Chapter 6
MAX
The incessant ticking of the grandfather clock attacked my ears relentlessly, each tick and tock serving as a reminder of my constant annoyance. The faint chatter of the crowd crept through the crack below the door, reminding me I was the only one who wasn’t enjoying their time.
As the minutes pressed on, I found myself tempted to shatter the glass clockface and break off its hands. Sitting in this room listening to time pass wasn’t exactly how I’d pictured spending my Friday evening, but I was here because Liam had insisted we speak.
There were two things I hated most in this world: waiting and lying. I couldn’t stand either of them, yet both seemed to be a constant occurrence.
Liam never failed to test my patience—just as he was doing as I sat there marinating in my nerves.
Thanks to the French doors, I could see him standing in the lobby with a ridiculous grin on his lips, cheering, with a short glass of what I could only assume was scotch in his hand.
He was enjoying his time while doing nothing but wasting mine.
It was like watching a goldfish in a tank. He was so completely unaware of the world beyond these glass walls.
The heavy oak door swung open. Sean, one of Liam’s most trusted advisors, walked into the room, closing the door quickly behind him.
Please don’t sit next to me . . . was my silent plea.
He headed straight for the chair beside me.
Of course.
A gust of air whooshed out of him as he leaned back in the plush chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight.
Great.
“Are ya meeting with him as well?” he asked, his Irish accent sharp.
I knew he’d try to make polite chitchat with me again. I didn’t do the whole talking thing—all that did was get me into messes I didn’t need to be in.
My eyes rolled over to his. It was easy for Sean to sit there with a smile almost as large as Liam’s—he had nothing to worry about.
I did.
With a quick nod, I returned my gaze to the doors, hoping he’d get the hint. I didn’t want to waste my time on mindless chatter.
“Enjoying the party then?” he persisted, oblivious to my silent plea.
I clenched my jaw and felt my eye twitch in annoyance. Why was he talking to me? What gave him the impression I wanted to talk, and how could I put an end to it?
I threw him a glare.
He nodded before continuing. “I heard Rose won the game of poker. Can you picture that?”
This got my attention. Rosalie. I could still hear the woman. The sound of her voice, high and shrill—I could never seem to escape it. If I gave the woman any more thought than I already did, I’d drive myself mad.
Images of Rosalie and her irresponsible ways, the carelessness that had left me sleepless with worry for nights on end, played out in my head relentlessly.
I couldn’t fathom her stubborn refusal to take even the most basic of safety precautions, such as locking the door.
I was tempted to talk to her father about it, but that would draw too much unwanted attention.
Every damn second of every damn day, I had to fight the urge to have a security system installed in her apartment so I could get a decent night’s sleep.
“Yes, I can picture that,” I admitted. I knew she was good at bluffing. I could see right through her, but no one else could.
Finally—though not soon enough—Liam walked in, just in time to save his precious clock. A tall shadow stretched across the checkered floor, revealing a face I didn’t recognize at first. It was obscured by the harsh overhead light. Then, as the man stepped further into the room, recognition hit me.
It was Marco.
What the fuck was he doing here? He was the last person I wanted to see working with the Clarkes.
His gaze traveled to mine, then a slow, predatory smile spread across his face.
Just like Valentina, Marco was going to play me. Both of them were cut from the same cloth, masters of manipulation.
My fingers instinctively raked across my chin.
The thing about Marco was that he didn’t care if you were his friend or his enemy; he’d work with anyone as long as they offered the right price, which was probably why he was here, in this office. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d tell Liam everything for a few extra bucks.
Marco was the only person who’d ever challenged me in a way that really challenged me. I could never get too comfortable around him. He knew too much—even more so now. He was never honest, and neither was I.
If Marco told Liam the truth about who I was, it could bring the whole house of cards crashing down.
“Good to see you Max,” he greeted. “Sean.” He forced out the unpleasant sound of phlegm cracking as he cleared his throat.
I nodded. “You as well.”
Liam had made me his second man years ago. I’d gained his trust, no matter how much I didn’t deserve it. Whether it was the runs I’d make at two in the morning or the blood that needed to be mopped, I did it all for him, and I had for a few years.
He confided in me as if I held the key to all his answers while he offered me scotch like I was his best friend—which was exactly what I wanted.
He was completely oblivious to the fact I’d been making a mental note of everything he said.
It felt like I could get Liam to believe anything that fell from my lips by simply snapping my fingers.
“I’ve been meaning to show you the marina,” he said, handing me a glass of scotch. I hated the stuff, but I drank it anyway.
“It’s a nice system, I’ll bet,” I said, eager to get information from him.
He nodded. “Opium distribution. Cillian wouldn’t like it, but the profit margins were too good to pass up.”
Cillian was Liam’s brother-in-law, a man with a voice—and opinions—that could silence a room.
“He works with the Americans, doesn’t he? The Callahan brothers?”
“Yes. And the Callahan brothers work primarily with the Feds. I don’t want Cillian anywhere near the marina because of that.”
Liam knew exactly what he was doing, and there was no argument to be made. Working with the marina meant he had the whole ocean working for him. He didn’t need any alliances for that, which was exactly why I wanted in.
“So you managed it?” I pressed.
Liam took a long sip of his scotch, the amber liquid catching the dim light as he swirled it in his glass. He shrugged. “Somewhat.”
Marco extended his legs and rested his head on the back of his chair. He was clearly growing irritated. “The Americans have their own agenda. Keeping them at bay is a full-time job—one I have no interest in taking,” Marco demanded.
That would explain why Marco was here. Since the Callahan brothers were playing the political game, Marco had to deal with them.
