Chapter 6
SIX
ava
My heart’s rioting, my stomach’s turned into a tornado, and everything else is in a complete free fall.
I stare down at the Murphy brother I stupidly had sex with as Onyx, part of the Devil’s Disciples motorcycle club, stands there with the plank of wood hanging from one tattooed hand as he glances from me to his girlfriend, Claudetta, and back to me again.
“Dang, girl,” he mutters to me, “does trouble follow you around? I might have to rethink throwing in with you when you get your bratva, or else find you a man among the brotherhood.”
Claudetta cuts her eyes to him and lights a cigarette. “No way, Papi, she’s no bitch or ol’ lady. This one’s a queen. You don’t believe me? My sister Maria, she’ll fight you and take you down.”
“Your sister ain’t right,” he says, “fightin’ men.” But there’s a tinge of humor in his voice. Then it fades and his brown eyes lock on me. “I think I need to kill him, Ava. You know who he is, right?”
“He’s a Murphy.” I cross my arms.
“The Murphys aren’t a nothing family,” he says. “We don’t deal with them because we don’t have places in their territorial lines. We always stayed cool with the Volkovs. We worked some of the smuggling routes. But there are lines you don’t cross, not with your family, not with his, you get me?”
Onyx isn’t just saying this to make bullshit conversation, he knows I know the deal. He’s warning me, telling me that by clubbing the wrong person, I’ve dragged him and his whole motorcycle club into a potential war.
But the Murphy family isn’t big. They have more holdings overseas, according to rumors I’ve heard.
Sure, they absorbed the de Rosa family, but they haven’t done anything with it. No muscle flexes. Because muscle flexes are felt throughout the crime world.
Maybe they play on the down-low, double-cross, deal in girls. All that bad shit. Paddy hinted at that.
And Paddy also told me they’re nothing but low-life pieces of shit. I don’t need to have liked Paddy much to believe that.
Seamus Murphy killed my cousin.
That’s enough.
More than enough.
“We should kill him. Leave him here and hope like fuck the rest of the Murphys don’t know where he is,” Onyx says.
I look at Claudetta, who just sighs and shakes her head. She agreed to take the information I was supposed to get from Ruslan, who I think is pushing up daisies in that park, along with Olaf, and then use her skills and contacts to see just how far they got in finding this cousin.
Think, think, think. Everything’s a maybe, a hope, a whisper. I don’t have any real facts, which is what I was hoping Ruslan could bring for Claudetta and Onyx. His network is very good at strong-arming doors and people.
My uncle’s been dead a week.
The longer it takes for me to claim my place, the further it gets from me.
“You okay?” she asks me.
I smile. “I’ve had better days.”
Claudetta’s a friend, I guess, if someone like me can have a friend. I like her and her sister, and I really like Onyx. He’s simple, I know what he wants.
I shift my attention to him. “The Murphys are still outsiders.”
“They’re Irish mafia,” he says. “He’s Irish mafia, and the Irish are everywhere. The Murphys are respected. People do fear this family, Ava.”
I narrow my eyes. It’s the closest I’ve heard him talk of being scared.
He’ll never admit it, but I think he’s one of those people.
The Devil’s don’t have business with the Murphys, so he won’t provoke them because he fears them, and…
I think he’d like to work with them because there’s a note in his voice that sounds like respect to me.
But he must not know the rest of the things they do back in Ireland, and probably here as well. The things Paddy told me about. I didn’t think they were much, but now he’s making me think I was wrong.
“They have a lot of clout?” I ask.
He pushes a hand through his hair as Claudetta edges around us to look out the door. “Whatever you decide to do, hurry up. I’m hungry.”
She wants to get out of here. She knows I don’t have anything. I’d have handed it over if I did.
“People fall over themselves to make alliances with them, but they’re picky,” Onyx says.
“They’re savvy and the people they know in Europe and the UK have both the Russians and the Italians talking.
They have power beneath the surface. They don’t flaunt it; they don’t have to. ” His lips pull tight. “We kill him.”
“And then what? Have his family come after me?” I ask. “Take out Romanov?”
They wouldn’t. Couldn’t.
Onyx shrugs and peers at the guy. “Let ’em take out all the Romanovs.”
“Papi…” Claudetta clicks her tongue.
I can’t risk Romanov being taken out. I can’t risk Tatiana’s well-being. She’s so fucking young.
Growing up away from me in Iosif’s care is better than not at all.
He won’t hurt her. And since he cared for Elena, he cares for her kid.
And if we kill this Murphy… what about Seamus? How will I get to him?
I won’t let Seamus live. I will kill him, no matter what.
Then again, I could get close to Seamus by using this one. Convince him I need help? That… what… we should date?
I suck in a breath. Because what the fuck am I thinking? Convince him how? I don’t like the unconscious man, and he doesn’t like me.
Our chemistry might be off the charts, but it’s all trauma and adrenaline-generated. It doesn’t count.
None of this counts.
I should by rights let Onyx kill him.
Except he says “we” but he means me. Because he’s holding out the piece of wood.
I take it.
“He has no idea who hit him,” I say. “No idea anyone else is here but me. Go. I’ll let you know if I get that info.”
Onyx nods and steps back, then goes to Claudetta and drags her out.
The building settles around us.
Me and the unconscious Murphy.
The blood thunders in my veins and I stand over him, willing myself to calm the fuck down enough so I can think properly.
I pull my phone from my bag and check it out. The screen’s cracked in a shatter pattern, but it still works. There are four missed calls from… I squint. Iosif.
That sends a jolt through me.
This man here on the dirty ground… Fuck, he hasn’t moved.
