Chapter 18
Seamus
The vibe in the Whelan house is grim.
Father’s sitting behind his desk in his study.
Cormac’s beside him, both of them hunched over a computer screen.
Finn is standing beside the bar cart drinking quietly.
Across from them, Ruslan glares around at everyone, clearly past the point of livid and into some new dimension of rage.
Declan tries to talk to him, but the old Pakhan doesn’t seem interested in conversation.
“What’s going on?” I ask Finn quietly.
He shoves a whiskey into my hand. “Big trouble.”
“Elaborate.”
He nods toward Dad and Cormac. “Go take a look.”
It’s not like him to hold back, but he’s shaken. I take a sip of the drink, nod respectfully to Ruslan, who completely ignores his new son-in-law, and go to stand on my father’s other side.
“Start it over for him,” Dad grunts at Cormac. Both seem miserable, which sets me on edge.
There’s a video on the screen. Cormac clicks a few times, and it replays from the beginning.
A truck’s on fire. One of those big shipping containers on the back is fully up in flames.
A man runs past the camera, screaming. He’s burning too.
There are bodies on the ground, and whoever’s taking the video is trembling.
Everything’s blurry and hard to follow. There’s another scream and the camera whips around.
The burning man is on the ground now. A dark shape stands over him holding a long knife. The shape stabs the burning man several times in the chest before turning and flitting away into the night again.
What the fuck? What the fuck? The man holding the camera keeps saying it over and over again. What the fuck?
The video ends there.
“I’m going to echo our friend and ask: what the fuck was that?”
Cormac sighs, rubbing his face. “About an hour ago, one of our trucks was assaulted. It ran over a piece of wood with nails sticking out, forcing it to pull over, and was attacked by the person you saw with the knife.”
“A single person did all that?” My eyebrows raise in alarm. “Pretty impressive.”
“Not fucking impressive,” Ruslan barks. “Expensive, you mean. Do you know what was on that truck?”
“Drugs, usually.”
Dad gives me a look that screams, play nice.
“Yes, drugs, my fucking drugs.” Ruslan’s snarling and very unhappy. “Some dead man walking burned my truck and killed my drivers.”
“Our drivers,” Dad corrects. “We lost product in the blaze too.”
“Not as much as me. That truck was mine. And now it is gone, but where is my compensation?”
I stare at the man like he’s gone insane. “We’re running a drug-smuggling outfit. If you want insurance, go legit.”
“You all make assurances. This would be safe. This would be profitable. But I just watched a few million of my investment disappear into smoke.”
“That’s a problem,” Declan agrees, trying to play peacemaker. “But right now, we need to focus on finding whoever did that.”
“There aren’t many people around here capable of taking down a truck and setting it on fire single-handed.” Cormac crosses his arms over his chest, looking pensive. “The list should be easy to go through.”
“I’ll start asking around,” Finn offers. “Starting with the usual suspects.”
“Good idea. Get moving.” Dad nods at Finn, who finishes his drink and strides out of the room. “In the meantime, Ruslan, if you have any ideas—”
“What ideas do you expect? You think I had something to do with this?”
“Of course not,” Declan says. “But if you know of anyone who wants to do you harm—”
“I have enemies like everyone here in this room. Perhaps more than most. But none that would be so foolish as to strike me alone in such a manner. This is unacceptable, Padraig. Something must be done.”
Dad holds out his hands. “I agree. I’m just as angry. Those men were my people. Their blood is my problem too. I’m in this with you, don’t forget.”
Ruslan seems somewhat calmed by that. “Perhaps that is true. And yet here we are with only a vague list and no real suspects.”
“Actually, there’s one name you might be able to tell me about.” Everyone turns in my direction. I watch Ruslan’s reaction closely. “Do you know a contractor by the name of Molchanie?”
He looks up at me sharply. For a moment, he flinches back like I struck him in the face. But he quickly composes himself.
“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
“From what I understand, he’s a professional killer from Moscow.”
Ruslan shifts in his seat. I’m aware of my family watching carefully, but I feel like I’m starting to see some of the pieces come together, or at least their shapes are matching up.
“Molchanie is one of the best.” Ruslan’s voice trembles slightly and his fingers rub together as he clasps his hands in his lap. “They are former SVB. That’s the new spying agency. They worked for the Russian government for a long time before going private. How do you even know of them?”
“I was told they’re working in the city by a reliable source.”
“Absurd. That cannot possibly be true. Molchanie has not been in America in a very long time.”
“Do you think they would be capable of what I just saw in that video?”
He’s silent for a moment. Then he nods once. “Molchanie would be more than capable.”
“Tell me everything you know about them.”
“I already did.” Ruslan glares at me. “Not much else is publicly available. Molchanie has a very long track record of successful kills. They are ruthless, talented, and well-funded. If this is Molchanie’s doing—” He stops and shakes his head. “But it is impossible.”
I share a look with my father. He nods slightly and I decide to drop it. Clearly, Ruslan’s shaken, and that tells me more than any of his answers could. No part of me thinks he’s telling me the truth or sharing everything he knows.
But one thing’s obvious: Molchanie scares the shit out of him.
Ruslan isn’t the type of man who overreacts.
If he’s worried about this killer, then I’d better be too.
I’m thinking about the note on the drive home.
A part of me can understand why Alina wouldn’t want to tell me about it.
It definitely looks bad.
But I believe her when she says she doesn’t know where it came from.
Which is worse than if she did.
Someone broke into her apartment while we were asleep. We aren’t dead, nothing was taken, and apparently only that note was left behind. Whoever did it clearly didn’t mean us any harm.
