Chapter 18
Eighteen
Last night, the dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows across the room as I gently wrapped my arms around Gia, offering her nothing but comfort. The warmth of her body seemed to seep into my own, a silent assurance in the quiet night. If I am being honest with myself, Gia is the only one I’ve ever had in my bed without any expectations. She’s the first woman to rest her head on my pillow and fall asleep between my sheets. In the past, I’ve always maintained a certain amount of decorum after sex with women, but those usually unfolded in anonymous hotel rooms or within the confines of the women’s own spaces, never in the intimate setting of my own bedroom.
Guilt gnaws at me, a relentless ache, as I recall the way she buried her face against my chest, her body shuddering with each heart-wrenching sob. The fabric of my shirt warm and damp from her tears. My fingers traced gentle, comforting circles on her back. Words of comfort didn’t come to me; they felt hollow and insincere. Instead, I remained silent, offering my steady presence as she poured out her grief. Gradually, her cries subsided, her breath becoming slow and even until finally, her tears ceased, and her eyelids fluttered, too heavy with fatigue to stay open any longer.
She’s been unusually silent this morning, her lips pressed together in a tight line, a stark contrast to the woman who was a whirlwind of questions just yesterday. The drive to McDonough’s isn’t far, a few blocks down the bustling street. It’s a distance we can easily cover on foot, but given the tense atmosphere surrounding this meeting, we are more secure in the car with its bulletproof windows and reinforced steel frame. I glance at her, noting the way she stares out the window, lost in thought, and decide not to push her to speak, at least not yet. The invisible wall she’s constructed between us seems solid for now, but it won’t stand for long. I’ll dismantle it piece by piece until nothing separates her from me.
“Welcome, gentleman.” We are greeted as we step out of the vehicle into the dimly lit parking garage by Liam Kavanaugh, leader of the Irish Mob here in Seattle. He approaches us with a confident stride, his two sons flanking either side of him. “And lady,” he adds when he sees Gia step out behind me.
“Liam,” I greet warmly, my lips curling into a smile as I step forward to clasp his hand in a firm handshake. “Boys,” I add, turning my attention to the twins, Seamus and Kiernan, who mirror each other in every way. They exchange amused glances, their eyes twinkling with a familiarity built over years of friendly banter. These identical twins, just a decade my junior, have been the target of my playful teasing for as long as I can remember. Ever since I taught one of their defense classes at Elite during their younger days, I’ve relished poking fun at them.
After the rest of the men greet one another in friendly banter, Liam turns his attention to Gia. “And who might this be?”
When arranging our trip here, I hadn’t given him much information on Gia, just that I’d be bringing along my fiancée. He’d bombarded me with a thousand questions over the phone, all of which I refused to answer until we had everyone together. God knows I hate repeating myself
Resting my hand on her waist, I guide her to stand at my side, giving her a small smile of reassurance. “Liam Kavanaugh, this is Gia Nardoni, my fiancée,” I introduce them. Liam’s brow raises as he stares down at Gia whose jaw is clenched tightly, eyes brimming with discontent. “Gia, this is Liam, head of the Kavanaugh Clan here in Seattle, and his two sons, Seamus and Kiernan.” I make sure to point out who is who, but it isn’t as hard to tell them apart like it used to be.
When she remains silent, I squeeze her waist, my fingers pressing into her side in warning.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Fuck, the dead can show more enthusiasm than her.
Liam chokes back a laugh, his green eyes shining with amusement when he meets my gaze. “Looks like you finally found yourself a fiery spirit.”
Fiery spirit my ass. Stubborn and insolent spirit is more like it.
“Shall we?”
My friend shakes his head bemused but allows me to divert the conversation. “Everyone is already here but Tomas and his men. They ran into some trouble getting out of Boston.”
Kenzo, Adrian, and I glance at one another uncertainly, but Seamus puts us at ease. “The runways have been slick because of the winter storms,” he assures us that it isn’t anything nefarious like a targeted attack. “They simply got a late start.”
“That is good to hear.” Kenzo sighs in relief. “We’ve been worried that all of us getting together would draw unwanted attention.”
The kind of attention that led to their fathers losing their lives in the bombing. It’s no secret that our gatherings are few and far between, reserved for moments of necessity rather than choice. Yet, in the past year, we’ve found ourselves in each other’s company more frequently than any year before, drawn together by circumstances that demand our unity. Vanya being abducted by her psychotic sister and then her and Adrian’s wedding. Kenzo’s wedding and Evaline’s subsequent kidnapping. And now this—war. Fuck all if I am going to let Gia add to the abduction counter.
With the introductions and pleasantries completed, we proceed toward an imposing pair of steel doors that mark the entrance to the rear of McDonough’s, Liam’s bar, affectionately named after his first love, Katherine McDonough.
As we near the main sitting area, the sound of laughter wafts back to us, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the murmur of lively conversation. The moment we step into view, we are met with a chorus of warm smiles and enthusiastic cheers of welcome, the room filled with an inviting glow.
“Brothers.” Matthias Dashkov grins widely as he stands from his chair and embraces each of us in a brotherly hug. “It is so good to see you. It has been too long.”
