Chapter 27
SASHA
The pub smells like wet wool and whiskey. O’Riada’s has always been that sort of place—cigarette-smoke-tinged oak walls, a low fire crackling in the grate, daylight filtering through frosted glass.
I’m not here for a pint and some cottage pie—I’m here to meet Ruth.
The bartender looks up at me as I step into the dimly lit place, shrugging the dusting of snow from my coat. He doesn’t ask what I’ll be having—he knows who I am.
“Ruth’s expecting me,” I say. I cast a glance down the bar. A couple of regulars are there with pints of dark beer and plates of food in front of them. Cheerful Irish drinking music plays low on the speakers.
He jerks a thumb toward the backroom. “She’s in the snug. And no steel.” He flicks his eyes to my blazer, the exact spot where I keep my sidearm.
“I’m not here for any of that,” I say. “And I’m not disarming myself.”
“Sorry, Mr. Orlov—you know the house rules. No one brings arms into a private meeting. Been that way since this place opened.”
The Irish and their traditions. It’s not worth a fight. I reach into my jacket and take out my Glock, setting it on the bar. The bartender quickly takes it into hand, stashing it under the bar.
“I’ll keep it safe.”
The clock over the bar reads 10:58—late enough for whiskey, early enough for a day that could go in any possible direction. I step around the bar, noting the hulking men here and there, doing poor jobs of looking like inconspicuous patrons.
Ruth never travels anywhere unchaperoned, except for in my offices; no goons allowed there.
I consider our alliance as I make my way down the hall to the snug.
Alliances are like any other thing—they’re born, they die.
And I have a feeling the alliance with the O’Donnells is inching its way closer to death, which is the purpose of this meeting.
Things have been tense between the Orlovs and the O’Donnells since the meeting with Ruth in my office.
Part of me wonders if Ruth is thinking the cold war with the Morozovs is about to get hot again and is wondering what her move in that scenario would be.
Another guard stands by the entrance to the snug, sweeping his hand toward the entrance.
Ruth is seated in a plush chair by the fire, red lipstick contrasting with her pale skin.
One leg is crossed over the other, a glass of whiskey close at hand.
She’s dressed more casually today, patterned slacks and a white blouse, her hair slicked back and tucked behind her ears.
At the office, she’d been dressed for seduction. Now she’s dressed for hard business.
Her eyes flick to me as I enter. She doesn’t stand. “Sasha.”
“Ruth.” I slide into the chair opposite her, keeping my hands visible.
“So,” she says, her posture poised and professional. “You called this meeting. What’s the occasion?”
“I’m here to regulate our interests. Keep the peace. Let the people who rely on us know they can look forward to another year of safety and payment.”
She tilts her head to the side. “Interesting words for a man who was, only a short time ago, ready to throw our alliance on the fire for the crime of a few insults toward an employee.”
“You came into my territory and insulted my woman. You think that didn’t require some pushback? Not a chance in hell I’m going to let you pull a stunt like that, alliance or not.”
“And what’s the reason for the change of heart? We haven’t talked since then.”
“You tested me, I pushed back, you didn’t amplify matters. Seems like we’re back to status quo.”
She arches an eyebrow. “Is that what you think? Word on the street is you’re planning some moves that might get you on Peter’s bad side. His very bad side.”
It’s not ideal that word of the merger is making the rounds through Chicago. But this was to be expected. Part of the plan was solidifying the merger before the news officially broke.
“So,” she continues, “it sounds to me like you now want me on your side, in case Peter decides to escalate.”
“If my plans go through, I’ll be the only game in town. And you can be a part of that. Your choice is this—be a thorn in my side or work with me and get even richer.”
She lifts her drink, taking a single small sip. “Word on the street is that your priorities might not be all business anymore.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you knocked up your chubby little assistant.”
I narrow my eyes. “You won’t speak of her that way.”
“Or what?”
Part of me wants to tell her to fuck right off. I push that urge to the side. If this merger goes through, Ruth will be forced to either work with me or be so diminished that I won’t even have to think about her. No sense in blowing our relationship up just yet.
“I’m here with peaceful intentions,” I say. “But if you continue to insult her…”
“Fine, fine.” She sips her whiskey, then sets it down in a prim, composed manner that suggests she feels she’s got me right where she wants me.
“Here’s the deal, Orlov. I’m not interested in any pact.
There’s too much heat around you right now, not to mention the fact that your decision-making abilities are questionable. ”
“Questionable?” The word comes out in a growl.
“That’s right. You’re telling me you’re going to be in a position to make the cool-headed decisions you’ll need to make when you’ve got a little pregnant wife, or girlfriend, or whatever the hell she is, back at that penthouse of yours?
” She leans forward. “Not a chance. You’ll melt the second she whimpers. ”
I want to tear into her, tell her she’s full of shit. But I don’t.
“Peter’s going to be making some moves. I can feel it. And who knows? Maybe he’ll show why he’s managed to survive in this world of ours for so long.”
“So you’re going to sit on the sidelines and wait to see which of us looks like the stronger horse to back.”
She shrugs. “Can you blame me? I’ve got an organization to look after. People count on me, you know.”
I snort. “You think I’ll want to work with you after that kind of display?”
