Chapter 64 The Red Wolf – Koen
THE RED WOLF
KOEN
I walk back into Obsidian, and the mood is tense. It’s just Mac and I. Aidan and Liam have a Breakers game this afternoon, and Alex, Garrett, and Jerrad are still combing the streets of New York, trying to track down my sister, who’s still in the wind after running away last week.
New York was Reagan’s last pinged location before she disabled the tracker I use to keep tabs on her.
Honestly, New York makes sense. She wants to vanish, and in a big city like that, it’s the equivalent of searching for a needle in a haystack.
She texted her apologies, citing her need for space, and dipped. But the longer she’s out there on her own, the more danger she’s in. And even though searching for her is spreading the Irish thin, family is more important.
Jace is on Briar duty. She had rehearsal all day for the showcase, and either way, after what Niko said, I don’t want her anywhere near the Volkov. We already know they’re funding Giovanni’s little sex trafficking organization, but to what end, I’m not yet sure.
I don’t owe the Volkov shit; they are Nikolai’s problem. They don’t have a stake in Boston yet, but their influence in the recent trafficking ring could signal a newfound interest. The Volkov primarily run Russia, though their reach and influence stretches far across the ocean to the States.
The Bratva is more structured than the Irish Mob as a whole. Though, still not anywhere near as organized as the Italians. Where each Irish mob organization is its own entity, the Bratva has higher-ups they answer to.
Each Bratva organization answers to its own Pakhan, like Nikolai Kostalov in the Boston Bratva, or Andrei Vasilyev in New York. All of those different organizations bow to the Volkov back in Russia. A vast organization run by Pakhan Oleg Volkov.
Ronan Volkov is the third son of Oleg. His older brother Maksim will inherit that throne, but Ronan… Ronan is their reaper. Judge, jury, and executioner.
Krasnyy volk. The red wolf.
I’m anxious to get this meeting over with.
While I trust Jace, I haven’t seen Briar since yesterday afternoon.
The Devils have a big shipment arriving tonight that cannot go wrong.
I spent all day yesterday prepping and readying everything, and I personally vetted all the men working the shipment to ensure no leaks.
Liam and Mac will be on site tonight to make sure all goes smoothly. I would join them, but I have other plans. I trust they can keep it locked down.
Tonight, I’m taking Briar out to dinner. Just the two of us. Tonight, I make her mine. She’s already mine. She’s always been mine. But after tonight, everyone else will know it too.
I stalk through the club, meeting Niko outside of the private room we met him in a few days back. He gives me a stiff nod of acknowledgement, which I return.
“Weapons.”
Silently, I hand over the two guns I have on my person, along with the knife at my belt—and the one tucked into my ankle, after Niko gives me a hard look when I try to get away with keeping it.
“He’s already here,” the Bratva Pakhan informs me, and I nod again, indicating for Mac to wait here before I head inside.
Ronan is standing near the middle of the room, a lit cigarette in his hand.
I’ve never met him in person, but his reputation precedes him.
He’s around my age and looks every bit as deadly as the rumors suggest he is.
His features are sharp, unforgiving, like he’d been carved from stone.
The pale blue eyes glinting in the low light are a sharp contrast to his inky black hair, slicked back neatly atop his head.
He’s sharply dressed—in a suit, all black. All clean lines and expensive taste, and not a drop of ink in sight.
I take a few steps into the room, letting the door close behind me before greeting him.
“Volkov.”
I don’t sit.
And neither does he. Ronan doesn’t answer me either, just stands there, all predatory, sizing me up.
The way he moves is quiet, deliberate, controlled, and immediately I can tell the most dangerous part about him is his mind.
He keeps his eyes on me as he brings his cigarette up to his mouth and takes a drag.
“O’Rourke.”
I’ve been around a lot of bad men in my life, the worst of the worst, but something about Ronan just doesn’t sit right with me.
There’s a wrongness that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.
His eyes are cold and there’s a deadness to them.
They’re light, yet full of darkness—empty, like there’s no soul behind them.
I fold my arms across my chest and wait. He called this meeting, after all.
“You killed my men.”
“Aye,” I say, with a dip of my chin. I did, a few weeks ago, when his men were terrorizing the Kostalov estate, threatening Aidan’s soon-to-be wife, so I did what needed to be done.
Ronan has no reaction, though I think I see his jaw clench. “They were good men.”
I can’t help but scoff, “Not what I hear.” Ronan’s dead expression flames suddenly into a glare. But considering that Aidan killed one of Ronan’s men after he tried to assault Rory, I respectfully disagree with that statement.
Ronan stares at me for a long moment, the silence thick between us, his expression unchanging. “Where is your pretty little pet tonight?”
I try not to react, pulling my phone out of my pocket to check the time, acting bored with the conversation. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
Ronan’s mouth twitches. “Somewhere else to be?”
“Yes, actually. I’m a busy man,” I say, staring him down. “Get to the point, Volkov. What is it that you want?”
“You should have stayed in your own lane, Rí.” My eyes narrow when he uses my nickname.
“You stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong, and now Moscow wants you dead for what you’ve done.
” He inhales the last of his cigarette, flicking away the embers before dropping the butt into the ashtray sitting atop the table between us.
I keep the same cool, indifferent expression on my face.
“Okay,” I reply calmly, because someone wanting me dead isn’t out of the ordinary day-to-day, but the threat from the Volkov is certainly one we need to take seriously.
“And what do you want?” I tilt my head to study him, because Niko had warned me; this is personal for Ronan, but what I can’t figure out is why?
Men die in this dark world we’ve built every day. It was a risk all of us knew going in.
“I want your death.” He glares at me, the flames in his pale eyes turning to ice. “But I want your death to be a mercy, after I take everything else from you first.”
“The last thing this city needs is a war, Ronan,” I warn. If the Volkov come for Boston, we’ll have to throw everything we have at them to stand a chance. That tentative alliance between the Irish, the Boston Bratva, and the Italians will be put to the test.
“Make no mistake, Rí, this isn’t a war.” He uses the name again, and I clench my jaw.
His hands slide into his pockets, and he looks down at me.
He’s taller, nearly the same height as Liam, who’s around six five.
“This is a consequence.” He pauses, his eyes gleaming with veiled amusement. “Tell me, how is your family?”
I stiffen, despite myself, and my hand twitches for the gun I don’t have at my belt.
“Don’t go there, Ronan,” I warn him, my eyes impossibly dark.
“Whatever this is, it’s between you and me.
Family is off limits, you know that.” It’s an unspoken rule in this world, but the one most frequently broken.
Ronan’s eyes gleam. “Such loyalty,” he purrs, and my fists tighten. “You should be careful who you let close, and beware the snake in the grass.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He doesn’t answer me, just walks past, headed for the door, but pauses before he reaches it, looking back over his shoulder.
“Enjoy what you can, Irish King, because I’m going to burn your kingdom to the ground, and the only thing you’re going to be able to do is watch.”