen ehti syventyä suunnitelmiinsa, kuului ulkoa

putoavan lusikan ja särkyvän lasin kilinä ja pitkä, hoikka herttua
Bourbon, joka oli kovakouraisesti nakannut onnettoman Battistan
tieltään, tuli huoneeseen ilmoittautumatta, sillä hänellä oli
vastaanottotuntinsa tähän aikaan.

— Kas, Teidän korkeutenneko? virkkoi Pescara kääntyen häntä

kohti ja nousten seisalleen.

— Anteeksi. Ratsastin joukkojeni luo, niin näin etukaupungissa

kuleksivan kauppamiehen, joka laskeutui muulinsa selästä juuri
Teidän ylhäisyytenne lääkärin Numa Datin portilla. Ellei hän olisi
kasvoiltaan ollut niin arvokkaan näköinen, olisin valmis vannomaan,
että hän oli unohtumaton ystäväni, Milanon kansleri. Lähetin
palvelijan ottamaan selkoa vieraasta ja sain kuulla, että matkustaja
on muka lääkärin tuttava, jokin milanolainen juvelikauppias nimeltä
Scipione Osnago. Ehkäpä hän kumminkin lienee vain joku tuon
monissa muodoissa kummittelevan kanslerin lukemattomista
varjoista. Hän keikutteli vartaloaan niin mukavasti, ettei sitä muut voi
matkia, ja kun olin vielä aivan lähellä kaupunkia, niin saatoin helposti
ratsastaa takaisin ilmoittaakseni Teille tuon jalon urhon mahdollisesta
vierailusta.

— Minä olenkin jo kauan odottanut häntä tekemään milanolaisen

puolesta verukkeita ja vakuutuksia, vastasi sotapäällikkö. — Vaan
kun häntä ei alkanut kuulua ja varmalta taholta saimme tietää, että
herttua yhä varusteleikse ja jatkaa linnoitustöitään, niin jätin hänet
herran haltuun. Nyt tulee hän liian myöhään. Huomenna, keskiyöllä,
päättyy herttuan koetusaika. Lähdemme liikkeelle täsmälleen kello
kaksitoista, vaikka kansleri toisikin merkittäviä uutisia.

— Niin, sillä Moronella, jutteli Bourbon, on taas jotain juonia

mielessään. Kun vein Milanoon ultimatumiamme, huomasin
ajatusten kiehuvan hänen aivoissaan kuin muurahaispesän. Te
markiisi ette voi käsittää, miten hävytön se mies oikeastaan on.
Siihen aikaan kun hoitelin Milanon hallitusta, oli hän minulla
neuvonantajana ja kirjurina ja nosteli minua niin sanoakseni yli
pöydän — sillä söin mielelläni hänen kanssaan ja kuuntelin hänen
kaskujaan ja päähän pistojaan — kaiken maailman valtaistuimille ja
paritteli joka ruhtinattaren kanssa. Ja mikä on kaikkein hulluinta:
hänen hassutuksissaan on järkeä. Olenpa utelias näkemään, mitä
hän jälleen on keksinyt päästääkseen itsensä ja herttuansa pulasta.
Tietysti jotain ennen kuulumattoman nerokasta, jotain ihan
äärimäistä. Ehkäpä hän esimerkiksi, — herttua nauroi
pakahtuakseen — tarjoo meille kahdelle keisarin sotapäällikölle
Liigan johdon ja vetää togansa poimuista esiin pari houkuttelevaa
italialaista kruunua?

— Teidän korkeutenne suvaitsee laskea leikkiä.

— No mitäs muuta, markiisi, vastasi herttua ja aikoi lähteä. Mutta

vielä tarttui hän sotapäällikön käteen ja virkkoi hellällä äänellä, joka
ilmaisi heidän keskinäistä, maailmalta salattua ystävyyttään:— Kiitos
siitä, Pescara, että pidät loitolla minusta tuota Leyvaa ja annat
minulle oikean ja hänelle vasemman siiven johdettavaksi. En jaksa
kärsiä häntä, en voisi ratsastaa lähistöllään. Voisi sattua onneton
tapaus, vielä pahempi kuin äskettäin täällä Novarassa. Hän saattaisi
jälleen eksyä minua sättimään ja minä, minä tappaisin hänet kuin
kurjan koiran. — Herttua virkkoi tämän hiljaa ja katsoi maahan.

Pescara piteli herttuan oikeaa kättä kädessään, varoitteli ja pyyteli.

— Mitä teittäkään silloin! Täällä, julkisella torilla, riita viheliäisestä
majapaikasta! Lähetin kohta Leyvan Neapeliin pyytämään
varakuninkaalta väkeä sotaretkelle, vaikka tiesin ettei hänellä ole sitä
antaa. Tahdoin päästää Teidät näkemästä vihamiestänne. Kuinka
saatoitte kohdella sillä tavoin kanssapäällikköänne! Siinä ette
tehneet oikein. Suren sitä tapausta. Tällaista älköön toistuko
vastedes, sitä pyydän.

— Aihe oli joutavanpäiväinen, Pescara, mutta —

— Pahin mitä Leyva, todistajain kuulustelun mukaan, lausui Teille,

oli ettei hän antaisi ylvästelijän itseään komennella, mutta Te veditte
miekkanne huotrasta ja omain miestenne täytyi Teitä hillitä.

— Voi, kuiskasi herttua, ei hän sanonut ylvästelijä. Olen

tarkkakuuloinen! Se oli toinen sana… ja sen tungen vielä kerran
keisarin ja paavin kurkkuun takaisin!

— Toinen sana? virkkoi Pescara ja katui kohta kysymystään, sillä

hän näki herttuan aivan kalpenevan ja lentävän valkeaksi kuin liitu.
Hän arvasi vanhan Leyvan murahtaneen, ettei hän antaisi petturin
itseään komennella tai että Bourbonin arka omatunto oli saanut
hänet kuulemaan Leyvan sanat sellaisina.

Salainen ystävyys, mikä yhdisti tavallisen aatelisen ja

kuningassukuisen miehen ja sai aikaan sen ihmeen ettei ollut
kateutta näiden kahden nuorekkaan ja jo kuuluisan päällikön välillä,
joiden valta ja oikeutukset olivat vielä suuressa määrin yhteiset,
johtui etupäässä herttuasta, joka tiesi, ettei hänen liittoutumisensa
Ranskan vihollisiin voinut riistää häneltä Pescaran kunnioitusta.
Olipa se sitten viisautta tai välinpitämättömyyttä siveellisistä
seikoista, vapautta paraitenkin perustelluista ennakkoluuloista tahi
mitä täydellisintä ihmistuntemusta ja korkeinta oikeudenmukaisuutta,
mitä tahansa — avosylin oli Pescara ottanut vastaan keisarin
palvelukseen astuvan ruhtinaallisen suurpetturin ja kohdellut häntä
mitä hienoimmin yhdistäen virkaveljeyden ja kunnioituksen. Ehkäpä
oli Pescara myös huomannut tässä särkyneessä olennossa, joka
muukalaisten aseilla ja itseään kiroten tuhosi isänmaataan,
synnynnäisen ja katoamattoman aateluuden. Ja siitä oli herttua
Pescaralle kiitollinen.

Lempeästi puheli sotapäällikkö onnettomalle ja piteli hänen

kättään kädessään: — Harhaluuloja, Teidän korkeutenne! Olette
varmaan kuulleet sellaista mitä ei sanottu. Olkaa mies! Tukkikaa
laakereilla hornan kuilut! Olettehan sodan jumalan lemmityinen ja
mestari valtiomiehenä. Olemme molemmat vielä nuorukaisia,
edessämme lukemattomien päivien elämä, seisomme keski-ijän tällä
puolen, tuskin puolivälissä kolmaskymmenes. Elämillehän sellaisen
vuosisadan ensimäisellä kolmanneksella, joka tarjoo loputtomiin asti
suuria toiveita ja monia mahdollisuuksia! Meidän on nykyhetken
täyteläisyys! Kaarle, me elämme!

Bourbon ei kuullut tukahutettua huokausta, joka kohosi

sotapäällikön rinnasta. Hän puristi lujasti Pescaran kättä ja tummat
silmänsä säikkyivät taistelun haluisesti. Ja salatakseen syvää
liikutustaan, alkoi hän tapansa mukaan lasketella rivoja
sukkeluuksia. Pescaran tuliset sanat olivat saaneet jälleen hereille
hänen uljaimman nuorekkuutensa. — Ja me sitä olemme vasta
poikia! riemuitsi hän. — Sinä, komean Victorian mies arvaat, että
minulta olivat sydän ja suolet vaihtaa paikkaansa, kun Porcaccia
kuningatar-äiti tahtoi kaikin mokomin minua miehekseen! Voitko
ajatella minua kuningas Fransin isänä? Oi rakas poikapuoleni.
"Madame", vastasin kuningattarelle kumartaen syvään hänen
edessään, "madame, ei käy päinsä! Lykkäisitte minut nenällänne
pois sängystä!" Ja koko käännös, mars yli rajan! — Herttua rähähti
raikuvaan nauruun ja samassa astui sisään Del Guasto matkasta
pölyisenä ja tervehti enoaan, sotapäällikköä ja kumarsi iloiselle
Bourbonille.

Sitten kääntyi tulija Pescaran puoleen, jota tarkasteli

hämmästynein ja ihailevin silmin kuten olisi sotapäällikön tehnyt
valtavamman näköiseksi se osa, jota näyttelemään italialainen
salaliitto häntä tahtoi: Del Guasto kertoi: — Matkasimme Roomasta,
ei suurena seurueena herrattaren iloksi, vaan Neapelistä palaavan
Leyvan ja erään ylimyksen kanssa, joka kuuluu olevan kuninkaallista
sukua ja kutsuu itseään Moncadaksi. Häneen saatte tutustua kun
hän tuo Teille tietoja varakuninkaalta. Ehdin ennen muita
ilmoittamaan rouva Victorian tulosta. Hän säteilee riemusta
tietäessään saavansa nähdä Teidät jälleen ja on samalla sangen
niukkasanainen, sillä hänellä on Teille ilmoitettavana valtiollinen
salaisuus, kuten oletan, ja paavillinen salaperäisyys, kuten, aavistan,
ja samainen donna Victoria kantaa ankaraa kaunaa hänen
epäsuosioonsa joutunutta sisarenpoikaanne kohtaan, jonka hän on
pian kaikkien lain kaavain mukaan haastava eteenne oikeuteen.
Erään aivan inhimillisen seikan vuoksi, hymyili Del Guasto.

