Chapter 19 Seamus
NINETEEN
seamus
Red is definitely Ava’s color. And the black curved neckline of the dress I bought her for the meeting with her lawyer gives a feminine edge to the word power.
It should drain the power away.
It doesn’t.
Instead, the power’s sharpened, honed into something utterly mesmerizing and deadly. The patent black heels add to the overall ensemble.
She looks fucking incredible.
I sip my coffee, trying to get my thoughts under control.
Ava sits straight up in her seat, like she’s waiting to find out her fate at the hands of her boss.
In a way, I suppose she is. But we’re taking over this little bratva, hopefully in peace. Although, after my early-morning discussion with Cal, he’d be fine taking it with force. Quietly and swiftly, if need be.
It isn’t protected.
There’s no one waiting in the wings to come out and stomp on a coup.
Only, the idea that if someone steps in to claim it, then it might combust and everyone on the inside loses out.
The bratva is gold for those who are involved with it, but not big enough or powerful enough to risk making enemies over.
Rather clever, in my opinion. Very Irish.
Carve out something no one you let in can do without, but make it small enough that they won’t bother taking it in a power struggle because it could start a domino effect straight into war, and all you’d get at the end of the day would be defunct smuggling routes.
The ones on the other end won’t trust someone who took it over by force, either.
But the kicker here is I’m married to the heir.
If we move in the right way, it’ll be ours. We know how to do it without upsetting the apple cart.
And Ava… I look at her, fingers clenched tight together in her lap, her face a blank canvas, posture straight, and I bet anyone else looking would see cool, calm, and strong. They’d never see through to the nervous little center of her.
Looks like Ava found a way to survive my hands, after all.
Because we’re going to take the bratva but keep her as figurehead. She can be a prisoner or work with us. It’ll be up to her.
But the rule of the second-in-command ends. Those who want to fight will meet their ends at Murphy hands, and those who are smart enough to choose the winning side and loyalty to the Volkov name will survive.
It’s that easy.
And fucking difficult as hell.
Because while the regular players won’t do anything to upset their business with the Volkovs—and they don’t give a fuck who’s in charge, just that they reap the rewards of those routes—there are the matters of Hank and the Lev group.
And they may be one and the same.
Not even Torin could come up with anything on someone named Hank or Henry Kelly.
Not a Hank or Henry Kelly with a scar, or a Hank or Henry Kelly we might be interested in.
The ones he found lived nowhere near New York.
One ran a bank in the middle of Fuck All, USA, and the other’s a mechanic in Jersey who doesn’t fit the profile.
Of course, Kelly and Hank or Henry might not be his name.
The Lev group is real, but no one’s heard of Lev Grant. And besides, they’re doing their own thing, running with some of the cartels. They seem to be made up of the rejects of the other crime families and groups in New York.
No idea why some of them were at the Romanov mansion. But maybe they hired themselves out.
I don’t know.
And not knowing pisses me off.
“Drink your coffee, sweet thing, and I’ll take you shopping for real after this. You need clothes.”
Ava snaps to life at that. “I’m not going to be your dress-up doll.”
“And here I thought I’d fuck you senseless in the dressing room.” Actually, now that I say that…
But Ava’s likely to knife me if I try. It wouldn’t stop me, but I’m not in the mood to bleed. And right now I think I prefer a very private fashion show and strip tease at home in our room.
Our?
No, mine.
She’s just temporary.
The marriage might go on, but her in my bed won’t be for more than the year.
The thought of other men touching her strikes me like I’ve just touched a downed powerline, and I almost crush the delicate porcelain cup in my hand.
I don’t want other men looking at her, let alone touching her.
Maybe I’ll just find her a room in the basement, give her Torin’s space when he and Harry finally move everything into their own floors in the other brownstone.
She can fucking come out when I need her to, and no more.
I’m vaguely aware of how absolutely unreasonable my thoughts are, but I don’t stop them from tumbling around in my mind.
“I can dress myself.”
“But can you buy the things you’ll need to be Pakhan?”
“You’re an asshole.”
“A generous one. Call me Mr. Virtuous—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Murphy?” the receptionist says, stepping into the waiting room in the exclusive law offices. “Mr. Launceston will see you now.”