Ruth smiles, as if that were just what she’d been waiting for me to say.
“You’re not going to have a choice, love.
If the Morozovs go down, that’s a huge vacuum that needs to be filled.
And you’re not going to get it all. Even if my family controls only 30 percent of the illicit goings-on of this city, that’s more than enough for you to come to the table.
May take you a while, but you’ll swallow your pride and sit down with me. ”
“So after everything’s said and done, you’re nothing more than a profiteer.”
“Call it whatever you like, darling. But I intend to still be standing when this war ends. And even richer than I already am.”
I’ve heard enough. I stand. Ruth stays seated, looking up like a queen in her throne.
I button my coat. “You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life.”
A small, amused smirk forms on her lips. “From where I’m seated, I’m not the one who made the mistake. Enjoy fatherhood, Sasha.”
Anger surges through me. If I stay any longer, I’ll do something I’ll regret.
Watching the fire spitting behind her, I turn and leave the snug.
On the way out, I signal to the bartender for a shot of something stiff, tossing it back the second I get it and handing him $100.
I don’t ask for change. He hands me my gun.
The alley behind O’Riada’s is a narrow throat of brick and steam.
White powder drifts down from the solid gray sky above.
The river wind cuts through, sharp with salt and exhaust. I spot Bogdan’s silhouette as he waits beside the car, coat collar up, one hand tucked into his pocket.
He’s not wearing his usual sunglasses, but his black beanie is pulled down so low, it nearly covers his eyes.
Moments later, I’m in the back of the car.
“Irish are out.”
He guns the engine, pulling us onto the road. “Just like that? She said those words?”
“Not quite. But she proved herself unreliable. And I’m not in the mood to play her games.”
The heater hums, fogging the windows. I have a good sense of what Bogdan’s thinking. And I don’t like it.
“You might have to tell him.”
The words hit like gunshots. “No.”
“It protects her. It might even stop this war before it starts.”
“Only to set up another one in the offing. Not a chance.”
Bogdan flicks on the wipers. They squeak across the windshield, leaving wet streaks of snow. “Peter won’t touch his own blood. Old codes still mean something, even to men like him.”
“That’s quite the bet to make. Could be that I tell him, he realizes he has another angle from which to attack. And he’ll pull her right into the middle of everything. Right now, at least she’s on the periphery of the war.”
“But if he finds out, and realizes you already knew…”
He makes a damn good point. I don’t even want to consider it. If she learned the truth, that would mean she’d learn everything. She’d learn how I’ve watched her, how I’ve tied her life to mine before she even knew my name. But if Peter learns before I tell her…
We stop at a red light, the heater clicking louder than it should.
“No. We hold our ground. Johan’s softened up, ready to sign on the dotted line. Number one priority is getting this merger in motion. The truth coming out at the wrong time could jeopardize everything.”
The light turns green. Bogdan pushes through the intersection. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I slip it out. It’s Johan.
Still reviewing. EOD tomorrow, we talk.
A good sign.
“Now this risks sounding dangerously close to me talking out of turn,” Bogdan says, “but telling her the truth could go a long way toward acclimating her to both her current situation and you.”
“That, or she heads over to the west wing, finds a gun she feels comfortable handling, and puts a couple of rounds in my head while I’m sleeping.”
“She’ll learn eventually,” Bogdan says. “Right now, you have control over when it happens. But that control won’t last forever. Just something to think about.”
Bogdan’s my most trusted advisor. And like any good advisor, he doesn’t shy away from difficult truths.
This is most certainly one of them. Gabriella’s the mother of my children.
She’s not going anywhere. Or could she? An idea forms in my mind’s eye.
I imagine setting up a trust with more money than she’d ever need, buying her an apartment in London or Paris—someplace far from here.
I start a new life for her and the children, watching from afar and making sure they’re safe and provided for.
I wouldn’t be a part of their lives, but they’d be safe.
The idea quickly curdles. Perhaps it’s the most pragmatic plan.
But it hurts to consider in a way I’ve never experienced before.
The babies aren’t even in their second trimester, and already the idea of never seeing them, never holding them, is enough to make my heart feel like it’s being pricked by a thousand needles.
Ruth said I was getting sentimental. Maybe she’s right.
A gust rattles the car, shaking loose a few flakes from the windshield wipers.
The world suddenly feels too small. I may very well acquire Dandelion, but there’s bad news along with the good.
The Irish alliance is all but broken. Peter is circling—my meeting with him the other night made it clear he’s thinking more about war than an early retirement.
I slip my hands into my coat pockets, and my left thumb catches on a tear in the lining—a tiny rip, threadbare from years of use. The sort of flaw you don’t notice until the cold finds its way through.
“What now?” Bogdan asks.
“We endure. As we’ve always done.”
My mind flits back to the other night, the night when I had the fight with Gabriella, when I let my anger get the better of me and hurled the glass against the wall. The fear in her eyes, and the realization that the fear was of me, is not something I’ll soon forget.
My duty is to protect her. And if I’m going to fulfill that duty, she can’t think me a monster.
Hard times are coming. Their approach is like a dull ache in my bones.
Gabriella needs to learn to trust me as her protector, and I need to earn that trust.
Because I have a damn good feeling she’s going to need all the protection I can muster in the days ahead.