— Tai epäinhimillisen, pisteli Pescara. — Ilmoitatteko vielä muiden

tulosta. Don Juan?

— Elleivät, silmäni pettäneet, Milanon kanslerin.

 — Ah, nauroi Bourbon.

— Töytäsin häneen jo Roomassa lähellä Colonnain palatsia.

Palatessani sinne öiseen aikaan näin muurin kylkeä myöten
hiiviskelevän jonkun varasmaisen olennon pitkissä pukimissa ja kun
valaisin tuota epäilyksen alaista palvelijani soihdulla, niin olikin
juristin baretin alla tuo julkea mukulanenä ja hävytön kähärä tukka,
mitkä muistan aina Pavian ajoilta, kun se hullu kansleri, kuten häntä
sanotaan, tuli Teitä, onnittelemaan taistelun jälkeen. Hän oli kai
käynyt ilmoittamassa paavin uusimman salaisuuden donna
Victorialle, joka oli jättänyt paaville jäähyväiset saman päivän
iltapuolella. — Del Guasto lausui tämän ilkeästi vihjaillen.

Sotapäällikkö katsoi häneen ankarasti: — Don Juan, sanoi hän.

Teidän ei tarvitse pitää huolta donna Victorian käytöksestä ja vielä
vähemmin häntä vartioida. Hänen jokaisesta askeleestaan,
vähimmästäkin aiheestaan ja liikkeestään lausun jo etukäteen
pelkän hyväksymiseni ja kiitokseni.

Don Juan kumarsi. — Matkalla Novaraan, jatkoi hän, tapasin vielä

monta kertaa kanslerin, se on erään hedelmäkauppias Paciaudin
Markenista, jolla oli hirmuisen iso käsnä nenässä ja joka sanoi
minulle, kun häntä puhuttelin, en pakoittanut puhumaan, olevansa
kovan onnen poika: odottamaton paavillinen asetus oli näet kieltänyt
hedelmäin viennin maasta ja hän oli tehnyt Teidän ylhäisyytenne
kanssa ankaran kuletussopimuksen. Sitä selitellyssään keikkui ja
kujeili hän aivan kuin kansleri. Tämä häärää nykyjään jos
jonkinmoisissa puuhissa ja esiintyy mitä hassuimpain otusten
muodossa. Hänestä jutellaan joka paikassa niemimaalla, kuten myös
— ilman vähintäkään vertailua — Teidän suuresta persoonastanne.

— Mitä tarkoitatte, Don Juan?

 Del Guasto, jolla ei ollut tapana pelätä juuri mitään, epäröi nyt
kuitenkin vastata kun näki Pescaran kylmän ilmeen. Sitten sai
herttuan läsnäolo hänet tuiki vaikenemaan.

— Minun ja hänen korkeutensa välillä ei ole salaisuuksia, lausui

sotapäällikkö. — Puhukaa, Don Juan.

Käskystä huolimatta tuntui rohkeasta nuorukaisesta niin hirveältä

puhua peittelemättä tällaisesta asiasta tässä paikassa ja tähän
aikaan — keskellä keisarillista leiriä ja espanjalaisen
sotaväenosaston marssiessa juuri tahdikkain askelin akkunan ohi —
että hän peitti italialaisen juonen julkeat aikeet kaunopuheisuutensa
verhoihin.

— Eno, kertoi hän halveksuvasti, yhä vinkuvat korvani raivoisasta

riidasta, joka on noussut joka kauppakojussa, kapakassa ja
parturissa, joka pallopaikassa ja luullakseni sakaristojen
juttusopukoissakin — Avalosien oikeasta ja velvoittavasta
isänmaasta, siitä, olemmeko neapelilaisia vai espanjalaisia. Eikä riitä
edes kirkuna ja hälinä, alkuperästämme lentelee lehtisiä ja kirjelmiä
ympäri maailman.

Päällikkö kohautti hartioitaan. — Sen tapainen kyhäys, virkkoi hän,

ilmestyi kerran pöydällenikin, heitin sen nurkkaan. Joutavaa riitaa.

Don Juan jatkoi itsepintaisesti: — Sain myös kuulla, että juristit ja

teologit yliopistoissa väittelevät ankarasti paavin läänitysoikeudesta
Neapeliin, sen laajuudesta ja rajoista.

— Jätämme sen oppineiden huoleksi, vai mitä, Teidän

korkeutenne? laski Pescara leikkiä. — Mitä muuten Avalosien
isänmaahan tulee, niin neuvon sinua, sukulaiseni, olemaan kunnon
mies, olipa sitten kuntosi espanjalainen tai neapelilainen.

