Chapter 3
THREE
seamus
Of course she’s gone.
I finger the crest and the jewels I’m pretty fucking sure she stole. I’m dying to ask Romanov or Assisi about her, but for some reason I don’t.
There’s definitely a story here, because walking out the front door like she did is either the move of a guest or someone who’s used to the lifestyle.
The thugs we encountered weren’t, and I’m waiting with my brothers for the Don and the Pakhan to inspect the bodies in the wine cellar that’s never seen a drop of wine.
The look on Callahan’s face tells me he’s over this favor. And no matter how much money we make from this, it’s not a job he’ll want to repeat.
But as Declan heads out to meet up with our men, Torin walks over to me. “You got the tracker on her?”
I nod.
“Won’t last more than the night, if that, but if I can pick up a path to a home base…”
“Send me the live tracking data when you have it,” I say. The raven-haired beauty is trouble, and I need to learn exactly what trouble she is before I decide what to do with her.
Because I will find her again.
There are zero doubts about that.
I don’t like how tonight unfolded at all. Not the lack of numbers among the attackers, not the Semtex. Not her or the Paddy-style bombs.
It’s all a mess of loose ends—and nothing is gelling.
The cartel might send assassins, but they weren’t the thugs who showed up. The mafia might decide to ambush, but nope, it wasn’t them, either. And the Russians? Well, they might blow the shit out of everything, but they tend to work in larger numbers when I’ve seen them do that.
It could have been a feeler expedition.
My gut tightens.
Or something else.
As Cal would say, not my job anymore.
“Will do.” Tor hesitates, his gaze moving to the men and the bodies, then back to me. “Listen, be careful.”
I raise a brow. “Since when do you worry?”
His jaw tightens. “Since I don’t like the fact that you think the girl was here with the bombs and then ended up in the house.
No one who’s out to blow shit up just waltzes back in and then out the front door.
That, along with a less-than-stellar ambush team, and I’m just saying something’s up. Cal will tell you the same thing.”
“But is it our business?” I ask.
He sighs. “Probably not, but you look like you want it to be. And that’s what makes me worry.”
I ignore Tor as he slaps my back and leaves to join Dec. I wait against a wall as the Don and Pakhan check the bodies. Romanov pulls down the sock on one of the corpses. Then another. He holds the leg by the sock, showing us what he found. A tattoo on his ankle.
I narrow my eyes at it.
“Lev group. They’re a gang of hardcore traditionalists from various bratva who don’t like my modern ways.” Romanov lets go of the sock and the leg drops down on the table.
I swallow a laugh. This man isn’t modern. There’s not a lot of room in the traditional bratvas, mafia, and cartels for modern. We’re a crime family, more modern than them, but we still understand the rules and play by them.
So maybe there’s more here than meets the eye.
“It’s true,” Giovanni Assisi says. “And this group is not just made up of Russians. They’re Italian, Polish, a few disgruntled others. This group aside, we’ve had our share of dissent over this marriage union.”
“But the world moves on, and we are, at our hearts, businessmen,” Iosif says, nodding to one of his men who then brings over a box of cigars.
He offers one to Assisi first, then to Callahan, who I know fucking hates cigars. My brother takes one but refuses the lighter. Instead, he tucks it in his pocket and pulls out his pack of Carrolls and lights up a cigarette.
The man offers one to me, but I decline, and finally he gets to Iosif. Then the Russian and the Italian leaders puff away.
I don’t mind a cigar on occasion, but my job here isn’t as Callahan’s brother or right- or left-hand man, or whatever the fuck we’d call it. I’m the man on the ground.
The enforcer.
So, I just fold my hands and wait.
They discuss their future business plans in pretty grand, sweeping statements, and I know Cal’s bullshit quota is fast reaching its limit. He wants to get back to his wife, Lucie. And I want to track the girl who managed to escape me.
I just need that tracker to hold until she gets somewhere and stops, hopefully at her home.
“Does this Lev group work with bombs?” I ask.
Romanov’s eyes narrow as he focuses on me. “Not usually. They like big weapons. Whatever they had planned… I don’t know… why wouldn’t they attack on a bigger level?”
“That bomb was pretty big,” I say. “The first one I dismantled.”
The two men still, both mid-puff.
“It has the feel,” Callahan says, taking a drag on his cigarette, “of a plan meant to cause dissent and mistrust. To break up the fucking band. You two will have a lot more power by working together as an alliance. Turn you against each other and you’re weaker.
