Gioulio's face darkened. He shook his head, like I'd just smashed one of the regal portraits of our ancestors at his city estate.
“The problem isn't the Russian behind bars. He's got two brothers walking free. They're all very much alive and active, I'm sorry to say. Tell me, Brina, what do you think would happen if he found out who you are? Hm?”
I swallowed. He had me. Nothing good.
“That's right,” my uncle whispered, standing up. “I get it. You're young. Hungry to make a name for yourself. Maybe do something that'll get this family some positive buzz in the press, outside the trendy reviews section, I mean.”
Our clubs always got glowing reviews. I wasn't sure if he bribed them, or if the quality was really just better than everybody else's. It almost made up for the odd story that slipped out about our mafia doings.
He crossed the room and kneeled. He grabbed one hand with both of his, held it. I couldn't suppress the shudder. He was so damned cold, his fingers like stubby icicles.
“You got your interview, my niece. Two of them, and that's plenty. No more followup. Visiting him twice was dangerous and stupid,” he said coldly, pinching my fingers in his. “This will be a one off, an exclusive, whatever the fuck you call it in your business. And if you ever decide to have talks with an Ivankov associate again, you'll come to me first. I'm not going to treat you like a kid, Brina. You're a mature, beautiful woman now. But I'm not going to be the idiot responsible for something bad happening to you while you're young and stupid. I promised Gio I wouldn't let that shit happen, and I'm sticking to it.”
I turned my face away. Hearing him talk about my father hit me harder than it should in this state. The alcohol numbed everything else, but not this, apparently.
“Uncle, don't.” I extracted my hand from his, warming it in my other palm.
“I won't, Brina. I don't need to. I know you understand, don't you?”
It took me a good ten seconds to meet his eyes. Finally, I nodded.
The glacial frown on his face thawed, and broke into a smile. His small, too perfect white teeth glistened in the dim light.
“Magnifico! There's my good girl.” He reached around me, pulled me out of my seat, and held me tight. “Stay away from the Silver Pear for awhile. Don't let an Ivankov poison your good mind, Brina. Drink some water. Get some sleep. I'll have Silvano take you home. He's waiting for you outside.”
His grip was cold, but it was reassuring after the day I'd had. What could I say?
I wasn't making promises I had no intention of keeping. I hated being looked after like a kid, but I couldn't deny his intentions were good. Uncle Gioulio was more experienced, a man who'd spent his whole life precariously perched between two worlds, criminal and civil.
“Thanks, Uncle.” I gave him one more squeeze and then headed out to the sleek black sedan with the chauffeur out front.
When I looked through the Silver Pear's glass just before the car pulled away, he was still standing there, thumbing his knife's handle. The big flat blade tapped on his thigh the same way an angry cat thumps its tail.
I took my vitamin and guzzled several big glasses of water before I collapsed in a long, dreamless sleep. Richard's call woke me the next day way too early.
The hangover almost killed me when I sat up, but I managed to reach the phone. “Hello?”
“Brina, baby, this is fucking gold! And it's going live today.”
Mission accomplished. So then, why did that make me feel so nauseous?
“I'm glad you like it. He said something about a followup on my way out, right after the part where he scared the hell out of me.”
Richard laughed. Easy for him to chuckle when I'd done the hard part, feeding content to his fifty million daily viewers while he hadn't done an interview himself in the past decade. And never one with a savage creep like Ivankov.
I shouldn't have said anything about the followup, my last heart pounding moment with Anton. Richard said the dreaded words.
“We'll make this a three parter!”
Fuckity-fuck. That headache rumbling in my head growled louder. “I don't know. Are you sure people really want that much on the Chicago bomber? I didn't know the appetite was so strong.”
“What? You kidding?” He sounded like I'd just spoken complete gibberish. “I've been in this business a long time, Brina. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the people love freaks. They want their killers, psychos, and terrorists up close and personal. Candid or off-the-walls crazy, it's all good. It's our job to keep the carnival running as long as possible.”
“Okay. One more interview,” I snapped. “Next week. Then that's it.”
He paused. “Brina, what's going on? You sound stressed.”