I nudge him with the toe of my sneaker, but he doesn’t respond. I still have his knife, and I kneel down next to him, gingerly checking his pulse.
It’s there. Strong.
“Fucker.”
I swallow the rush of relief.
If I’m going down for killing a Murphy, I need to make it count.
I reach into his jacket and pull out his gun, shoving it into my bag.
Then I stare at him. In the low light, even unconscious, he’s fucking gorgeous.
I run a hand over his chest, lingering on his thrumming heart, the vibrations heavy against my fingers. He’s warm. Alive. I trace down over his flat abdomen and down farther over his cock.
My eyes pop open wide. Jesus, he’s big, even while soft. My breath hitches as I trace the piercings. I think he might have them on both sides.
Is that normal?
I’ve never had sex like that. Never had sex with a pierced man before.
And fuck, it was incredible, better than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.
A soft laugh escapes my lips as his cock starts to swell. I pull my hand away.
If I’m honest, I’ve only had sex a handful times. I like to pretend I’m experienced, that I’ve fucked like a man in and out of trouble.
But I have used my body. I’ve led men on a little, flirted and teased to slide out of situations I don’t want to be in.
And—what am I doing? Reminiscing about my prowess like an idiot?
This man’s light-fingered. He took my phone from my bag, which might not be impressive, but taking the jewelry, or most of it, from my dress pocket at Romanov’s definitely was.
I still.
Did he take the crest?
I pat him down, running my fingers over his pockets, but the only jewelry on him is the stuff he lifted when kissing me after killing Chad.
“Fucker,” I whisper again, taking it back and pocketing it. The stuff’s a mix of my mother’s and Elena’s. Things no doubt being held for Tatiana.
Which makes me feel about two inches tall.
There’s a phone, but it’s clearly a burner, as there are no numbers stored on it, no texts, nothing.
He doesn’t have ID, so I can’t get his name… well, his first name anyway. No address, either. And I’m about to stop searching when my fingers graze something in his jacket pocket.
It’s a card. A business card.
East Seventy-First Street
Second Floor
Appointment Only
There’s a number, too. I pocket the card.
Then I get up and start walking, looking over my shoulder, just waiting for Murphy to follow me. He doesn’t, but as I step out onto the road, a car comes to a stop in front of me, making me recoil.
It’s sleek, expensive, and black. My heart sinks as a door opens.
“Get in, Ava.”
“Why are you here? How—?”
“Get the fuck in.”
Willing myself not to shake, I reluctantly slide into the cigar-rich air of Iosif’s car. He pours a vodka and hands the chilled glass to me before picking his up from the mini bar.
The car takes off and the windows are tinted so dark, I’m not exactly sure where he’s taking me.
To my death?
My demise by marriage to his son, Leonid?
I take a sip of the vile vodka, and yeah, I know it’s meant to be in my blood, but maybe I’m too Italian to appreciate it, or maybe I just don’t like the way it tastes. Whatever it is, I hide my shudder.
He finishes his, the cigar in the marble built-in ashtray sending up a slow curling tendril of smoke. Then he opens the bar, pulls out the frost-covered bottle, and refills his glass.
“You disappoint me, Ava.”
“How so?”
“Don’t play games with me,” he says. “You stole from Tatiana, from me. Jewels and the crest. I want it back. I want it all back.”
I reach into my bag and slap down the jewels I took from Murphy. “There.”
“All of them.”
“Your security guy stole them.”
“Murphy?” He doesn’t laugh, he only picks up the cigar to draw the tobacco into his mouth. Then he releases the stream. “Don’t play games. The crest is dangerous.”
“I don’t have it.”
Iosif leans forward. “Even more dangerous.” He takes me in, looking at me like he can see inside my soul. “You know, I think I’ve been too lenient. I think, to protect you, the legacy that is yours and your sister’s, I’ll arrange a marriage.”
“Tatiana’s only four. She’s a little young,” I say with a roll of my eyes.
“You do know I’m not blind. I know you stole tonight. And I think you just might have overplayed your greedy little hand. And you also lost the crest that you say you didn’t take. A bad move.”
“I don’t know—”
“Be quiet, Ava.” He takes a swallow of his drink. “Maybe you think you’re owed. You could live at my place, and I’ll look after you.”
I study him, my throat tight. Because I’m not opposed to adding him to my personal little hit list I’m building in my head. All the people who’ve harmed my family, the people in my way. “Did you kill my uncle?”
“The Volkov Bratva isn’t big, but it controls very strategic things,” he says, ignoring me. “And even without this sudden vacuum of leadership, it’s very tricky. It has very protected smuggling routes. There are many who want access to those routes.”
Like the Murphys? Or does Iosif want more? I glare at him. “I’m aware.”
“You’re a child,” he snaps. “Which is why your father wanted you and your sister safe. You can’t run it on your own. I’ve put people out to find this other Russian relative of yours, too.”
I take another sip of the vodka as a distraction. I don’t know if this is a threat. That’s the thing with Iosif. I just can’t tell, and normally I can read people. It pisses me off that he’s not one of them.
“Volkov isn’t yours, Iosif.”
He ignores me.
“My son’s moving back to New York end of next week,” he says, “and I think the best bet is to have you marry him.”
“You can’t make me marry your son.”
“Then behave.”
“If I don’t?” I ask.
“If you want to see your sister ever again, you will,” he says. “Or else I’ll move her to Russia. And you’ll never be allowed within a thousand feet of her.”
“Tell you what,” I say, something in my head snapping, “I’ll do what I want, and I’ll have my bratva.”
He shrugs and taps the thick partition between us and the driver, and the car stops.
“Your funeral, Ava. You’ve been warned.”
Fuck.