25. Cora
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
cora
My wedding night was illuminating. I hadn’t known what to expect, but if someone had told me that I would feel like I was unraveling into the universe as my husband gathered me back up in pieces and put me back together, I would have told them that they were crazy.
I still didn’t know anything about him — the details of his life, but I had explored as much of his body as he had allowed. He was tattooed across his back and front, but most intriguing were his scars, which crisscrossed his back. I’d wanted to ask what they were from but was afraid it was too soon.
The opportunity to watch him work was too good to pass up. Not to mention, I wanted to establish early where I would stand in our relationship. I didn’t want to be a woman who was left behind, so I was glad he’d conceded, even though I could tell he hadn’t wanted to bring me. I promised myself the whole car ride that I’d behave.
The smoke had been visible from blocks away, rising above the frozen city in puffs like a ghostly mirage.
I assumed it was a property that Maxim owned with his business, so I was surprised to see Angelo here. I understood on some levels what kind of business Maxim did, but what confused me was how it meshed with my brother’s and how that intermingled with Angelo’s and then Ilias’s.
My brother had told me about the deal our father had made—the deal all of the dons had made. I hadn’t expected the way the new generation of men were friends. I was working out this in my head. I’d always been a good observer; even as a little girl, it was what I was best at.
As we exited the car, my brother gave me a careful nod but a warm smile, grasping my hand and squeezing it. “Good to see you, little sister.”
“This looks a bit of a mess.” I fiddled with my camera strap as Maxim spoke in low tones to his men before striding over through the smoking rubble.
I was already framing shots and deciding what to capture first. I had so many images in mind that I wasn’t listening until Maxim gripped my hand to draw my attention.
“Cora.” His voice was sharp as he tilted my face to his. “Don’t wander. Watch where you step.”
“I will,” I said, meaning it — sort of.
He nodded and spoke sharply to Kolya in Russian before letting me go.
The angles were hauntingly beautiful—beams collapsed in strange symmetry, their burned edges sharp against the dull backdrop of ash. Embers still glowed faintly in some places, tiny reminders of the fire that had burned hot here just hours ago.
I lifted the camera, letting its weight settle in my hands. The first click of the shutter brought a strange kind of focus. Through the lens, the destruction transformed into a story waiting to be told.
Maxim’s voice drifted faintly from somewhere behind me, but I couldn’t make out his words. He and Conall were discussing who could be behind this, their tones grim and unyielding. It didn’t matter; the fire had already spoken louder than any name they could pin to it.
I framed them in the shot and snapped a whirl of pictures.
Click.
The wreckage seemed endless. My feet carried me toward the back of the building, where the air was quieter, and the devastation was untouched by the men combing through the site. Here, the ruin felt more personal, and the destruction was less trampled by boots.
I knelt to capture a shot of a burnt beam leaning precariously against what was left of a wall, its surface blistered and raw. The angle was perfect—the contrast of jagged black against the pale morning sky.
The attack came so quickly that I didn’t even register the sound.
A hand clamped over my mouth, yanking me backward with brutal force. The camera fell from my hands, landing with a sickening crack on the debris-strewn ground, but then the strap yanked against my neck as I struggled, my heart pounding as adrenaline surged through me.
The man’s grip was iron, his other arm pinning mine against my side as he dragged me deeper into the wreckage and further back into misty winter shadows.
“Come on, ye scanger,” he growled in my ear, his voice rough and unrecognizable.
Panic surged as I twisted against him, kicking at the debris to gain some leverage. The Irish brogue was unmistakable, and the stupid female comment wasn’t a good start in my favor. My foot caught the edge of a beam, and I heard a grunt of frustration as my resistance threw him off balance.
“Ye’re coming with me. I want those pictures.”
My feet dragged in the soot and ash, the weight of his grip leaving me no room to maneuver. I fought harder, panic sharpening every instinct. My mind raced.
My eyes were blown wide, my nostrils heaving behind the dirty scent of his palm. Everything stood out to me as my brain struggled to calibrate itself.
What pictures?
I took so many that it could be anything.
The realization hit me like a slap—Dublin. That afternoon, I’d wandered too far from the safety of my uncle’s townhouse, camera in hand, chasing the allure of the city lights, and, on instinct, snapped those pictures. The pictures that had altered the course of my life forcing my hand to call Conall. I had never thought that marriage was waiting for me, but I also didn’t think some alley-way murderer would follow me to the States.
The man had been relentless that day when he’d run after me. I’d been scared enough to panic. Later on the plane, I’d wondered if I’d been hasty, but now I realized I’d been worse — I’d been stupid. I should have come clean to my brother about why I had called.
As the man dragged me further into the ruins, I realized how naive I’d been.
“You don’t even know what ye’ve got, do ye?” he sneered, his fingers digging into my arms. “But it’s enough to bring hell down on the wrong people, and I can’t have that. When I saw ye get on that O’Kelly plane with that fecker. Well, O’Kelly sent spies into our territory. That was clear as day.”
I struggled, but he was too strong, his grip unrelenting. My breaths came in ragged gasps, smoke mingling with the cold air to sting my lungs. “You’re making a mistake,” I managed to choke out, though my voice wavered.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” His lips twisted into a cruel smirk. “Ye shouldn’t have been in that alley. But don’t worry—ye won’t have long to regret it. Where is the SD card? I know ye kept it.”