Nyt ilmoitti paashi, lääkäri Numa Datin pojanpoika ja Del Guaston

pettämän Julian veli, hento, suurisilmäinen ja viaton lapsi, joka oli
määrätty väliaikaisesti palvelijaksi, että etuhuoneessa odotti puheille
pääsyä muudan apteekkari nimeltä Baldassare Bosi, Orvietosta.
Hänellä oli jokin käärö kainalossa eikä hän tahtonut lähteä pois
millään ilveellä. Hän sanoi poikenneensa isoisänsä luona, joka oli
antanut vieraalleen tämän lapun tuotavaksi hänen ylhäisyydelleen.
Poika antoi Pescaralle paperin, johon oli vapisevalla kädellä
kirjoitettu: "Morone".

Pescara mietti hetkisen. — Tietääkö vieras, että nämä herrat ovat

täällä? kysyi hän paashilta.

— En minä usko, Teidän ylhäisyytenne, vastasi poika.

— No tuo hänet sisään, mutta älä ennen kun minä huudan.

Sitten alkoi päällikkö puhua herttualle: — Teidän korkeutenne,

pyydän Teiltä nyt pientä palvelusta. Koska pidätte mahdollisena, että
Milanon kansleri koettaa houkutella minua salaliittoon, niin olisin
kovin varomaton, jos antaisin tuon ulkona odottavan jutella kanssani
ilman todistajia. Tahdon kaksi luotettavaa todistajaa ellei olemaan
aivan läsnä, niin kuitenkin kuulemaan jokaista sanaamme, ettei
hovin epäluulo, ei rakkaan Leyvanne kateus eikä, — hän puhui
hiljemmin — tuo kirottu, jonka kanssa, Don Juan, ratsastitte tänne ja
joka varakuninkaan lähettiläänä muka aikoo täällä vaaniskella
tekojani, saisi aihetta syyttää minua, en sano juuri
valtiokavalluksesta, mutta edes väärästä menettelytavastakaan.
Tahdon kuunnella kanslerin juttuja, hän voi hölmöydessään ja
innossaan paljastaa vihollistemme, aikeet ja keinot. Siihen hän on
herkempi kuin kukaan muu. Asiain pakosta suvaitkoon siis Teidän
korkeutenne alentua vakoojaksi. Ja Te, Del Guasto, seuratkaa
esimerkkiä. — Pescara astui kultatupsuilla koristetun, raskaan,
punaisen verkon luo, jonka laajat laskokset peittivät viereisen
huoneen oven aina kynnykseen asti. Sen hän nyt avasi. — Täällä on
Teidän korkeutenne hyvässä piilossa, virkkoi hän.

Vaikka tuo omituinen seikkailu tuntui herttuasta kovin

houkuttelevalta, epäröi hän sentään vähän. — Mutta jos Morone
nostaa verhoa? epäili hän, vaan markiisi vastasi: — Ei nosta, siitä ei
huolta. Sen minä takaan. — Del Guaston sieraimet paisuivat kuten
hekumasta. Hän toi jakkaran herttualle, jonka selän taa hän asettui
toiseksi kuuntelijaksi. Punainen esirippu laskeutui oven eteen.

Mutta nyt riensi sisään paashipoika Ippolito, syleili Pescaraa ja

supatti hänen korvaansa vesissä silmin: Ei se olekaan apteekkari,
vaan noita. Se on pitkä ja kamalan näköinen, sillä on musta takki ja
taikakalu kaulassa.

— Pelkurihan sinä olet, poika! Tuo hänet sisään.

— Tuossa se jo on! huusi Ippolito ja pakeni huoneesta.

— Kas, Tekö, Morone? ja noin valtiomiehen asussa? vaikka vähän

hiestynyt markasta. Kolme naamarianne on nähtävästi paahtanut
Teitä niin että olette aivan tukehtua.

Morone läähättikin raskaasti ja hikipisarat kihoilivat hänen

otsalleen.
Hän ei virkkanut mitään.
 — Mitä on Teidän viisaudellanne asiaa? kysyi sotapäällikkö
vakainen ilme silmissään, mutta ei saanut muuta vastausta kuin
epäselvää sopertelua. Pienen vaitiolon jälkeen tarttui Pescara
leikittelevästä siihen rahaan, joka riippui raskaissa kultakäädyissä
kanslerin ryntäillä. — Lionardo, kansleri? Ja kenen kuva? Maurinko?
Nerokkaan näköinen pää.

Mutta kansleri ei voinut aiottua pakinaa edes rakkaasta

herrastaankaan, niin ymmällä hän oli.

Silloin alkoi sotapäällikkö muitta mutkitta: — Teidän herttuanne,

Morone, toivoo kai edullisempia ehtoja? Ne kyllä voitanee laatia, kun
hänen korkeutensa ensin saa minut vakuutetuksi siitä, ettei hänellä
ole pahoja aikeita. Tarkastakaamme siis yhdessä ultimatumiani
pykälä pykälältä. — Hän meni pöydän luo, josta otti jonkin paperin.

Silloin tunsi hän poskeensa lehahtavan kuuman henkäyksen ja

hänen korvaansa kuiskattiin läähättäen:

— Pescara, ei ole nyt kysymys siitä. Italia antaa sinulle

sotajoukkonsa.

— No sehän on hyvä! vastasi sotapäällikkö päätään kääntämättä.

