Chapter 5
five
“Five. Three. Seven. Nine,” Seamus calls out number after number as he works me through the paces in the gym beneath McDonough’s.
It has been nearly two weeks since my meeting with Dante and still nothing but radio silence.
We agreed not to contact each other unless it is absolutely necessary to keep Christian from getting suspicious.
He wants Christian dead for what he did to Libby. As much as I don’t want to stop him from putting that asshole’s head on a spike; we need him alive still.
Only for a little while.
“Focus Ava.” Seamus reprimands me when his kick makes contact to the side of my head. I stumble to the side, wincing at the bounding pain, before cracking my neck and hunkering back into position. “You’ve been too distracted lately.”
“Got a lot on my mind,” I mumble before throwing my uppercut at the pads.
“If you lose focus in a fight,” Seamus scolds. “You die.”
My lip curls into a snarl. “And if you keep pushing me,” I taunt. “So will you.”
“Feisty today.” Kiernan laughs from the doorway. I keep my focus on Seamus but a slight movement from behind my brother draws my attention.
“Fuck.”
I am pretty sure I see stars when Seamus lands a punch to my jaw, knocking me off balance and sending me careening to the floor.
“Seamus!” Bailey’s voice is panicked. “You need to be more careful.”
The motherfucker shrugs as he watches his girlfriend peel me off the floor.
“She should have been paying attention, astoré.”
Bailey rolls her eyes at my brother then turns back to me. “Ava, there’s a delivery for you upstairs.”
“Wait,” Seamus calls out. “I’m not done kicking your ass yet.”
I flip him off as I head up the stairs to the main floor.
The bar is empty at this time of day. None but my father, the twins, and Bailey are usually around except the few kitchen staff that come in early to prep for the night’s crowd.
Marianne is blissfully never around unless my grandmother forces her to help, which isn’t a lot because Liam can’t stand the bickering between the hotheaded pair.
A small, unmarked box sits on the bar top. I am not expecting any packages except the one from Portland, but it is too tiny to be filled with evidence.
“Came by special courier,” my father speaks up from behind the bar where he is polishing glasses. “O’Malley’s boys dropped it off. Said it was urgent.”
I wince. My father isn’t on the best terms with the O’Malley’s.
“Want to tell me what is so important that it has them risking their lives to deliver it here?”
There is only one person it can be. The officer from Portland where the O’Malley’s are based out of. No one else knows I am here.
“It was supposed to be evidence from the night my mother was murdered.”
Tilting his head, he studies the box for a moment before his mouth shrugs. “Seems a wee bit small for that.”
A smile tilts my lips.
We really are alike.
I shrug. “Might as well find out what she sent me.”
Liam nods and grabs a pair of scissors, cutting away the tape in a few quick slips. I open the flaps to reveal a small black burner phone nestled amongst some foam.
Picking it up, I turn it on.
There is only one number programmed into the directory. Before I can second guess myself, I dial it.
“Jesus those couriers are slow,” a woman’s voice sighs frustratingly as she picks up. “Took you long enough to call.”
“Took you long enough to send something my way,” I shoot back. “I didn’t ask for a phone call. I asked for a box of evidence.”
The woman on the other end of the line snorts and chomps her gum.
“Yeah, well,” she sighs again. “Things came up and that’s why I’m calling.”
“Please tell me you didn’t lose my box of evidence?”
She chuckles on the other end of the line.
“Hell, no,” she assures me. “Who the hell do you think I am? My precinct is dirtier than fat man’s undies on cardio day.
” That is an image I could live without.
“I sent out a false package to see what would happen to it. My instincts were right. Some fucker grabbed it up. Shot my courier. Then tried to come after me.”
“Hope the motherfucker is dead.”
“Oh, he is.” She pauses, the gears in her mind working overtime as she thinks through what to say next. “Look…you sure you want to go digging around in this, Ava? Whoever is trying to get this evidence, they mean business. I can help but…”
“You want something.” There is no anger or resentment in my voice. I understand where she is coming from. The woman clears her throat uncomfortably.
“My uncle wants a sit down with you and Liam Kavanaugh.”
“And who is your uncle?” Seeing as how it was the O’Malley’s who delivered the phone I can almost guess, but I want to hear it from her.
“Sully O’Malley.”
“Please hold.” I put her on mute and turn to my father.
