Chapter 7
SEVEN
seamus
Ava.
Her name is Ava.
I sit on my sofa at home, Clawzilla creeping over me to curl up on my chest. Arnold hops up next to me, resting his snout on my arm.
Ava.
I slowly pet both animals, closing my eyes, willing the last of my headache away. It has less to do with the whack over my head that knocked me out for a few seconds—or minutes—I honestly don’t know which, and more to do with the one hour of sleep I got afterward.
When I got home, I went into Tor’s study to go onto the Dark Web.
I couldn’t find an Ava, but I didn’t exactly expect her to be a Romanov.
I don’t know what I think she is.
But after I came to, she was talking to some guy about her bratva and whatever it’s called—some parts of my memory are still hazy—I don’t remember the name, so it must be small.
“Fuck. Valkry, Volov? It started with a V…” And wasn’t the dude talking about smuggling routes?
That’s the thing I’m latching on to. I know Callahan’s looked into everything, chosen our paths and friendships and alliances with care.
He wants to rule within the confines we’ve set, strengthen the ties with our allies overseas, and when it comes time to expand, like now, to do it by taking careful steps.
I rub my head and Clawzilla growls through his purr as the sudden movement disturbs his perch.
“Sorry, furball from hell.”
He yawns at me.
Whoever this Ava is, she’s interesting, and I’ll take interesting over likable any day. Because I don’t know where interesting leads.
Probably nowhere. I’m not sure why I care, why I followed her, or why I’m risking involving us in something that isn’t our concern.
The one job we had was to keep the wedding celebration going without any murderous party crashers from showing up, and we did that.
If you don’t count Ava.
But she’s inner circle, because Romanov would have seen me with her and he didn’t say a thing.
Still, I like answers. I want to know what the crest is and why she climbed down a fucking building from the outside to take it. Then why she went back in.
The questions are the same ones I started with.
Only now I’ve been balls deep in her and it was an explosive, unexpected experience.
The sex wasn’t unexpected—that was inevitable since the moment she kissed me and dared me to feel her up—but how fucking good that primal bathroom fuck was… that was the unexpected part.
Maybe hate does that. Because she definitely hates the Murphy family, and I don’t know why.
Until I’d tackled her, I didn’t know she existed.
She knew about us, though. And made no effort to hide her disgust.
The venom in her voice still stings my flesh.
But yet… when she checked my pulse, when she touched me, it was with a softness that was at odds with the hatred.
Maybe she’s crazy and this is her kink. Find men and hate fuck them all over New York.
The door opens and the cat leaps off me to get to the door. Even Arnold trots over to see who’s come inside. My eyes are still closed, so I assume it’s Declan since he has the animals wrapped around his finger.
“That woman, Dec, did you recognize her? Ava—”
“It’s not Declan,” Harry says, coming into view, the animals following her.
She’s a pretty woman, glowing now that she has Torin, or Torin has her. She’s the kind of underrated beauty who doesn’t care about dressing up. She’s happy in jeans and a t-shirt.
She’ll only dress up and show off her goods for my brother.
And Torin would rip my dick off and feed it to me, after stuffing my eyes down my throat, if he even thought I was thinking about his wife’s goods.
Fucking hell, my older brothers are eejits when it comes to their women.
She walks over with some pretty summer flowers in a vase and sets them down on a side table, their perfume immediately scenting the room. I offer her a glare. “I’m not a lass, Harry.”
“But someone tried to blow you up. You need a little happiness in here.”
She takes a step toward my desk and reaches for the blinds.
“Touch those and I’ll… well, fuck,” I mutter, “I can’t threaten you. So, make up a threat and pretend to shake in your boots.”
Harry snickers while she fusses with some twisted stick in the vase that gives the flowers a dramatic, elegant edge. If you like that sort of thing. “Did you say Ava?”
“Yes,” I say darkly, “I did. A black-haired Russian witch.”
She’s silent for such a long time I actually look over at her to make sure she’s still with me.
She stands there, frowning. “When… when everything happened last year, I was in the church and a Russian-Italian woman came in. Black hair, gorgeous, mafia princess. A tattoo of ownership or belonging to a bratva on her wrist.”
“This witch didn’t have a tattoo.”