We get up and I hold out my hand to Ava, just to fuck with her, but she takes it, holding it a little too tight to vibe with the “fuck you” attitude she’s giving off.
And I like the tight grip. I don’t know why.
The offices are nice, polished and professional, perfect for a respected lawyer, one who probably does mostly aboveboard shit. But I’m sure he knows who and what Volkov Shipping really is.
Everyone plays games, and from how James Launceston holds the discussions, he seems to want to buy into it. So I play along, as does Ava.
“In conclusion, I’ve let the acting president of Volkov know you’re ready to start the transfer of power.
They do want to make sure you’re meeting your father’s stipulations, Ava.
” His gaze flickers to me as he runs a hand along the edge of the mahogany desk.
“We sent them the relevant papers and the portion of the will pertinent to this. As long as your marriage remains solid, you live under the same roof, and appear as a couple. No affairs or the like.”
The color rises in his face and I sit back, amused.
“Ava’s not about to look at another man.”
“I might,” she snaps.
“And he’ll be dead in seconds flat,” I say, winking at the lawyer who isn’t sure what to do or say. “I’m not going to step out, either.”
“If you try, I’ll castrate you.”
“See? Too much fun at home to think of anyone else,” I say, picking up her hand and kissing her palm, the memory of her caring for my hands in the bar suddenly leaping into my head.
But then I drop the humor. “Ava’s anxious about her legacy. It’s been denied her by a lot of misogynistic bullshit, so as soon as we can get in there to have a look around, to see what needs to be done, we will. She is, after all, the main shareholder.”
“You both are. Come the end of the twelve months, everything is yours. Both of yours, and any real changes can be done, but—”
“It is hers now, no?”
“It’s not that simple,” he says to me, like she isn’t there, and my temper starts to bubble.
Jesus, the man talks in circles. It’s hers, but there are steps to take, and he goes on and on. But the main takeaway is it’s hers to run the moment the man who’s the interim Pakhan decides that she’s married and he can’t stall any longer.
It could take the whole fucking year.
He’ll try to stall as long as he can.
But I’m not about to let that happen. The sooner it’s in safe hands—ours—the better. I don’t say this, though. I just listen until he says something that snags my real interest.
“What was that?”
The man takes off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubs his temple. “Look. Real talk. The man in charge wants to find a full-blood Russian relative. He thinks that’s what her father wanted. But I drew up the documents that name Ava in charge.”
Ava turns to me but I squeeze her fingers.
“Volkov is hers,” he says. “And she can name anyone she wants to stand in her place. There are important papers that say this and more, and they list the hidden smuggling routes that are hidden even from those running the place, routes only Alex knew along with very private, very select clients.”
“Surely if that’s true, then those clients would have said something to the people in charge of Volkov.” Ava laces her fingers with mine and a little tingle runs through me.
It’s… nice.
I lift an eyebrow at the lawyer. “Not if they only operate when needed, or if they are always open and there are payments made to a different account while they’re in use.”
Deep-level shit. It suddenly shifts how I’m looking at the Volkov Bratva.
If someone else knows about another layer, one worth millions, or billions, or something more than just money, but power, then they just might have in mind to take it before Ava ascends.
Maybe the threats against her were real.
And what if that bomb and those men were put there at the mansion by Romanov? A man who tried to marry her to his son, claimed he’s trying to protect her by bringing her into his fold. A man who knew her father and stepmother?
What if he hired this Hank, too?
“Where would we find this secret information that my bride needs?” I ask.
Launceston says, “There’s a hidden safe in Volkov’s office.”
“Hidden?” I ask, because if it were me taking over, the first thing I’d have done is find everything—like a safe—and had it opened. Immediately.
“It might be in plain sight. Alex told me it wasn’t noticeable if you didn’t know him well. But that’s where it is. And you’ll need the code, Ava. He told me to tell you about it when the time came.”
“I don’t know anything about a safe or a code.” She looks at him, then at me, and I believe her. Or rather I believe she believes that.
How the fuck did something so simple become infinitely complicated?
“I have faith,” I say. “I’m pretty fucking sure you can do anything, sweet thing.”
The lawyer clears his throat. “Tomorrow you’ve got your first meeting with the interim head of Volkov.” He writes something down and passes the card to me. “Don’t be late.”