” He shrugs. “We did that kind of thing all the time back in the day.”
“The best way to get to a tight-knit group and break up the power was through dissent and planting seeds of doubt,” I say. “This attack wasn’t meant to hurt you, just to cause damage to your alliance. And there was no calling card to identify any one particular group.”
“How would that work?” Giovanni asks.
“Like this… No real damage could mean Iosif did it to himself to try and gain the upper hand with Giovanni,” Cal says, leaning against a stone wall, smoke curling up in the air. “Or it could mean Giovanni’s trying to do a power grab.”
“And the wedding?” Romanov asks. “What about that? Doesn’t that give this alliance legitimacy?”
Callahan shrugs. “It’s just a theory. But it could work both ways, especially if other groups think this union is forced.”
The two men nod, getting it.
“It was encouraged, but… they fell in love and the bride and groom aren’t high up in any sense.”
“Marriage gives legitimacy to the two families aligning without anyone trying to claim you sold your side out.” Cal takes another drag and slowly blows out a ring.
“It makes you untouchable by mafia and bratva standards unless, of course, you both turn on each other. And an attack always makes people suspicious.”
Giovanni, who Cal turned down when he made an offer to move our organization under the Assisi wing, studies him. “No one sold anyone out, Murphy.”
“I’m aware. Trying to start an internal fight or sow doubt could rip this alliance apart. It hasn’t,” Callahan says. “But be aware of third parties among us and stay honest to one another. Mutual benefits only work if they’re mutual.”
“We’re aware,” Giovanni says tightly.
“We kept your party from ending in a bloodbath, and considering your lack of security, hiring us was a smart move. The bomb that went off was more for distraction. Homemade, minimal skill involved.” Cal looks at me for affirmation.
I nod. “Fireworks going wrong was an inspired choice of cover.”
That definitely came from Callahan. He hasn’t brought our operation to the point where our power and money makes us a real player on the field without thinking outside the box.
But since they’re here, and since I’m not convinced that it was the Lev group who attacked, I decide to reveal the name one of the dead men mentioned.
I don’t like that I didn’t check the ankles, even though I never do. I don’t know any gangs who tattoo like that. Still…
My gaze shifts from Assisi to Romanov. “Who’s Hank?” Not one flicker of emotion. “Hank. One of these fucks said the name before he went and met his maker. So I ask again. Anyone in here know a Hank or some variation of it?”
Now they both frown. But their faces are blank.
Shit, maybe this Lev group or some other mishmash of disgruntled gangsters with little dicks decided to try to break the alliance up before it started.
Maybe Hank’s a code word.
I don’t fucking know.
“We done here?” Callahan asks as he straightens up and grinds out his cigarette butt on the floor, which isn’t very civil of him, but that’s my brother for you.
“We’re done. You held up your end of the bargain.”
Callahan nods. “And that’s it? We don’t want any trouble. We have our own thing and you both have yours.”
“Any trouble,” Romanov says, “and we’ll stand up for you.”
“Anytime,” Assisi adds.
But Cal just levels them with a stare as the phone in my pocket buzzes. “We can handle ourselves, but this job is done, just so we’re all on the same page.”
They all shake hands, and we leave. Callahan doesn’t say a thing until we get off the mansion grounds and into our car. I slide into the driver’s seat and check the notification on my phone. Torin sent me the tracking information for my escapee.
“You think there’s going to be trouble?” I ask as I pull away from the curb.
Callahan closes his eyes and leans back against the leather headrest. “One thing in this game is always a constant… there’s always trouble around the fucking corner.”
And we’ve been in it our whole lives, from Ireland to New York.
I know he’s right.
I drive back to Manhattan to drop him off at his new home.
It’s next door to the first brownstone we bought.
We’re slowly transitioning it into our workspace, but with the new building purchased, we’ll have our own complex with enough room for all of us to live in and have our space.
The Murphys are poised for a new step forward.
So yeah, I’m betting there’s going to be trouble from this in some way.
I want to say it’s no longer my business. But it is.
Because I suspect it has red lips, black hair, and a killer fucking attitude.
The tracker goes dead when I pull up to the sidewalk on the Lower East Side. From the high-tech tracking info I received from Torin, I can pick out which floor she’s on in the old, run-down building.
The place surprises me. It doesn’t fit her at all.
She might fight like Clawzilla, our vicious cat, with those sharp teeth and talons, but she’s also got that regal mafia or bratva princess air about her.