Chapter 22
LIAM
Rain drives in from the south. Cold wind comes first followed by a drizzle until the damn sky opens up, pouring water across New York. I like the way it washes off the stink and sheens the streets in puddles.
It’s also good for cleaning away blood.
“You didn’t have to come with me.” I stay tucked into an alcove in a quiet alleyway. Manhattan’s dark around us. Most people are hiding indoors if they can.
Finn remains focused on the far entrance. “They attacked my family.”
“I know what you mean.”
“Do you?” He’s usually so light. That’s the face he shows the world, anyway. I know him better though. This darkness, the anger twitching the corner of his eye, that’s always inside of him. “What if Caroline had been there?”
“She wasn’t. None of the women were.”
“Did they know that?”
“They might’ve.”
“No, I don’t think they knew that for sure. Baranov sent his killers, and then he sent his sneering fucking son.”
“You’re making this personal.”
“Anyone who says everything’s business is a fucking liar.” His hand tightens into a fist. “The clan is my whole world. It’s my family’s legacy. My father built it, my brother runs it, and I’ll bleed and die for it.”
“But you don’t need to bleed and die tonight.”
He turns to me, a crooked smile cutting through the rain. “That’s why you’re here, right?” He claps my shoulder. “You’re here to make sure I don’t get shot in the face.”
I sigh, like I have much control over it.
We lapse back into silence. I listen to the rain and think about how I ended up in a dirty alley during a storm with my friend and mentor.
I think about my wife back home, and maybe Finn’s right.
When the Baranovs come after the Whelans, they’re coming after all of us, and now that includes Regan.
Max did approach her first, right? He’s dragging her into this.
Finn taps my elbow. He gestures ahead into the darkness.
A door’s leaning open at the far end of the alley, light spilling out, the noise of a kitchen with it.
A figure steps into the rain with a frustrated grunt.
He’s middle aged, wearing black slacks, shirt, and jacket.
He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, trying to stay tucked against the wall to keep from getting soaked.
An overhang gives him just enough cover.
I restrain Finn and catch his eye. Not yet. I wait a few seconds longer, letting our new friend enjoy his smoke. The man takes out a phone, unlocks it, and starts scrolling. His attention gets sucked into the screen.
The rain’s cold on my neck as I stride into the dark.
Finn’s on my heels. It’s strange how calm I feel in moments like this one with the promise of something very bad hanging in the air.
Nights like this can turn wrong in an instant, but I never seem to feel it.
Why care when random chance rules everything around me?
Better to stride toward death with a smile and face it like an old friend than to remain cowering like a child.
“Pavel Ivanov?” The second I say his name, the man looks over with a deep scowl. “I thought that was you. Friend, brother, it is so good to see you, still managing this old dump!”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. I keep moving forward, closing the distance. Ten feet. Eight. Five.
“Do I know you, friend?”
“Sure you do.” Three feet. Two. “You know me very well.” I punch Pavel in the mouth.
He grunts in shock. His hand goes to his belt, moving quick. I follow with a knee to his guts and grab his wrist. Finn’s gun clicks as the hammer cocks back and he presses the cold metal against Pavel’s head.
“Easy,” Finn says calmly. “We just want a chat.”
Pavel snaps something in Russian. I pry the phone from his hand and shove it into my pocket.
“English now, please.” I find a gun tucked into his belt and take it away. “Any other guns? I’ll be very mad if you lie to me.”
“Fuck you.”
I hit him hard with my elbow then pat him down. No more guns, though I do find a nasty blade. I draw it out and test the edge on my thumb. “For the manager of a high-end steak house, you really do like to go around armed.”
“Bad neighborhood.” Pavel spits blood on the ground.
“Right. Real bad.” I grab the front of Pavel’s shirt and slice a button off. He flinches in fear. “I have some questions for you.”
“Fuck you.”
“You should answer him,” Finn says, still steady. “He doesn’t like it when people are rude.”
Pavel’s eyes flick to Finn and back to me. “You’re Whelan, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. And we’re very unhappy.” I tap his chest with the tip of the knife. “You and your family have been very naughty.”
“I don’t control what the Baranov does.”
“No, you definitely don’t, but since when did that matter in our world? Men like you pay for decisions you never agreed with all the time. Do you think that’s just?”
Pavel doesn’t answer.
I slice off another button.
“Tell me who ordered the hit on our meeting. I want names.”
Pavel’s laugh is strained. “I don’t know.”
“Think hard. So far I’ve been nice. But I’ll run out of patience soon.”
“I really don’t know!”
“You’re their fixer. We all know it. Pavel the Bag, right? Seems like a weird nickname.”
“Better in Russian.”
“I’m sure. Start talking. Who ordered the hit?”
“I told you—“
This time, I cut skin. I slice into his exposed chest an inch beneath his throat. He groans. The blood runs thin in the rain.
“Try again.”
“I don’t fucking know, you Irish fucking—“
I stab the blade into his shoulder. He moans and I have to hold him up to keep him from slumping.
I should be taking this easier, drawing it out, but what Finn said before has me pissed off.
What if Caroline had been there? What if Regan had been?
Can I really say for sure that my wife won’t be around the next time the Baranovs decide to attack?
Fuck them and fuck this asshole too.
“Liam, careful,” Finn warns, keeping the gun steady.
“Talk, Pavel.” I get in the Russian’s face. I’m too close and exposed, but he’s stabbed and unarmed. “Give me something useful and I’ll spare your worthless life.”
Pavel’s pained smile is triumphant and bizarre. “You want something? Here you are, my friend. Your family is compromised. The people you love have sold you out. You have a traitor, you stupid Irish fuck.”
I realize my mistake too late. Pavel jerks something from his belt and I throw myself backwards as another knife I missed in the cursory pat down cleaves the air. The edge catches my cheek, ripping a red line, as Finn pulls the trigger.
Pavel’s head explodes. His brains and blood splatter against the wall and his corpse slumps sideways. I spill onto my ass, catching myself on a dumpster and breathing hard.
That was fucking close.
How the hell did I miss that other blade? How the fuck was I so sloppy?
“We have to go.” Finn nudges Pavel’s corpse. “Come on. You still have the phone?”
I look down at the body. He nearly cut my god damn throat. “Yeah, I got it.”
“Then this wasn’t a total waste.” Finn roughly shoves me toward the alley exit. “Now fucking run.”