Dark Soul Vol. 1 by Aleksandr Voinov Read Free Book Online Page A

think she’ll win.”
    Falchi laughed. “They always do, Stefano. They always do.”
    The tension dropped a notch. Stefano felt it physically, as though the electric resistance of his skin had changed. He managed to remember putting milk and sugar in his coffee. Strong—eye-wateringly strong compared to what he drank at the coffee chains at home. Stirring, he grinned, thinking fondly that Donata would have broken through Falchi’s armor faster than him. Or was that what the man wanted him to think?
    “I don’t envy you young people. All that stress and exertion, when life is such a struggle and so many things are at risk.”
    Falchi’s eyes strayed away from him, and Stefano half-turned in his seat to follow the man’s gaze.
    Silvio made an entrance wearing almost nothing, though a black Speedo probably counted as clothes near the pool. Stefano hadn’t seen him properly naked, had only been able to guess, but this was almost like he’d imagined. All lean, deadly muscle and definition, with a V-shape that saved him from looking too feminine—at least when he was almost naked. Again Stefano noted no hair on Silvio’s legs or chest. Or anywhere on his body, really. Like a fashion model, but for the two words tattooed over his heart. Anima nera. Black soul.
    Or the round gunshot scar just above the Speedo.
    Stefano schooled his features; too much depended on Falchi not knowing what he was thinking or how that body fired up his imagination. Few men did that to him, and none as badly as Silvio. He could ignore it with everybody else. But Silvio got into every cell of his body and left him breathless with possibilities. With danger.
    Silvio drew near and stood behind Falchi, almost brushing the man with his groin and abs. “Want me to breakfast with you, or can I go swimming?”
    Falchi shrugged. “We’re just chatting.”
    Silvio stepped forward, between them, to snatch a croissant from the silver bowl, then pulled it apart in his long fingers. Stefano’s pants tightened, and he looked elsewhere. Elsewhere, he noticed with a hint of belated panic, being the bulge in Silvio’s Speedo. God help him.
    “Call me if you need me.” Silvio pushed the other half of the croissant in his mouth and walked off.
    “I assume he meant to show you he’s not carrying a gun.” Falchi’s eyes sparkled. “Or what do you youngsters call it? Not ‘packing heat.’”
    Oh, Silvio sure was packing . “That sounds like a gangster movie. No, I wasn’t worried about that. After all, I’m here to ask for help.”
    “Yes, I was wondering about that. Why would a young boss visit an old bore when he’s clearly a busy, much-wanted man. Hardly to escape a wife’s extended shopping trip.”
    Much-wanted. What if Falchi already knew how all of this would play out? He might not have been paying much attention to the American side of things recently, but he surely wasn’t stabbing into the dark. As it were. “I’ve recently been on the defensive with regards to my . . . interests.” And wasn’t that the truth in several ways.
    Falchi didn’t look surprised. “What are you going to do about the Russians?”
    “Well, they are attempting to strangle the lifeblood from my own operation. When companies I own outright are approached for protection money, we’ve reached the tipping point.”
    “Feckless foreigners.” Falchi spooned more fruit salad onto his plate. “You could team up with other families.”
    “No. If I go asking for help, I’d be the junior partner in any alliance I could make. I need help from the outside.”
    Falchi lifted an eyebrow. “Like advice on how to beat them?”
    “And maybe contacts who’d help without taking the rest of what I own: Unattached outsiders with no interest in usurping my position. People who will leave afterward.”
    “The trouble with the so-called ‘Eastern Mafia,’” Falchi scoffed, “is that they only understand one language. You have to be more brutal and cunning than them.