“Maybe it was fake?” She looks at me. “I know when someone’s poking around, to see if they want to use the underground, but Torin came in and scared her off. Her name was Ava.”
I sit up now. “She looked at Torin last night…”
Harry’s eyes narrow and she turns into a fiery creature of myth. Not literally, obviously, but it’s her aura. My brother will kill for her, and she’ll kill for him. But she’s not a jealous mess like him. She might let Ava live.
“Like,” I add, “she recognized him. Doesn’t seem to like us Murphys much.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I can see her remembering him because he pretty much ordered her out of the church. But not liking the family over a tense moment? No one banned her from coming back. Did she need protection?”
I laugh. “I think others need protection from her. She’s the type to take care of herself.”
“Or maybe she just seems that way,” Harry says. “I’m heading to Frank and Joan’s Pet Café with Lucie in a minute.”
Right on cue, Cal’s wife pokes her head in. “Hi, Seamus; bye, Seamus. Come on, Harry, we have things to do, my place, then Dirty Harry’s.”
Dirty Harry’s is my sister-in-law’s flower shop. The most famous one in the city.
They both leave, the cat and dog following them.
I flop back down on the sofa. Yeah, right. Ava’s some victim. If anyone’s the fucking victim, it’s me. Clunked me on the fucking head, stole my fucking gun. I love that thing. She also copped a feel.
Okay, I don’t hold that against her.
Jokes aside, she also took the business card I carry.
All my brothers have them. We bought a legit and classy sex club uptown.
Actually, we bought the entire building.
And with it we have a private floor that’s a safe house if we need it, as well as a floor that operates as a place we can meet potential clients for odd jobs or have a one-on-one with someone who might be seeking protection, goods, or an alliance. It’s where we met up with Romanov.
And she took the damn thing.
I don’t think she’ll call the number. I bet she’ll throw it out. She doesn’t want protection or an alliance. She’s a mystery and a hot fuck I should leave alone.
But I can’t. Not now.
I need to find out more about Ava, and I think the crest is the best place to start.
Hours later, we’re getting ready to go out and do some business.
Cal’s pacing in the foyer. Lucie, Harry, and the pets are at the new place next door.
We’re going to eventually connect all three buildings. Right now, I live here in the original brownstone with Dec. He has the second floor and I’ve taken over the top. Tor and Harry live on the bottom half of the new brownstone, which is connected but split into their own space.
Eventually this whole slice of real estate will be business and family space.
Cal lights a cigarette as we wait for Tor and Dec to appear.
I know Dec’s messing around with the cat and dog, and Tor’s getting the information we need for our meeting.
He smokes a little faster than usual, puffing hard.
“Something up?” I ask.
Cal flicks me a glance. “Mam.”
“Is she okay?” Panic hits me at the tense look on his face.
“She’s fine, she just kept something from us.”
That does nothing to ease the panic. His tone isn’t saying something’s wrong with her; it’s just saying something’s wrong.
And my mind goes places. Da’s in prison, but they’re still together.
They see each other. She holds out hope that even though he’s meant to be there for the rest of his days, and he’s more than safe in there, that something will give and he’ll get out.
She wouldn’t…
She wouldn’t step out on him.
“Not that.” He rolls his eyes, reading me. “A colleague of Da’s, someone Da protected, one of the fucking actual ringleaders—”
“Da’s colleagues? Didn’t they either go in for misdemeanors or escape prison altogether?” I ask.
Cal takes a drag on his cigarette. “This guy went in for something else and now he’s out.”
Torin comes in holding a printout and hands it to Cal. “Which one? And does it matter?”
“Probably not,” Callahan says. “He’s in Scotland now, but Kier Hanlon was a true believer, and he might start stirring trouble. It could affect Da.”
“Is he likely to stir shit up?” I ask. “Because Da gave his freedom for Hanlon and others like him.”
“No,” Cal says. “Da gave that in exchange for our safety and freedom. For Mam’s. He’s looked after in there. I just… Fuck.”
I know what he means.
True believers. Da believed in money and told us the only people worthy of true belief were family. Like his wife, like us, and he meant for us to live by those rules. We have each other, we can trust each other. Find the right woman and she’s family, too. Everyone else?
Not worth it.
A little cynical perhaps, but there’s truth to it.
“Is he going to cause trouble for Da?” I ask quietly.
“Fuck no, but don’t rule out a visit to the Emerald Isle in the future.” Then Cal checks the paper Torin gave him. “Hatfield owes this much?”
I know Callahan’s aware how much is owed. Not a lot slips past him, but seeing it on paper, and knowing what we do for the Hatfields really spells it out. Muscles tic in his jaw. “And the fuckwit likes to cry poor when he…” Cal scans down. “Spends this much on betting?”
“Probably more.” Torin shakes his head. “I pulled some strings with some bookies. They keep everything, and this is just a fraction of recent bets he’s made.”
“Ted Hatfield’s an eejit,” Cal mutters. “Time to roll.”
“Dec?” I call.
Our baby brother lopes down the stairs holding a big-ass gun in his hand. “I’m ready, are you?”
Lord help us all.
This fucking Ava’s still on my mind, and she shouldn’t be when Cal and I get to the underground MMA fights.
Tor’s in the van that Mikey is driving. Mikey might be running the de Rosa branch, but he likes to work with us, and he’s probably the best damn driver besides me and Cal that we have.
Dec’s with them.
He’s less than pleased, but I know he’ll be more into the fight than watching for Hatfield. Dude spends money he owes us on the fights. We’re here to round Ted up and take him to his place of business where we’re going to teach Hatfield and a few of his crew the meaning of honoring priorities.
We protect Ted and his little illegal drug business by keeping the cartel that wants to supply him focused on other distribution channels.
Protection and clean merch are two different things.
Ted gets a deal from us, and he pays the price we ask. Most other criminal organizations would milk him and sell him out, or at the very least, let the cartel in to sell him dirty shit.
But we’re here to take out the trash.
His little operation has enough underlings ready to take over.
“What’s the deal with the lass from the security job?” Cal asks as we make our way through the semilegal fights to the completely illegal shit.
I search the raucous crowd for Hatfield. The place smells of sweat, weed, booze, and smoke. There’s another room, where women fight, and I point it out. I can see this gobshite spending in there, too.
“I’m not sure, Cal. But she’s supposed to be part of some bratva family.” I’m not telling him exactly how I found that out. Being knocked out isn’t exactly a feather in my cap. “V-something. Maybe they’re into smuggling?”
My brother stops and looks at me. “Volkov?”
“Could be?”
“Their Pakhan just died, and there’s a leadership hole. I hear they’re looking for a family member to take over.” He shrugs. “They’re small but on my radar.”
I tuck that information away, unsure what to do with it. Because while I know where she lives and there are questions I’d like answered, maybe I should leave it be.
Like a fucking homing beacon, I spot her, over where the female fights are, talking to a girl. But almost like she can feel my eyes on her, she looks up, her gaze tangling with mine.
Our eyes lock, and suddenly it’s like there’s no one else in here with us.
I can taste her. The softness of her skin warms beneath my fingertips. And a fire rages through me as memories of fucking her rush through me. Maybe—
Cal nudges me. “I see him.”
I look at my brother. Shite. I push her to the dark corners of my mind and concentrate on the job at hand. “Does Hatfield know we’re after him?”
“He’s aware we’re not happy,” Callahan says. “And he missed the second and final deadline to pay money owed and interest.”
“He deals with a lot of people from different factions, yeah?”
“Maybe. Probably. His stuff is top quality.” He doesn’t need to say it’s because of us. “Why?”
“Just a thought. Do you think he could know some of the people who planted the bombs at the wedding?”
My brother narrows his eyes at Hatfield. “That’s a sloppy way to get rid of us.”
“Yeah, it is.” It wasn’t what I was thinking. It’s more my mind’s trying to find the connection to Ava’s hatred of us. To her being here at the MMA fights. Then again, maybe she likes to bet on fights… “Maybe he’s got more diverse interests than we thought, and it wasn’t us who were the targets.”
“A possibility. A thin one, but…” Cal nods at me. “Why don’t we go say hello, pull him in for a chat, and then take out the trash?”
“Sounds good to me.”
I glance back to where I saw Ava, but of course, she’s gone.
Again.