Liam leaned forward. “Marco’s right. The Callahan brothers aren’t like us. They’ve got their hands in every political pie, pulling strings we can’t even see.”
Sean sat on the edge of the desk with his arms crossed. “We’ll just keep Cillian in Chicago then. He’s good at keeping them in line.”
“I need him here, now the Romanos and the Stepanovs are stirring things up.”
“What are they stirring up?” Sean asked.
The question was fast forgotten when the creak of the door filled the room. A sliver of golden light sliced through the haze of Liam’s smoke.
Cillian strode in. He wore a black suit that hung off his broad frame. A faint scar claimed the edge of his brow. He didn’t have many fans. Cillian was a controlling micromanager who occasionally came in handy. While his methods could be ruthless, they were undeniably effective.
“Took your damn time,” Liam complained. He tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest of the plush leather chair.
Cillian, with a face that rarely portrayed emotion, simply grunted in response, his gaze flickering to me for a moment.
His glare was cool—the kind that seemed to analyze and assess in a single glance.
He handled everything for Liam in Chicago, kept the Americans at bay, which took a lot of work off my own back, so I couldn’t complain.
“Get on with it,” Marco demanded. He was the kind of man who minced his words.
Liam took a slow sip of his scotch. “There are talks of an alliance with the Romanos.”
I didn’t bat an eye, continuing to act as if I wasn’t a Romano myself.
“Nothing concrete yet, but enough to warrant caution.”
Giovanni Genovese was already engaged to my sister, Nina, which made this nothing but a waiting game on my part. Caution meant stalling, and stalling meant I had to put my plans on hold while Liam played his own game.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on me. Liam had no idea who I was. I was risking a lot showing up here, putting my nose in places I shouldn’t. I was living on borrowed time, never sure if he’d catch on to my lies, but I was doing it anyway.
“Did Kirill have any intel on them?” Cillian asked, his voice a harsh rasp.
Liam shook his head. “The Russian was a dead end. Fool got himself clipped before I could get anything out of him.”
Right. As if I didn’t know exactly who was responsible for that. Giovanni, with his hair-trigger temper.
Cillian stiffened. “Dead end? Damn idiots. If you’d listened to me the first time, you’d have leverage. Like I told you last time, there’s that girl.”
What girl?
Liam wasn’t obligated to tell Cillian anything since he was the one in charge, but he did. “I know about the girl. Do you take me for a damn fool?”
“What’s your plan then?” Cillian asked.
“Mikhail is young, and he’s got a ton of power.
If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll continue to look for Sloane like Kirill did.
I’ll make a deal with Mikhail in the future that will work for us.
If Mikhail strikes a deal with the Romanos to get Sloane back, then we’re safe under Mikhail’s contract. ”
Cillian furrowed his brow. “You said no more Romano deals. They never hold true to them.”
“I won’t be making deals with them,” Liam said. “Mikhail will. We just gotta give him a little nudge in the right direction. Giovanni will have to swallow his pride and come beggin’ to Mikhail. And that, my friend, is a beautiful thing.”
“Strategically, this doesn’t make any sense. It’ll only work if Mikhail strikes a deal with you.”
“I’m hopeful,” Liam replied calmly. “Mikhail’s ambitious, but he’s not stupid. He knows aligning with us would strengthen his position. And Giovanni? He’ll be desperate enough, and desperation makes people predictable.”
Cillian shook his head, still unconvinced. “‘Hopeful’ isn’t a strategy, Liam. You’re gambling on too many variables.”
It wasn’t a gamble; it was actually really smart.
He was using the marina when both families were distracted.
It was like a perfectly constructed spiderweb, luring Mikhail in with the promise of Sloane, while simultaneously keeping my family at bay.
It would be interesting to watch this explode.
In fact, I might think about giving Mikhail a little visit.
Liam’s gaze hardened. “I urge you to remember who is in charge. I gave you Chicago, not New York.”
Cillian leaned back in his chair. He failed to recognize the obvious warning. “Then keep me in Chicago. I’m only here because you refuse to let me move my wife out of this godforsaken city. I need Valentina with me.”
The sound of Marco’s lighter echoed in the room as he ignited a cigarette. The mention of Cillian’s wife made his expression shift slightly. He normally glared at Cillian with a look that boarded on anger, but this time it was different. This was envy.
“With her mother’s condition?” Liam wondered.
Sending Cillian to Chicago would keep the Americans out of our way, and if Liam’s plan with Mikhail worked out, the marina would have no audience. Perfect for several shipments.
Sean gave Liam a dark look—one that urged him to send Cillian to Chicago. I was sure, deep down, Liam knew that was the best option he had. He just didn’t want to uproot Cillian’s wife, whose mother needed to stay in the city for treatment.
Cillian shrugged. “She’s stable for now, but it’s only a matter of time. The doctors say it could go either way.”
Liam nodded slowly. “And Valentina? How’s she holding up?”
“She’s a tough woman.” Cillian replied with pride in his voice. “She’s managing, but it’s wearing on her.”
Liam sighed, rubbing his temples. “Cillian, moving her now could break her. She needs stability, not upheaval. We have to think about the long game here.”
Cillian’s expression darkened. “And what about my stability? I can’t keep running back and forth. Chicago needs me. Valentina will understand. Hospice is already managed.”
“Careful not to make your wife an enemy. You know how she is. She might slip up and ruin everything you have with the Americans.”
“She’s my wife, Liam. I’ll do what I damn well please.”
Cillian held the cards in this game, and Valentina, whether by choice or circumstance, was his pawn.