Love Is A Different Currency

The first time I met Nico Griffin, he had just become Don of the Griffin family.

The only tenderness he ever showed was in those drunken moments when he’d whisper that the family crest tattooed over his heart was etched there just for me.

Later, his power grew immense, and he entrusted me with half of New York's illegal operations.

Everyone in the underworld knew that I, Anya Volkov, was Don Griffin’s most trusted partner.

Until today, when his mistress, a gallery assistant, finally made her grand entrance.

At Sunday dinner, a sacred family tradition, she stood there flaunting her belly and smiled. "Miss Volkov, are you going to leave with your dignity intact, or should I wait until after my son—the sole heir to the Griffin family—is born to have you thrown out?"

I simply raised a hand and ordered my Russian bodyguard, "Help her relax."

When Nico saw the pool of blood spreading beneath her, his fury erupted.

He pressed a family heirloom dagger to my neck and roared, "Anya, how dare you!"

I gave a low laugh, pressing the muzzle of my gun against his heart.

"You crave peace, but my nature is to conquer."

Bang!

A gunshot rang out.

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1

The one who fell was Nico's Consigliere, Silvio Ricci. The bullet had pierced his palm.

"All this for her? A cheap copy of me that Marco handpicked for you?" I scoffed, my eyes flicking down to the ornate dagger at my throat. "What's the matter, hesitating? Nico, you were never this hesitant. Why are your hands trembling now?"

The mockery in my eyes was a clear sting. In the taut silence, he broke first.

He withdrew the dagger and returned to his seat at the head of the table.

"Silvio is my Consigliere. He's been with me for ten years. You've gone too far, Anya."

A thin smile played on my lips as I gestured for my men to drag the screaming Silvio out. "He isn't you. You're the only one I show any weakness for."

Nico looked at me, his expression a complex mask. "I want Bianca to stay. I'm tired of this life of violence and betrayal. To me, Bianca is a window, a breath of fresh air in all the bloodshed. She makes me feel like I could be a normal person."

I didn’t answer, instead lighting a slim cigarette. Through a veil of smoke, I spoke. "Normal? Nico, have you told her how much blood is on your hands? How many millions in illicit crypto you have? Or about the enemies who could be at your door any second? Dragging an ordinary person like her into this world is the same as killing her with your own hands."

Nico’s brow furrowed. "Anya, I'm not asking for your permission. I'm informing you." He rose, disappeared into the antechamber, and returned carrying Bianca Fiore, the bleeding from her wound now staunched. In the flickering candlelight, her pale, unconscious face was a mirror of my own at her age.

"Behave yourself and play the part of my Donna. This is my final warning. If you dare lay a finger on Bianca again, there will be hell to pay."

Nico left with his men. A gust of wind from the open door extinguished the cigarette between my fingers. Dmitri Orlov stepped out of the shadows behind me and relit it.

He asked in a low voice, "The gun wasn't aimed at his heart. Did you go soft?"

I blew a perfect smoke ring. "Soft? I never intended to kill him. A single bullet is too clean for Nico. I want the keys to every crypto wallet, every node in his money-laundering network, and every inch of territory he calls his own. Why would I let him die so easily?"

The initial disappointment in Dmitri's eyes sharpened into fervent adoration, but he still asked a foolish question. "Don't you love him?"

A decade of memories flickered and died, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness.