Chapter 11
ELEVEN
seamus
“Are you fucking crazy, Seamus?” Callahan asks.
It’s a good question.
The answer is I just might be.
“She’s the heir, the real heir to the Volkov Bratva. You know that little bratva. Its smuggling routes would deepen our power here, open up more opportunities.” I shrug. “It’s a year. I can handle it.”
“Do you even like this lass?” he asks. “You fucking told me you think she’s got ties to Romanov and he’s out of our hair, where I want him. I’m not looking to get involved with the Russians on any kind of level below the surface.”
“Like’s got nothing to do with it,” I say.
“Dec said you called her some kind of witch. I saw how she looked at you at that party.” He lights a cigarette, tops off his drink, then starts pacing. “I got the feeling she wanted to see your insides decorating the outside.”
I shrug. “As I said, like’s got nothing to do with this, Cal. She came to me, made the offer, and she’s so desperate to get her bratva under her control that she’ll make a deal, even with me.”
“Or,” he mutters, “desperate enough to try and fuck over the devil.”
That, too.
But she’s not me. “We’ve been playing players all our lives.
Her desperation can be used. After all, we’ll end up owning those shipping routes by the end of this.
And as soon as we get in there, with me at the helm, we can see what we want to take as ours.
All’s fair in desperate need and blatant opportunity. ”
He sighs. “So you think just because this very pretty lass—and I’m sure her looks have nothing to do with it—came to you in desperation she’ll, what? Hand over the keys to the kingdom she doesn’t quite have?”
“I think she’s after something beyond the bratva; although, that’s her main goal.
” I pull out the crest and show him. “She stole this and some jewels from Romanov, and those Irish-style flash bombs? I think those were her handiwork, including the one that went off. But I don’t think she did the other one.
It was a different style. Took a lot more planning. ”
“I don’t give a fuck about the bombs. That’s Romanov business. This whole marriage thing makes me feel like we’re wading into the thick of it.”
“You want to expand our power, right?”
“Yes.” He blows out a stream of smoke.
“So,” I say, “we use her. It’s perfect. She wants this enough that she’ll sign a prenup.”
He holds out his hand and I give it to him.
“I worked with our lawyer to draw it up. It’s airtight.
We get a piece of what’s hers. She gets nothing of ours.
Not a dime from us or any of our power sources.
She keeps her name as part of it; I made it look like a concession.
We get to share the routes, share the position of Pakhan—silently, of course—if we choose.
But she wants my help for more than this, as I said.
And this is what you’ve been looking for.
It’s small, but has power, and is coveted by a lot of others.
It gives us access, Cal. So much fucking access. ”
His jaw is less tight now so I keep going.
“We have joint ownership over those routes,” I say, finishing, “that put us in an enviable position.”
“But we’ll be doing it with the Russians.”
“We have to eventually. Fuck, we already do in a way. This is good, Cal.”
And it is.
Like this, it’s not that much of a move to take the entire bratva.
It’s a nasty little shiver in my blood, my manipulation of Ava.
She fucking despises me, and I don’t know why. But I don’t care. I’ll marry her for twelve months. Fuck it, I’ll even be generous and make it two years if that’s what it takes to snatch her little bratva from her elegant, greedy, liar fingers.
That’s if she turns up to the church. But if I know her—and I think I do—Ava Rose Lombardi Volkov will show because in her mind, I can give her everything she wants.
I sip my Redbreast whiskey, trying not to think about the hot-as-fuck sex we had. Jesus, she’s responsive. If hate does that to her, what the hell does love do?
I can do hate sex. Really fucking well.
Dirty, filthy, hate sex.
“This looks ironclad,” Cal says. “When’s the wedding?”
“Tonight. I thought we’d visit memory lane and have Father Luigi preside. It’ll be fun.” I grin.
Callahan snaps shut the pages of the prenup. “I think you’ve lost your mind.”
“There’s one other thing.” I blow out a breath. “The whole Irish-style bomb?”
“Why am I not going to like this?”
“It reeked of Paddy O’Sullivan.”
Cal downs his drink and takes a drag of his cigarette. “He’s fucking dead, remember?”
“Paddy was Russian.”
“I know.” My brother’s voice is low, savage. “You want to dig into things that don’t concern you?”
Arnold whines and scratches on the other side of the door.
Cal marches over and opens it. The dog bounds in and barks before sitting perfectly for a treat.
Callahan collects one from his drawer and says, “Hold it…” Then about five seconds later, he tosses the first treat that Arnold jumps and snatches from the air.
He sits again and waits, his tail wagging.
Callahan holds his hand flat, and Arnold delicately eats the remaining treats.
“I’m curious,” I say.
“You’re a fucking eejit. And you know it.”
Clawzilla ambles his way in, joining the party, his little boredom act falling apart the moment the treat drawer opens again.
I roll my eyes. Cal pretends he’s indifferent to the pets, but he loves them like the rest of us, and he’s unbelievably patient and good-natured with them when he’d probably put a bullet in a person who acted like they do.
He gets down on his knees to stroke them both, and he says to me, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
I shrug. “I don’t trust her at all. I like her even less. But hey, the feelings are mutual. She hates me for reasons I can’t fathom. Though, if she did know Paddy, then that’s a good start.”
“Why do you hate her?”
I didn’t say hate but… dislike seems a little weak.
She’s a liar, she’s cut me, almost blew me up, had someone knock me out.
I’ve had to kill for her, and she hasn’t shown one drop of thanks.
Instead, she’s acted like I’m the fucking monster in the room.
She’s a thief and a liar. A woman full of secrets.
I’m sure, given enough time, there’ll be more to hate.
Besides, the more I think about it, the more positive I am about a Paddy connection. Those bombs gnaw at my brain. She’s not Irish. She doesn’t seem to have any connection to the crime world beyond her knowing Iosif and, of course, her small bratva.
But the bratva is an outlier. Different. They provide a service, one they protect and only allow a chosen few in. I’m sure there’s other stuff they do, small fry crap. Things I’m not interested in.
Their list of allies and customers, for want of a better word, are protected.
And then there’s something I haven’t mentioned. Something about her hatred for us that twists the knife in me and makes me mirror it back.
It makes me think of Siobhan. Torin’s lethal ex who went batshit crazy when she found out Torin married Harry. She was vicious and brutal and was only fueled by hatred and revenge.
I’m positive the Volkovs don’t just smuggle goods. I’m sure they smuggle in people who don’t want to use regular channels. There are a number of those, but the tight and shining reputation of Volkov is not the best-kept secret if you poke under the right rocks.
Siobhan and her people—Irish, American, a few Russians—tried to destroy my brother, and my hate for anyone who does that is instant and all-consuming.
We’ve weeded out a lot of her followers, but…
Like Paddy and his crew, I’m sure there are some lying low, waiting to pounce on us once they get the chance.
Paddy tried to hurt all of us, but especially Dec, and he was young at the time. That I can never forgive, and anyone who empathizes with Paddy is my enemy.
If Ava did, if she knew any of them, worked with any of them, gleaned information or skills from them… secrets, even, then I want to know. And I’ll hold her personally responsible.
But that’s not something I wish to share with Cal yet. Like her attacks on me. None of us forgive someone who hurts another one of us.
So I choose my words.
“Because she’s up to something and she despises us. And we’ve never come across her or her family before.”
“Maybe she and Paddy…?”
My stomach turns. “Maybe. Another reason to hate her. Look, what better way to start a marriage? We’ve got all the building blocks. Lies and hate and greed. She has every one of them.”
“The Volkov smuggling routes would be a boon,” he says. Then he stands and picks up both his smoldering cigarette and his glass. “Go slow, Seamus.”
“It’s a little hard with the wedding set to happen in a few hours.”
He just looks at me. “I mean with getting what we need from the bratva. Can you do this for a year?”
“Absolutely. Taking the reins of the bratva won’t happen immediately. We’ll have to prove we’re married, live together, blah-blah,” I say. “But when it happens, I’ll be ready. We’ll move into my floors.”
“Fine. I’ll get everyone ready,” Cal says. “And Seamus?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fuck it up.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Because I want her secrets. I want to help expand our powerbase, and the more I think about it, her bratva is key.
And if I’m completely honest, I don’t think there’s a world where we share the power, so I’m just going to have to take it. No matter what that costs her. Even if it’s her life.
“Where’s your witch of a bride?” Declan asks. I roll my eyes at the damn dog in a bow tie and the cat in a fancy carrying case.
Both are with us in the church, at my side.
I give him a withering look. “This isn’t a love match, Dec, so why are Clawzilla and Arnold here?”
“They’re good judges of character.”
I pet Arnold, and when Clawzilla meows, I nod, understanding his protest.
Torin and Harry sit in one corner, Lucie next to them. Her phone is in her hand, ready to take photos like this late-night wedding is totally normal.