— Se siis antautuu keisarille?

Silloin kiljaisi kansleri hänen selkänsä takaa: — Ei keisarille, vaan

sinulle, jos luovut keisarista!

Pescara kääntyi tuon hurjimuksen puoleen ja teki uhkaavan,

vihaisen liikkeen. — Mitä riehut! Tekisipä mieleni nakata sinut ulos
akkunasta!
 Kansleri ei säikähtänyt. Hän huusi uudelleen silmät palaen: —
Tämä hetki voi tehdä sinut suureksi, Pescara! Älä hylkää hyvää
tilaisuutta! Saisit ehkä vielä sitä katua! Voisit katumukseesi kuolla!

— St! Mitä huudat! Jospa joku kuuntelee! tämän verhon takana…

ehkäpä minä itse… oletko varma, etten voisi sitä tehdä? Ota selko,
kohota verhoa!

Morone hallitsi nyt täysin tunteitaan kun oli puraissut pään

hävyltään ensimäisillä sanoillaan. — Pescara, lausui hän, minä olen
tullut kokemaan, että kaikkein kavalin ja epäluuloisinkin lopulta
joutuu sellaiseen tilaan ja sellaisen kuilun partaalle, että hänen täytyi
uskoa ja luottaa. Niin Valentino [Cesare Borgia] suhteessaan
Rovereen [paavi Julius II], niin myös Mauri, rakas herttuani,
suhteessaan päämiehiinsä ja sveitsiläisiin.

— Mutta heidät petettiinkin. Morone!

— Kyllä. Pescara, mutta sekä jalo Mauri että kunnoton Borgia,

molemmat he kulkivat turmioonsa epäluulotta, mikä on
inhimillisyyden loistetta heidän ansaitun häviönsä synkeydessä. Kun
tällä hetkellä uskallan kaikkein korkeimpani ja vaadin sinulta kaikkein
korkeinta, niin olisinpa naurettava narri, jos tänä pyhänä
silmänräpäyksenä kahmisin verhoja kuin petetty aviomies, joka etsii
eukkonsa piiloitettua henttua. Ei. Minä antaudun täysin alttiiksi!
Kuuntele sanojani ja mestauta minut sitten vaikka jos tahdot.

— Tuo on suurta! virkkoi Pescara tosissaan ja lisäsi sitten epäillen:

— Mutta oikeinkohan minä nyt annan sinun puhua? Olen, suoraan
sanoen, kovin utelias ja enhän voi noin sankarillista miestä ajaa
uloskaan ilman muuta. Mutta vastatkaapas, kansleri, ensin erääseen
kysymykseen: olenko antanut Teille tai Teidän ruhtinaallenne
pätevää syytä tai edes pienintäkään aihetta epäillä minun
sotapäällikön uskollisuuttani?

Kansleri vastasi kieltävästi.

— Paljon valehdellaan maailmassa: hänen majesteettinsa

kerrotaan palkinneen minua huonosti ja siitä olisin minä muka
suuttunut. Mutta sen sanon, että jos luotatte keisarin
kiittämättömyyteen ja Pescaran salaiseen vihaan, niin älkää astuko
askeltakaan eteenpäin: muuten hukutte tuohon harhaluulonne
petolliseen suohon.

— En luota niihin.

— Tai rohkaiseeko Teitä ehkä se, mitä Italiassa yleensä huhutaan.

Italia minua imartelee, uhkailee ja saattaa epäillyksi. Mutta tuo
italialaisten mielipide on vain salakavalaa tekotyötä. Se tahtoo
syöstä minut hovin suosiosta ja samalla pitää minua kurissa
Italiassa. Olen ollut varuillani ja lähettänyt nuo katalat kyhäykset kuin
häkkiin suljetut käärmeet keisarille. Oletteko Tekin, Morone, olleet
tätä myrkkyä keittämässä?

— Kansleri kalpeni. — Kautta manalan jumalten, sitä en ole

tehnyt! huudahti hän.

— Ellet aio voittaa minua viekkaudella, niin kai sitte yllytyksillä,

kansleri?

— En.

— Milläs sitten?

— Vakuutuksilla.
 — Kaikkein tehokkaimmalla tavalla. Mutta minä en vakuutu vain
noin tuostaan. Siis istukaa, kansleri! — Pescara toi reippaasti kaksi
tuolia ja nyt asettuivat he toisiaan vastapäätä. Morone istui selkä
kumarassa ja polvet koukussa, sotapäällikkö mukavasti nojaillen.

— Pescara, mikä on ihanin taistelusi, sotataidon ihmetyö? kysyi

kansleri.

Päällikkö ei virkkanut mitään, vaikka vastaus oli itsestään selvä.

Hän huokasi hiljaa.

— Ja miksi on keisari sen tehnyt?

Salama leimahti Pescaran silmistä. — Irvikuvaksi, murahti hän.

— Annoit hänelle saaliina voitetun kuninkaan, mutta Kaarle ei

tiedä mitä sillä tehdä. Hän nylkee voiteltua kuin koronkiskuri.
Mahdollisen ja yksinkertaisen asemasta vaatii hän mahdotonta ja
moninaista. Suuri voittaja olisi sanonut hänelle: "Luovu Italiasta, siinä
ovat luonnolliset lunnaasi, jotka voit suorittaa Ranskaa
vahingoittamatta. Luovu ja ole vapaa". Pescara hymyili. — Sinä olet
vaarallinen mies, Morone, kun luet noin ajatuksiani. Mutta vain sinä
olet ne julkisesti lausunut, minä en ole virkkanut sanaakaan.

Tästä innostuneena jatkoi kansleri: — Olen kiitollinen keisarille,

että hän solvasi Pavian voitonjumalatarta, joka kääntyy jälleen
puoleesi, Pescara. Se jumalatar on otellut myös keisaria vastaan
eikä vain hänen puolestaan. Se on yhdistänyt Italian karkoittamaan
muukalaisia maasta ja näyttänyt meille sotapäällikkömme.

Pescara, suotuisasti ovat tähdet yllesi asettuneet! Kypsynyt on

hetki ja sinä myös. Ratkaiseva aika täynnä epätoivoista ottelua,
jumalia ja titaaneja, hirmuvaltaa vastaan nousee vapaus, vielä
tänään on kaikki kuohua ja liikehtimistä, huomenna ehkä jo
jähmettynyttä laavaa. Ja teko, joka sinua odottaa ja johon olet luotu!
Eikö vavahda kätesi ottaakseen ajan aineet muovailtavikseen?
Järjellinen tehtävä, ikuisen perustaminen! Vilkaise vain karttaa ja
katso niemimaata kahden meren ja lumihuippuisten vuorten välissä.
Tutki historiaa: usein väkivalloin revitty ja alati jälleen yhteen kasvava
kudos tasavaltoja ja ruhtinaita kahden vanhan vihollisensa kynsissä,
kaksine väärine johtoaatteineen, hirveine harhakuvineen,
paaveineen ja keisareineen! Katso jumalan sormea, jonka
viittauksella syntyy uusi ihmisyys: vapaa ja itseään jalostava
ihmisyys, ilman korkeinta viranomaista, ei maallista eikä hengellistä.
Vapaasti kehittyneiden kykyjen yhtymä, saman arvoisten valtioiden
sopusointu —

Pescara tarttui haltioituneen puhujan käsivarteen kuin pakenijaa

pidättäen: — Älähän vain lehahda lentoon, Girolamo, ilveili hän.

Kansleri tempautui irti ja huusi: — Älä anna itseäsi estää

jumalaisesta tehtävästä taikauskoisten ennakkoluulojen tai
vanhentuneiden käsitteiden, jotka eivät perustu järkeesi, eivät
sydämeesi eivätkä asiain luontoon. Tunnen sinut, Pescara! Sinä olet
Italian poika ja siis uskollinen ja tunnoltasi ylevä!

— Mutta Te italialaisethan olette kovin kevytmielistä väkeä, hymyili

Pescara. — Vaan sinäpä tekeydyt pahassa suuremmaksi kuin mitä
oletkaan: sillä nuo viisaat sanat eivät ole omiasi, niissä vain puhuu
haltijahenkenne, Florensilainen. Elääkö hän vielä?

Kansleri arvasi ketä päällikkö tarkoitti. — Kituu köyhyydessä,

unohdettuna ja halveksittuna, vastasi hän hämillään. — Suurin
neromme.
 — Syystä kyllä. Sillä on politisia lauselmia, jotka selvän järjen ja
harkitsevan käden käyttäminä ovat hyödyllisiä, mutta jotka muuttuvat
turmiollisiksi ja vääriksi heti kun niitä virkkavat julkeat huulet ja
kirjoittavat rikokselliset kädet. Vaan se mitä nyt sanoin, on aivan
ylimalkaista ja kaikkihan riippuu vain käytöstä. Miten olet, kansleri,
suunnitellut esimerkiksi petokseni käytöllisen puolen?

Kansleri aikoi alkaa puhua kuten riittäisi hänellä sanoja

loppumattomiin. Silloin kosketti Pescara häntä käsivarteen. — Hiljaa,
varovasti! varoitti hän. — Nyt astut kaidalle ja horjuvalle portaalle: voi
sattua että olen puhuttuasi pakoitettu vangitsemaan sinut
kavaltajana. Neuvon, ettet puhu omassa nimessäsi. Naamioi siis
itsesi miksi haluat, vaikkapa tuoksi kadonneeksi Florensilaiseksi
sihteeriksi, olkoon hän sitten joukossamme tai vainaiden
valtakunnassa. Puhu, Niccolo Macciavelli! Minä vaikenen, kuuntelen
ja ihmettelen sanojasi ja ehkäpä vielä todistan, että sinulla on aivan
ylenpalttisen rikas mielikuvitus valtiomieheksi. Oo, kyllä arvostelen
sinua, hyvä Niccolo!

Tämä yhä jatkuva päällikön leikillinen sävy loukkasi kansleria ja

hän otti suuttuakseen. — Loppukoon jo pila! Älä alennu näyttelijäksi,
joka esittää kuolemaa isänmaan edestä! Pescara, pyydän sinua
ymmärtämään asian vakavuuden.