“Sully wants a sit down, doesn’t he?” I nod, not even bothering to ask how he knows who I am talking to. My father has been in this business so long he doesn’t need me to tell him what is going on. He puts the pieces together the moment the box is delivered. “It’s smart.”
“I don’t care about smart,” I tell him. “What do you want? He is most likely going to want to build an alliance with you.”
“Us.” My father corrects. “Sully knows it’s a smart move to side with the first female head of the Bratva. I’m just a consolation prize.”
“Do you want to?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea. The O’Malley’s, although brash, would make powerful allies. They know everything that goes on in their territory. You might find some answers from them.”
Unmuting the phone, I say, “You have a deal.” The woman sighs in relief.
“Thank you,” she says. “We need to meet soon. How is tomorrow at two pm? There is a warehouse in the Eliot district we use. That’s where I put the evidence for safekeeping.”
“Text me the address.”
“Okay.”
“What’s your name, by the way?” I ask her. “Should probably know it if we’re going to be doing business together.”
“Aine,” she tells me. “Aine O’Malley.”
“Well, Aine O’Malley—” I shift the phone to my other ear. “It’s nice to meet you officially. Let’s talk about that precinct of yours.”
Things are fishy with Mark and Dima.
Mark had been on edge when I walk into his office at the compound earlier to find him on a video call with Dima, who still refuses to tell me what he is up to.
The two of them looked guilty as they interacted with me, rushing me out of the room.
Mark all but pushed me out the door like a madman after I asked him to dig up some dirt on Sully O’Malley for our meeting today.
We left him to watch over things remotely from the compound.
The warehouse address Aine gave me is now fully covered by surveillance cameras, satellite imagery, and a few dozen soldiers.
We aren’t taking any chances. I don’t doubt Aine’s sincerity when she informed me that her uncle is truly looking for an alliance, but just because she believes him doesn’t mean I have to.
Sully O’Malley is nothing like what I expect him to be. From the long list of dirty laundry Mark aired out about the man, I expected him to be older. More around my father’s age than my own. He sits at the head of the small metal table, head held high like he is the king.
We are certainly not his subjects.
The man has short, black hair and brilliant blue eyes. The angles of his face are outlined by a rough stubble that gives his features a dark edge. The man looks like the young pirate Hook from that silly modern fairy tale show Bailey insisted I watch with her.
Aine, or who I assume is Aine, stands next to him, her head bowed slightly as she whispers angrily to her uncle.
Her soft features don’t match the rugged tone of her voice when we spoke on the phone.
I half expected her to be wearing ragged denim jeans and a ripped AC/DC top.
Instead, she stands demurely next to Sully wearing a collared lace blouse with peasant sleeves tucked into a gentle peach tulle skirt with a pair of white flats.
Her long raven hair is braided back loosely, a few strays framing her gentle porcelain face. When she looks up at me, her ocean blue eyes are anything but submissive and I love it.
Aine O’Malley may have been forced to play dress up but that doesn’t mean she likes it.
“Welcome.” Sully’s voice is strong, dripping with honey.
His gaze roams over me. Not leering, just curious.
He tilts his head and studies me. My red hair hangs in loose waves around a makeup free face.
I chose to wear black leggings that I tucked into a pair of low-heeled leather boots.
A loose olive wrap completes the ensemble.
Stylish but also loose enough that if we are attacked, I can easily move and bend.
I approach the table, my father on my right and Vasily on my left. Both are dressed to the nines in Armani suits and gold Rolexes. The woman at Starbucks this morning had a field day with them when we ordered our coffees.
Neither of them noticed of course. They just smiled, placed their order, and moved to surround me as if a barista attack is imminent. One of them did eye me with thinly disguised hate when Vasily all but brushed off her obvious advances.
Sully stands and reaches out his hand to me with a disarming smile. I take it with a smile of my own. Once we all exchange the pleasantries, we sit.
“Thank you for coming.” Sully leans back in his chair comfortably.
I glance at my father and then at Vas. Smirking darkly, I say, “I was under the impression I wouldn’t get the box of evidence I wanted if we didn’t. Not the best way to start relations. Is it?”
Sully chuckles. “No, I suppose not,” he admits. “You’ll have to forgive me. I have been trying to get your father to agree to a sit down for years now.”