He shoved me against a charred wall, his hand reaching for something at his side—a knife. My blood turned to ice as his hand struggled to clasp back over my mouth as I bit and twisted.
“My brother. Maxim—they’ll kill you.”I squeaked out between his fingers.
“Well, they don’t even know ye’re here, do they?” he cut me off, his brogue thick with mocking venom. “No one does. Ye’re just a stupid girl who wandered where she didn’t belong.”
He drew the knife along my collarbone as I squirmed, parting my flesh like it was nothing, blood oozing and dripping down my shirt. Pain bloomed like a poppy under my skin, like the fire that took over the Fortune , raging through my chest. It felt like he had cut deep enough to hit bone, but I knew that wasn’t true. His eyes and teeth gleamed as he leaned into me as if he relished the sight of me bleeding.
“I’ll make it hurt. Tell me where to find what I want.” The knife tip dug in as I whimpered.
Surely, they were already looking for me, but I wasn’t about to wait around for a rescue. I kicked out again, my boot catching him in the shin. He cursed, his grip tightening as he raised the knife. I flinched, waiting for the worst, when a loud crack split the air, and he buckled away from me. His fingers grasped as he fell, the knife scrabbling against my skin, scratching, rending, and burning as it went pain-sparking in giant bursts.
The sound was unmistakable—gunfire.
The man froze, his eyes widening for the briefest moment before he crumpled backward as he was yanked to the ground.
“Cora!”
Maxim’s voice thundered, and before I could process what had happened, he was there, his face etched with fury and something deeper—fear.Those toffee eyes were wide and wild, panicked.
His hands were on me, checking for injuries, his touch both gentle and frantic. “You’re bleeding?”
The words were a roar. I shook my head, unable to speak as Kolya and Lev approached. His hands fluttered around me, peeling back my shirt from where it stuck wetly to my skin while I watched the man on the ground. Kolya nudged the man’s body with his boot, his expression grim as he put his foot on the man’s throat, pressing hard.
Maxim’s jaw tightened as his gaze landed on the knife still clutched in the man’s hand. “Who is this fucker?”
“I—” My voice cracked. “He’s a man from Dublin. I accidentally… I took a picture. I didn’t know?—”
Maxim’s expression darkened, his fury shifting to a cold, calculating focus. He turned to Kolya. “Search him. I want to know who he’s working for. You’re okay, baby.” He ran a hand through my hair and wiped the tears from my cheeks. “I’m going to tear the flesh from his bones.”
The words were visceral, bloody, but my hands clutched at Maxim, curling into him as I whispered, “Good.” His automatic defense of me settled something deep inside that I didn’t know I needed.
“I don’t care two shits what pictures she took,” he ground out towards the man struggling to breathe under Kolya’s boot. “She can take all the pictures she wants. Nobody touches her and lives. Nobody . You’ll die screaming. I promise.”
Kolya crouched beside the body, rifling through the man’s pockets. Meanwhile, Maxim pulled me closer, his hands firm on my shoulders. “You’re okay, zayka. Let’s get you home.” Then, in Russian, he cursed as he shouted at Kolya, stabbing a finger at the man on the ground.
He examined me again as Conall roared around the corner, his boots scraping up the ashes in clouds that raised motes into the air like paper snowflakes. Angelo chased on his heels, their expressions frantic.
“Cora! Cora!” His face was stricken as he took me in. “Maxim, you were supposed to be watching her. Not two fucking seconds, and she’s hurt.” His words were thrown into the air like knives. Maxim flinched with each one. “Who is the fecker who thought they could put their hands on her? Who is he?” Conall demanded.
“He followed me here from Dublin,” I told Conall as I tried to pull myself back together. “I don’t know his name.” My fingers still held fast to my husband, and I closed my eyes, letting my forehead rest against him for a second before opening them again. I wished I could close this episode away, teleport myself back to my kitten for a cuddle, lie in bed with Max, and watch a movie.
Kolya rose, holding a phone and a scrap of paper, as Conall descended on the man, dragging him to his feet and shaking him.
“He’s connected to the O’Gara’s,” Kolya said, his tone heavy with meaning. “Joe O’Gara.” Kolya shook a passport, waving it in the air.
Maxim’s expression turned deadly. “Of course, he is.”
The name didn’t mean anything to me, but the man still glinted at me with ill intent.
“That hoor sister of yers was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be,” the man growled.
“Whore?” Maxim’s whole body stilled, coming to attention. “She is my wife . You’ll be an example to all the O’Gara’s.” The words were filled with meaning. If I were him, I’d be pissing myself.
“Feck ye,” Joe hissed.
“We’ll take him to the wet room,” Conall gave the man a savage kick and pressed on the bullet hole in his leg. “You think you’ll hold up,” he scoffed. “You’ll see. I’ll get a turn.” He grinned evilly. “But that guy right there with my sister? That guy is your worst nightmare.”
Joe O’Gara shrunk on the concrete as Kolya yanked him up before clocking him over the head with the butt of his gun.
“Just don’t start until I get there. He’s mine.” Maxim swung me up into his arms. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home, and I’ll call a doctor. We need to get you looked at.”
“I’ll send Doc O’Flannery to your townhouse. He’s been on my payroll for years. He’s trustworthy. Unless you have someone.”
“Thanks. That’d be great. I haven’t had time to get established with someone yet.”
I let myself relax in Maxim’s arms as he took purposeful strides away from my brother, Kolya, and Joe O’Gara, who slumped drunkenly between them.