— Vakavuuden? No olkoon menneeksi! vastasi päällikkö ja pani

silmänsä umpeen kuten tarkemmin kuullakseen. Silloin säikähti
kansleri hänen laihain kasvojensa tavatonta kalpeutta ja ankaruutta.
Mutta hän piti päänsä.

— Teidän ylhäisyytenne, ei olo vahingoksi asialle se mitä olette

ilmoittaneet keisarille: on hyvä että hän luottaa Teihin niin kauan kuin
mahdollista ja että pidätte luopumuksenne salassa vielä silloinkin
kun jo paavi ja Liiga julistavat manifestinsa. Sillä välin vahvistatte
asemianne ja karsitte joukkojanne.

Pescara rypisti otsaansa.

— Leyva on eroitettava, vaati kansleri.

Pescara laski sormillaan.

— Mitä laskette? kysyi kansleri ihmeissään.

Levollisesti vastasi päällikkö: — Jos Leyva on eroitettava, niin

lienee myös saksalaisten päällikköjeni kuoltava, sillä he ovat
uskollisia keisarille ja valtakunnalle. Heidät on mestattava. Tai
juotanko niille ehkä myrkkyä kekkereissä? Mikähän olisi parasta,
kansleri?

Morone kalpeni.

— Ja miten pääsen eroon espanjalaisista ylimyksistä?

Murhantanko minä heidätkin?

— Kastilialaiset, vastasi Morone jyskivin sydämin, jäävät kai

keisarin puolelle. Toiset Te viettelette äärettömällä saaliilla. Ainakin
nuo Neapelin aragonialaiset suostuvat. Minä tunnen sen rodun, se
on kuin nuo Uuden maailman rosvomaiset sankarit. Ajatelkaas vain
millainen hirviö on esimerkiksi tuo Teidän Del Guastonne!

Pescara ei tenännyt vastaan.

— Alempi väki taas, joka on virtaillut lippujenne alle kaikilta

maailman kulmilta, sen hallitsee horjumaton hengenmahtinne ja
rautainen sotakuri, tietysti muistaen maksaa myös säännöllisesti
palkkaa, johon keisari ei koskaan kyennyt — vaan Teillähän on
hallussanne kaikki Italian aarteet. Ja kun menetätte väkeä, niin voitte
täydentää riviä sveitsiläisillä, jotka pestautuvat kenen palvelukseen
tahansa nyt kun he johdon ja valtioajatuksen puutteessa menettivät
jo saavuttamansa itsenäisen aseman ja ulkopolitikkansa.

— Sääli heitä, virkkoi Pescara itsekseen. — Hän tunsi jonkinlaista

hellyyttä sveitsiläisiä kohtaan, mitkä hän oli voittanut kahdessa
taistelussa ja joita hurjapäitä hän oli Bicoccan luona tuhonnut
kokonaista tuhat erityisen, heidän raivoisaa ryntäystään vastaan
keksityn tykistöjärjestelmän avulla. Hän rakasti tuota urheaa kansaa,
vaikka saikin olla kiitollinen sveitsiläispeitselle Pavian luona
saamastaan haavasta. — Sääli heitä! Mennyttä kalua on
vapautensa, toisti Pescara.

— Teidän hyödyksenne, jatkoi kansleri.

— Valloitanko siis Milanon? lopetti Pescara. — Suunnitelmani on

tehty.

— Eihän Teidän tarvitse sitä valloittaa, herttuahan on jäsenenä

samassa
Liigassa, jonka sotapäällikkö Te olette.

— Aivan niin, kas kuin sen unohdin. Kaikessa tapauksessa tulee

Milanosta sotaliikkeitteni keskusta? Entä sitten?

— Sitten on käskettävissänne hänen pyhyytensä, Venetsian ja

Neapelin joukot puhumattakaan muiden pienempäin valtioiden
väestä.

— Seis, Morone! Neapeli on Espanjan!

 — Neapeliin olette silloin jo lähettäneet varakuninkaaksi
sisarenpoikanne ja hän kukistaa sen julmuudellaan lyhyessä ajassa.

— Varakuninkaaksi? Olenko minä siis Neapelin kuningas?

Milloinka se kruunu tuli päälläni? kysyi Pescara kylmästi.

— Katso, ne siivitetyt jalat, jotka Teille sen tuovat, ovat jo ovienne

vaiheilla, vastasi kansleri punastuen.

Sotapäällikön kylmä ilme lämpeni kuin olisi kasvojaan valaissut

säde, ei kruunusta, vaan saapuvan vaimonsa kirkkaasta läsnäolosta.
— Haaveksi lisää, Morone, sanoi hän.

— Kun kerran Italian yhdistyneet joukot ovat komennettavinanne

ja kun olette valloittamattomassa asemassa, jatkoi kansleri
hämmästyttävän varmasti, niin ei mikään estä Teitä enää tekemästä
tiliä selväksi keisarin kanssa, ehkäpä ilman taisteluakin, sillä vaikka,
ei: koska olette aikanne suurin sotapäällikkö, niin luotatte myös
mieluummin älykkääseen shakkipeliin ja laajoihin strategisiin
laskelmiin kuin noihin yhtäkkisiin ja aina umpimähkäisiin taistelun
ratkaisuihin. Sanon: ehkä ilman verenvuodatusta, sillä keisarin ei ole
kovinkaan helppo saada itselleen uutta sotapäällikköä ja koota
Italiaan toista armeijaa, kun Te joukkoinenne olette hänestä
luopunut. Etenkin kun vielä Ranska ja Englanti hankkivat hänelle
kyllin tekemistä Liigalle annetun lupauksensa mukaan.

