Chapter Nineteen #2
Dmitri smiles slyly, and now I see the face of the future Morozov Pakhan.
“I am certain my father would wish me to give you his congratulations and wishes for a long and happy marriage. And should you happen to straighten out the issue with those fools who are currently running her late father’s syndicate into the ground, he would be delighted to work with you when Wallace and Scarlett reclaim the family business. ”
My expression is neutral, but his assumption set me back. I dinnae more or less kidnap Scarlett and marry her to take control of the Banner Syndicate. My gut tightens the way it always does when I think of my father’s expectation that I’ll be taking over as head of our family’s mafia soon.
Shooting out of my seat, I force myself to stay calm. “There’s an investigation already underway into her father’s death, but I’m not thinking we’re in a place to be making assumptions just now, aye?”
“Of course,” Dmitri nods politely. “Just know that as allies, we’re always happy to help- what’s the phrase, Roman?”
“Take out the trash,” Roman adds helpfully. “It’s a specialty of mine.”
“Perhaps we can all meet again for dinner,” Uncle Cormac steps in. “Wallace, I’m sure ye want to collect your bride before my wife tells her all the family secrets.”
“Aye, of course,” I say, already halfway out the door. “Let me know the plan.”
I just want to get out of that room and the weight of even more fecking expectations.
The night before…
Rotating my shoulders, I hit the man with my left fist, giving my right one a break.
“You’re really taking a beating for Kyle and Marlena Banner? Otto, they would give ye up quicker than yer Ma drops her knickers.”
Otto is a fixer in the Boston crime world. He can procure the latest designer drug, a prostitute willing to do anything, or hired muscle if ye want the living shit beaten out of an enemy. He was the logical go-to for hiring a hit on Scarlett and her father.
“Where the fuck am I?”
At least, I think that’s what he’s saying, it’s hard to know, what with all the missing teeth.
“You’re in Edinburgh, mate. Specifically, you’re in the basement of one of our warehouses. And right now, my temper is very short because ye are keeping me from my wedding night.”
“A tragedy, that,” Michael says, blowing smoke rings from an obscenely expensive cigar. “Dinnae ye think, Otto?”
Michael was kind enough to fly to Boston earlier and locate this arsehole within a matter of hours.
“Ye can see why Wallace’s temper is a wee bit short.” Michael looks at my bloody knuckles. “Would ye like me to take over, cousin?” He offers solicitously. “Ye want to keep those hands in good shape for wedding night activity, aye?”
“So thoughtful,” I say. “I’ll just move onto the drill.”
“I’m partial to the masonry bit myself,” Michael says, eyeing my DeWalt with interest. “Is that the new 20V Max?”
Otto coughs up some blood, spitting it on the floor. “What is it gonna take to convince you?” He gurgled. A molar falls into his lap. “I don’t know anything about the Banner deal!”
“You know what I really enjoy using? A nice spade bit,” I say. “Granted they’re messier, but nothing a good power wash canna take care of, aye?”
There’s a desperate, bleating sound from Otto as I experimentally pull the trigger on the drill. “I like the high whining sound it makes,” I continue. “Especially when it’s really digging into the bone, and-“
“Turn it the fuck off!” Otto shrieks. “You know how much dental work I’m gonna have to get? I can’t work in a fucking body cast, too!”
“Ye won’t be working at all if ye dinnae get cooperative.” I rev the drill again. “I will drop your fecking carcass in the Atlantic. You’re not seeing home again if-”
“It was Marlena!” Otto shouts, coughing up another splatter of blood. “She wanted Robert and the girl gone. Make it look like an accident.”
I hit him so hard that his chair tips over, his head hitting the concrete floor.
“Ach, that chair was bolted into the cement, wasn’t it?” Michael blows another smoke ring. “His head sounded like a ripe grapefruit getting dropped from the top of the MacTavish building.”
“Aye, a wee bit meaty,” I agree.
We hoist the chair back up, hosing Otto down to wake him up.
“Give me the name,” I say. “The contract. Where the funds were deposited.”
When he gives up everything and a few extra details about the crash as well, I pat him on the shoulder. “We’ll get someone in to check on ye. You’ll be staying here until I’ve got a flash drive with all the documents. It’s a wedding gift, ye see.”
“Maybe ye could put it in a nice white box?” Michael says. “With that fluffy glitter shite? The lasses love that.”
Turning off the light as Otto wails, Michael locks the steel door. “Ye might want to wash up before ye head back to The Witchery. They’ve got those fancy sheets. Ye dinnae want to lose your damage deposit by getting them all bloody.”
“I’ll be bloodier after I kill the prick who murdered Robert Banner,” I say. “I’m thinking I’ll give Scarlett the option of how she wants him dead. He’s one of those sadistic feckers from the Moreau Syndicate out of Chicago.”
“Why haven’t we wiped them out yet?” he asks.
“We really should,” I agree. “We’d be doing mankind a favor.”
“You’re a saint,” Michael says approvingly. “An international hero.”
I shrug modestly.
“This is plenty for Xenia.” He looks through the notes. “She’ll have this all put together by tomorrow, I’m thinking. Wallace, go wash up. You’ve got your bride waiting for ye.”
Looking down at my swollen, cracked knuckles, I point out, “My wedding ring dinnae even get a nick. Solid craftsmanship.”
Stonner - Scottish slang for erection
Grotty - Scottish slang for sordid or disreputable