At that point, anyway.
Things change though.
What will happen when Alina and I don’t get divorced? Whoever broke into Alina’s apartment won’t be happy about that. Clearly, they want us to split up, even though I have no idea why.
The note feels personal. It doesn’t seem like it’s about business. Otherwise, they’d go about it differently. Instead, it was a piece of paper and a question.
Who would go through all that?
And who’s got the skills to slip into Alina’s apartment without waking anyone or getting caught?
For all the shit I talk about her place, it’s actually relatively secure. High up, lots of cameras, decent locks on the door. Not good locks—but enough to slow someone down.
Whoever got in has serious training.
I park out in front of my house and head inside. I’m distracted as I put my keys down on the island. Alina must be upstairs in bed. It’s past one in the morning and I’m exhausted from dealing with her annoyed father. Although he toned everything down after I mentioned Molchanie.
I almost don’t notice the back door.
I freeze and stare. My heart rate doubles. It’s fully closed and the handle is locked.
But the bolt is undone.
I know for a fact that it’s always shut.
Slowly, I walk toward the steps, listening and on high alert. I’m probably reading too much into this. Alina could’ve gone outside. I might’ve forgotten to shut it for once.
I go straight to the hall bathroom and find the pistol I keep hidden under the sink. Then I go from room to room, checking everything. I make sure there’s nobody hiding and nothing’s been disturbed. Everything looks good until I make it to Alina’s walk-in closet.
She unpacked more. Dresses are hanging on the racks. I shove them aside, making some noise as I look behind, but there’s nothing. Paranoia and worry drive me.
If someone broke into my house, that means nowhere is safe.
“Seamus? What’s going on?”
I turn, gun raised. Alina’s standing in the doorway. She looks like she was just sleeping, her eyes heavy, but she quickly takes a step back when there’s a gun pointed at her face.
I lower it to the floor. “Nothing. Everything’s okay.”
“Why do you have a gun?”
“I was just checking things out.”
“In my closet?”
“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”
She doesn’t move. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”
I curse to myself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I should have my shit together. I can’t be jumping at shadows.
But that video of the person in all black stabbing a burning man repeatedly in the chest like it’s nothing won’t get out of my head.
“Did you use the back door earlier?”
She looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“The top bolt was left open.”
“I didn’t go out there.”
“Did you touch it? Maybe without thinking? Even just for a second.”
“No, I swear.” She’s frowning deeply. “What’s the matter?”
I shove the gun back into my waistband. There’s nobody else in the house. I start pacing back and forth, thinking hard. “Did you hear anything? See anything unusual?”
“No, I swear. I’ve just been unpacking, then I went to bed like an hour ago.” She hugs herself, rubbing her upper arms. “If this is about the note—”
“Why didn’t you just tell me about it?” I surprise myself by turning on her. I’m angry and I don’t even know why. This woman is barely my wife. She doesn’t owe me anything. But I’m angry anyway.
She looks away. I can tell she’s afraid. “I was worried you’d think I wanted it.”
“Wanted it?”
“Like I was looking for a way out.”
“Aren’t you?” I step toward her. She looks up sharply. “Don’t pretend like I’m an idiot. I know you didn’t want this marriage. Neither of us planned it.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m complaining to some note-leaving ghost about you.”
“What if you were?”
“I’m not, okay?” Anger sparks in her face. “I know my duty. My father made it clear that I’d have a good life, but one day I’d have to help the family like everyone else does. I didn’t want to marry you, but I was willing to do it.”
“And now you’re wishing you hadn’t.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Then why did you hide the note?”
“I didn’t mean to!” She explodes at me, stalking forward. “Every time I tried to bring it up, we had sex instead, okay?! You keep distracting me and now I’m all mixed up and pissed off, but I never meant to lie to you.”
She stands right in front of me, tiny and beautiful and pissed to all hell. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore, but I’m on edge too.
It’s not her fault. Whoever left that note is the problem. Not my wife. I can blame her all I want, but it’ll only push her away and mess things up even worse, and that’s not what I want.
No, what I want is simple.
I pull her into me and crush my lips to hers.
She whimpers in surprise. I kiss her hard, greedy and angry and wanting her so badly it hurts. After a beat, she returns the kiss, just as deep and full. Our tongues mingle and I hold her tight, not caring about anything but her safety and what she needs.
And it becomes clear. Everything’s obvious. What I need to do. How I have to play this.
We break apart. She’s breathing fast. I stare down into her beautiful eyes and I’m surer than I’ve ever been.
“We’ll move into your place.”
That surprises her. She pulls back, looking confused. “What are you talking about?”
“You don’t want to live here. I don’t give a shit where we are. So let’s go back to your place.”
“But it’s not safe.”
“That’s the catch.”
“There’s always a catch.”
“I’m going to make it safe. Whatever improvements I want to make, I’m going to make.”
She hesitates, not happy about that one. I can’t really blame her. I’m giving myself a lot of license to make changes to her home.
“And we’ll stay there? You really mean it?”
“For as long as you want to.”
She chews her lip, coming around to the idea. “You’re not mad about the note?”
“I’m mad about the note, but I’m choosing not to take that out on you.”
“Smarter than you look,” she mutters before pulling away. “Alright, fine. You can upgrade the security. But nothing crazy.”
“I’ll do whatever needs doing to make sure you’re safe.” I lightly brush past her, heading to our bedroom.
“I don’t like the way you said that!”
She’s a smart woman, my wife.