— Tunnen sopimuksenne kuningas Fransin kanssa aivan

yksityiskohtaisesti, keskeytti Pescara, mutta en usko siitä olevan
mitään hyötyä. Kuningas nääntyy Espanjassa vankeudessa.
Alkamalla yrityksen hetkenkin liian aikaiseen, pettäisi hän Liigan heti,
mikäli häntä tunnen.
 — Juuri joku päivä sitten, vakuutteli kansleri hullunkurisesti, kirjoitti
kuningatar Louise minulle ja lupasi pysyä liitossa yhtä horjumatonna
kuin siveydessään.

Huoneessa kajahti vihellys… kansleri kuunteli kummastellen. Kai

oli lintu lentänyt visertäen akkunan ohi.

— Vielä on keisarilla muutkin vastuksensa, jatkoi kansleri,

Puolikuu ja
Saksan ruhtinaat.

— Puolikuu, niinpä niin, päätteli sotapäällikkö. — Mutta Saksan

ruhtinaiden ja heidän uuden oppi osakin kanssa voisi keisari helposti
sopia. Vai mitä arvelet, Morone?

Kansleri vastasi mietiskellen: — Niin luulisi, mutta tokko se

sentään käynee päinsä. Keisari tarvitsee kirkkoa raskaan ja synkeän
luonteensa vuoksi, jonka hän on perinyt äidiltään. Tuo uusi usko
vaatii voimakkaampia sieluja.

— Oikeinko sinä käsität näitä asioita? kysyi sotapäällikkö

uteliaana.

— Kuinkas minä, Pescara. — Olen kuten sinä ja me kaikki

muutkin meikäläiset todellisuuden asujan, valon lapsi, joka
antiikisessa viisaudessaan ei kuitenkaan näe muuta kuin harhakuvia
ja varjoja, oman olemuksensa jättiläismäisiä kuvastuksia häilyvissä
usvissa. Vaan nuo ihmiset, jotka rahvaan tavalla uskovat hyvään ja
pahaan, ruumiiseen ja sieluun ja viimeisen tuomion tarinaan, ne
taistelevat nyt, kuten tiedät, leppymättömästi siitä, miten on paras
varustautua mylvähtelevän pasuunapäivän varalle. Viisas kirkkomme
avaa myymälän ja tarjoo suuren varastonsa oivallisia valmisteita
kaupaksi. Mutta saksalainen munkki tiuskii ja huutaa: "Tavara on
roskaa! Älkää tuhlatko rahaanne tyhjään! Saatte sellaista ilmaiseksi!
Syntivelkanne on maksettu. Uskokaa vain, niin sitä ei ole olemassa!"
— Mutta moisen uskominen vaatii suurta uskallusta, sillä se on
uskomattomista kaikkein uskomattominta. Mutta kun saksalaiset
kerran saavat tuon uskon päähänsä, eivät he enää tarvitse mitään
papillista ja he ovat itsepäisessä varmuudessaan valtavasti
voimakkaammat kuin me uskottomat tai taikauskoiset italialaiset.

Puhun ehkä törkeästi. Mutta nämä itsessään mitättömät kuvittelijat

muuttuvat nyt elämän vaikuttavimmiksi voimiksi, joita ei ainakaan
valtiomiehen ole halveksittava. Ei etenkään sinun, Pescara, jolla on
suuri tehtävä edessäsi, vaikka luullakseni oletkin jumalaton. —
Sotapäällikkö ei hymyillyt.

— Taisit vähän erehtyä kansleri, vastasi Pescara totisesti: —

Uskon minä johonkin jumaluuteen, enkä lainkaan kuvitteluun. Vaan
muissa väitteissäsi olet oikeassa. Näin sen kerran todeksi omin
silmin. Taisteluni iltana, — hän tarkoitti Pavian taistelua — näin
sairaalassa kahden sangen rikoksellisen miehen olevan
kuolemaisillaan. Toinen oli espanjalainen, toinen saksalainen.
Edellämainittu vapisi ja värisi pyhäin jäännösten turvissa ja kahden
papin käsissä, saksalainen oli yksin, mutta aivan luottavaisena ja
iloisena. Puhelin hänen kanssaan, sillä osaan vähän saksaa, ja hän
väitti uskovansa ja luottavansa kuin katuvainen ryöväri. Vaan
jättäkäämme nyt nämä sieluntutkimukset. Jatka asiaasi, sillä enpä
luule sinun vielä saaneen suutasi puhtaaksi.

— En sanonutkaan, Pescara. — Vasta sitten kun miekalla tai

viisaalla sopimuksella olet lyönyt keisarin laudalta, vasta sitten lasket
perustuksen omalle suuruudellesi ja Italian vapaudelle. Edessäsi on