My father snorts derisively. “Then you shouldn’t have been trying to push into my territory.”
“And I have tried telling you that it wasn’t us.”
“Men bearing the mark of the O’Malley clan don’t lie,” my father snarls. He points his finger at Sully. “Each of them were selling your drugs stamped with your mark and so were they.”
Sully waves his hand at him dismissively. My father growls. “Do you honestly believe I would be that careless? Also, if they were truly my men, I would have retaliated.”
“You did.”
Sully snorts. “I never retaliated and that has been why I’ve been trying to sit down with you,” he explains calmly. “Your territory is nice and all, but I don’t need it. I have my own and I like it here. Why would I want to give that all up for a territory that’s three hours away?”
“Shipping ports,” Liam says confidently.
“I don’t need your shipping ports, Kavanaugh,” he tells him. “I run one of the most successful ground transport companies in the nation. Boats aren’t my family’s thing, and you know that. It’s why my father turned down your offer all those years ago.”
That catches my attention. Liam was out of town on my grandfather’s request to scope out a trucking company here in Portland. It is his alibi for the night my mother went missing.
“You never bought it from him?” I ask my father. He shakes his head.
“No.” The muscles in his jaw clench tightly. “Nearly got me killed coming down here. Luckily, Owen O’Malley didn’t have an itchy trigger finger, or I would be dead.”
“He set you up,” Sully deadpans.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” my father snarls. Vas and I exchange a knowing look. “That man raised me.”
“No, he didn’t,” I say at the same time as Sully.
Well shit.
Sully looks at me with mirrored surprise. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been digging where they shouldn’t.”
“What the hell are the two of you going on about?” Liam roars, his face turning red. “Seamus McDonough raised me as his own son. Arranged for Katherine and me to go to college together.”
“I am not contesting that,” Sully’s voice is low and calm like he is talking to a spooked animal. “What I am saying is that the man who sent you to buy my father’s trucking company wasn’t Seamus McDonough.”
“And neither was the man at the Gala,” I speak up.
My hands twist nervously in my lap. This is a conversation I have been avoiding.
He never believes me when I voice my doubts about Seamus, and I haven’t been up to feeling that same sting of rejection again.
As a result, I’ve avoided talking to him about anything related to my mother and grandfather.
The only reason he is here now is because Sully wants the sit down.
Liam groans. “Not this again, Ava,” he chastises. “We already discussed this and put it to bed.”
“No,” I growl. Pain lances through my heart at his words.
We haven’t put it to bed as he says. He chose to ignore what is in front of his eyes.
“You refuse to acknowledge what is right in front of your goddamn eyes. I understood your reticence when it was just me, but now you have someone else telling you the exact same thing. Something isn’t right about Seamus McDonough. If that’s who he even is.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Avaleigh,” he stands his ground. “This isn’t some—”
“Actually, she does,” Sully interrupts. “Whoever is setting us up, he’s using Seamus McDonough as a patsy.”
“It’s more than that,” I whisper. “Whoever he is, he’s pretending to be Seamus, down to his very looks.”
“That’s insane.” Liam shakes his head. “There is no possible way that someone is impersonating your grandfather.”
“I have proof.”
“Let’s see it then.”
The pain in my chest deepens, the knife Liam shoves into my heart twisting deeper at his stubborn refusal.
I told him once that I refuse to be the daughter of a man who dismisses my cares and worries as if they are nothing more than dirt underfoot.
I warned him the strain it would cause. He was proud to call me daughter, he tolds me, but he isn’t acting like it.
At this moment, I am not proud to call him my father.
Vas, who has been sitting by my side, hands clenched into fists as his anger rises, shoves his phone at Liam. Both photos are time stamped. One is the photo of my mother’s graduation and the second is an airport security photo. Dated and timestamped.
The man in the photo is an exact match to Seamus McDonough with one glaring difference.
The silver crossed cane.
Liam stares at the evidence, eyes wide, searching for any proof that we are wrong. He can’t deny it anymore, however. The truth is before him, plain as day, and he would be a fool if he attempted to refute what is before him.
“This…” The disbelief in his voice kills me. The hurt and sadness reflected in his eyes makes me want to hold him. Comfort him. But now isn’t the time. Over time his face hardens, eyes narrowing at the man in the picture. He is coming to terms with the truth. “Tell me more.”