“You can always come out our way,” Adrian teases. “You have a license, yes? Unless they took it away due to your advance age, old man.” The rest of the group who has lined up to greet us, burst into laughter.
Matthias narrows his gaze at his friend. “You are no spring chicken yourself, zasranets .” Adrian smirks at the burly Russian calling him a little shit.
“True,” Adrian admits with a shrug. “But I’ll always look younger than you and that is all that matters.”
Matthias roars with laughter before he turns his attention to Gia. “And who is this?”
“This is Gia Nardoni,” I introduce her. “Gia, this is Matthias Dashkov, one of the Pakhan’s of the Dashkov Bratva and Liam’s son-in-law.”
“For now,” Liam murmurs jokingly as he passes by us to get to his daughter, Matthias’s wife.
“Be nice.” Ava chuckles at her father who reaches out to grab the bundle she holding to her chest. Once her daughter is safely in his arms, she turns to us with a smile. “It’s good to see you again, Vitali.” She leans in and kisses both of my cheeks, then turns her attention to Gia. “Hello, Gia, I’m Ava, Matthias’s wife.”
“But more importantly, the other Pakhan ,” Liam jabs. “The better one, if you ask me.”
“ Aithair .” The word is an exasperated sigh. “ Leor .”
Instead of looking chastised, Liam’s grin widens. “Never, mo stór .”
Ava rolls her eyes, turning her attention back to the woman at my side. “Ignore him. He’s a sour old man like my husband.”
“Heard that!” Both men growl at the same time.
Ava’s laughter rings through the room, and even Gia manages a small smile at the familial antics. Few people are privy to the intricate history of how the Dashkov and Kavanaugh families came together, an impressive feat accomplished by the brave woman standing confidently before us. Ava’s childhood was a grim tapestry of isolation and abuse, trapped in the home of a man who masqueraded for years as her father. If Matthias hadn’t demanded Ava as collateral when the shit stain who raised her fucked him over, she might never have learned about her true parentage.
There are those who allow themselves to be a victim and there are those who rise as survivors. Ava Dashkov transcended mere survival; she emerged as a warrior and a formidable leader. She seamlessly stepped into the role of Pakhan , carrying herself with dignity and poise, turning her past traumas into the foundation of the person she was destined to be. This remarkable woman achieved the unimaginable—she united nearly half a dozen disparate crime families, forging alliances where there once was only enmity.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Gia murmurs politely.
“Come sit with me.” Before I can protest, Ava reaches out and clasps Gia’s hand. With a playful tug, she guides Gia toward the neatly arranged row of tables that Liam has set up for the meeting. “Bailey is working today, so she can’t be here, which means it is just the two of us amongst all these neanderthals.”
Another small smile graces Gia’s lips. Jealousy stirs inside of me that she smiles so easily with Ava. It isn’t like you’ve given her anything to smile about. I’m not addressing that thought right now, I’m too busy to think about it.
Ever.
With Gia safely settled in Ava’s expert care, I make my way toward the bar, weaving through the empty tables.
“Whiskey neat, please,” I request when I reach the bar and watch as the bartender expertly pours the amber liquid into a glass. Placing a hundred into the jar, I tip my glass to him. “Thanks.” He doesn’t say anything, just nods his head and returns to stocking for tonight’s crowd .
“Gia Nardoni, Vitali.” I bite back a groan as the familiar voice grates on my ears. Dante Romano looms to my left, his presence as imposing as ever. His features are shadowed by a dark scowl, his brows furrowed, and lips pressed into a thin line, radiating an aura of irritation. “What the fuck are you thinking?”
Not needing to explain myself to him, I shrug a shoulder feigning nonchalance. He lets out a deep, weary groan as his fingers trace the lines etched into his tired face. His palm slides from his forehead, brushing over the dark circles beneath his eyes, and down to his stubbled chin, as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion that clings to him.
“I don’t need this right now.”
“You do look like you’ve been run over by a truck a few times.” I smirk. Dante huffs a laugh.
“Running an empire while also being a single father is harder than I anticipated,” he admits with a sigh. “I’m more appreciative of the burden my late wife carried with our children before.”
“Some things we can never truly appreciate until we walk in their shoes.”
Dante raises the glass in his hand in salute and downs the remaining contents. “Cheers to that.” He orders another round from the bartender and both of us wander back to the table to take our seats.
“Tomas asked we start without them,” Matthias tells us as he takes his seat next to Ava. “They’re going to be further behind than they thought. He said we can catch them up when they get here.” He frowns subtly, his brows knitting together, as he notices Gia stiffen at the mere mention of his adoptive father’s name. The fucker has the closest thing to a superpower as humans can get—the ability to read small, nearly indistinguishable body language. Fucking voodoo if you ask me. Right now, he’s zeroed in on Gia, his eyes flicking over every twitch of her muscles, every blink, every shallow breath, mentally filing each one away like a psycho.
It’s not that I haven’t seen how her shoulders tense or how her gaze darts away whenever Tomas Ivankov’s name comes up in conversation. I’ve just never made it a focal point. But watching Matthias dissect her discomfort with such intent precision makes me question if I should have been.
“Let’s start then.” Liam adjusts his sleeping granddaughter in his arms and nods his head at me. “The floor is yours Vitali.”
And so it begins.