outside the elaborate iron gate. A buzzer sounded. Vincente pushed open the gate. They moved into the cool entry.
The burly man who’d delivered the papers to Lorenzo last night opened the front door and stepped aside without a word. The house smelled of tobacco, newsprint, and sugar. An older maid bustled by with a coffee service tray balanced in her meaty hands. She smiled at Grandpop.
“ Ciao , Signore DeGrazia.” Her Russian accent made the lyrical Italian sound clipped.
“ Ciao, bella .” Grandpop flashed her a smile.
She giggled. Lorenzo shook his head at the same time Vincente did. Grandpop’s way with women approached legendary.
She dipped her head and led them down the hall into a back room. Volkov sat stuffed in a rounded chair behind a large desk covered with papers and magazines. The maid set the tray on a side table.
“ Khoroso .” Volkov rubbed his hands together. The maid poured coffee. “Good morning, Vittorio. To what do I owe this honor?”
“Uri, you’re looking well.” Grandpop slid into a leather wing chair and steepled his hands. He waved at Lorenzo. “We’ve brought you a little treat from D’Angelo’s.”
Lorenzo handed Volkov the bag. The old man smiled and delved into the bag, pulling out a cookie. He bit into it, chewed, and sighed in satisfaction. “If I weren’t already married, I’d have snapped up that Celeste D’Angelo before your brother. She bakes the confections of heaven. Coffee?” He sipped from his tiny cup.
Vincente and Lorenzo declined, but Grandpop accepted. The maid left the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Sympathies for your father, Lorenzo.” Volkov brushed cookie crumbs from his hands.
Lorenzo nodded. His chest tightened. This man might look comical, but he was as ruthless and violent as his father had been, or so Lorenzo had been told.
“Let’s not pretend, Uri.” Grandpop pointed his hands forward. “Vincenzo Calabra was a bastard. No good to any of us.”
“He served a time or two. Got favors out of me.” He stared at Lorenzo. “I can’t say I liked him.” Volkov shrugged. “I made a promise.”
“The man blackmailed his own son.” Grandpop made a spitting sound. “Lorenzo wants out.”
Volkov narrowed his eyes at Lorenzo. Lorenzo didn’t move, barely even blinked.
“This arrangement works fine for me.” Volkov crossed his arms onto his protruding stomach.
“I have a better proposal.” Grandpop leaned forward. “Lorenzo gives you the clubs, you give him his father’s papers.” Grandpop’s tone was confidential, confident. He sat back with a shrug. “And you’d have my gratitude.”
Uri leaned his elbows on the desk. “How do I know Lorenzo won’t change his mind and make unnecessary trouble?” Volkov’s voice was thick with suspicion.
“There’s a woman.” Grandpop twisted his wedding ring.
Lorenzo clenched his jaw. Grandpop was not going there.
Volkov chuckled. “With Lorenzo, there are many women.”
“No more.” Grandpop made it sound final. “This one—the face of an angel, innocent, and bakes like…her mocha cake is…” Grandpop kissed his fingers.
That was Lita, almost—she was more, more than Lorenzo had fantasized.
Volkov wiped a finger around his mouth. “Both the clubs. Plus his father’s little house in the Marina. And cake from this divine woman.”
“My lawyer will draw up the papers. He’ll have them to you tomorrow morning.” Grandpop rose and held out his hand.
Volkov nodded and shook Grandpop’s hand. “Glad to put the devil’s work behind.” He shook Lorenzo’s hand. “You bring that young woman with her cake when we sign, Lorenzo.”
“I—” Lorenzo didn’t want Lita here.
“We’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.” Grandpop gripped Lorenzo’s arm. “Always a pleasure, Uri.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Volkov said through a bite of cookie.
Lorenzo walked out, flanked by Grandpop and Vincente. Vincente clapped him on the back. “Who’s this
The burly man who’d delivered the papers to Lorenzo last night opened the front door and stepped aside without a word. The house smelled of tobacco, newsprint, and sugar. An older maid bustled by with a coffee service tray balanced in her meaty hands. She smiled at Grandpop.
“ Ciao , Signore DeGrazia.” Her Russian accent made the lyrical Italian sound clipped.
“ Ciao, bella .” Grandpop flashed her a smile.
She giggled. Lorenzo shook his head at the same time Vincente did. Grandpop’s way with women approached legendary.
She dipped her head and led them down the hall into a back room. Volkov sat stuffed in a rounded chair behind a large desk covered with papers and magazines. The maid set the tray on a side table.
“ Khoroso .” Volkov rubbed his hands together. The maid poured coffee. “Good morning, Vittorio. To what do I owe this honor?”
“Uri, you’re looking well.” Grandpop slid into a leather wing chair and steepled his hands. He waved at Lorenzo. “We’ve brought you a little treat from D’Angelo’s.”
Lorenzo handed Volkov the bag. The old man smiled and delved into the bag, pulling out a cookie. He bit into it, chewed, and sighed in satisfaction. “If I weren’t already married, I’d have snapped up that Celeste D’Angelo before your brother. She bakes the confections of heaven. Coffee?” He sipped from his tiny cup.
Vincente and Lorenzo declined, but Grandpop accepted. The maid left the room, shutting the door behind her.
“Sympathies for your father, Lorenzo.” Volkov brushed cookie crumbs from his hands.
Lorenzo nodded. His chest tightened. This man might look comical, but he was as ruthless and violent as his father had been, or so Lorenzo had been told.
“Let’s not pretend, Uri.” Grandpop pointed his hands forward. “Vincenzo Calabra was a bastard. No good to any of us.”
“He served a time or two. Got favors out of me.” He stared at Lorenzo. “I can’t say I liked him.” Volkov shrugged. “I made a promise.”
“The man blackmailed his own son.” Grandpop made a spitting sound. “Lorenzo wants out.”
Volkov narrowed his eyes at Lorenzo. Lorenzo didn’t move, barely even blinked.
“This arrangement works fine for me.” Volkov crossed his arms onto his protruding stomach.
“I have a better proposal.” Grandpop leaned forward. “Lorenzo gives you the clubs, you give him his father’s papers.” Grandpop’s tone was confidential, confident. He sat back with a shrug. “And you’d have my gratitude.”
Uri leaned his elbows on the desk. “How do I know Lorenzo won’t change his mind and make unnecessary trouble?” Volkov’s voice was thick with suspicion.
“There’s a woman.” Grandpop twisted his wedding ring.
Lorenzo clenched his jaw. Grandpop was not going there.
Volkov chuckled. “With Lorenzo, there are many women.”
“No more.” Grandpop made it sound final. “This one—the face of an angel, innocent, and bakes like…her mocha cake is…” Grandpop kissed his fingers.
That was Lita, almost—she was more, more than Lorenzo had fantasized.
Volkov wiped a finger around his mouth. “Both the clubs. Plus his father’s little house in the Marina. And cake from this divine woman.”
“My lawyer will draw up the papers. He’ll have them to you tomorrow morning.” Grandpop rose and held out his hand.
Volkov nodded and shook Grandpop’s hand. “Glad to put the devil’s work behind.” He shook Lorenzo’s hand. “You bring that young woman with her cake when we sign, Lorenzo.”
“I—” Lorenzo didn’t want Lita here.
“We’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.” Grandpop gripped Lorenzo’s arm. “Always a pleasure, Uri.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Volkov said through a bite of cookie.
Lorenzo walked out, flanked by Grandpop and Vincente. Vincente clapped him on the back. “Who’s this
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