Chapter 4
Dmitri
“Dmitri! Let me out now!”
I slam the guest bedroom door, and her voice dulls behind it.
I’m so pissed off and upset that it dizzies me, lights streaking around me as my balance wavers.
I place my hand on the hallway wall, blocking out the sound of Cara yelling as I reach for my phone. The bed in the guest bedroom has the sturdiest headboard, so I zip tied one of her wrists to it until I get back. Right now, I need to figure out who the hell she is.
“I should have known,” I grit out as I call Isaak, tension winding around my throat and squeezing.
“We’re leaving the area, sir,” Isaak tells me once he answers.
I walk away from the guest bedroom, not wanting Cara to overhear me before I give him his next orders.
I’ve told her too much already. I was so damn stupid thinking that I could actually trust someone. Someone I barely even knew!
“I’ve changed my mind. I want you to grab one of the Irish men creeping around the hotel and bring him to the antique store,” I tell him.
A quiet moment passes before Isaak replies. “Sir?”
“You heard me,” I bite out. “Capture one of them alive so that I can question him!”
“Yes, sir,” Isaak replies a second before I end the call.
Without even waiting for confirmation that they’ve caught someone, I storm out of my penthouse and drive myself to the antique shop, speeding through the streets with a heavy foot on the gas pedal. When I get my hands on this guy, he’s going to tell me everything he fucking knows about Cara.
I throw my car door open the moment I park at the back of the shop, my adrenaline sky high. No one is in the building when I enter, but I still go to the room where we hold prisoners. The Italian was released, but he’s likely to cause more problems in the future after his time here.
I pace around the room, unable to relax, feeling like I’m going to crawl out of my damn skin. I don’t know how many times I circle the chair in the center of the room until I finally hear noise from the back door.
Muffled grunting and cursing, telling me that my men came through.
“Kick me again and I’ll knock your ass out!” Emil snaps from out in the hallway.
A few seconds later, Emil, Isaak, and Mark drag in who I assume is a gagged Irishman, blood running from his nose and a cut over his swollen eye. They haul him into the chair and start tying him down, narrowly missing kicks and elbows as he struggles and spits against the cloth in his mouth.
I breathe in slowly, the air rattling in my lungs as I stand in front of the man. “Take off the gag. He’s going to answer my questions.”
“What’s this about, boss? Are you still questioning people about the shooting?” Emil asks me before anyone makes a move toward the captured man.
Coldness seeps into my chest as I look over at my men. “I’ll be asking him questions about various things. I don’t need any of you here. Wait outside. And have two guards stationed outside my penthouse. Make sure no one comes in or out, including the guards. No one enters.”
“Why not? Is there someone in your penthouse?” Mark asks me. “Is it—”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Do you think this is twenty fucking questions? Go! I’ll call you back in here if you’re needed.”
My men watch me with suspicion in their eyes, but they head out of the room without another word, leaving me alone with my prisoner.
I rip the gag out of the man’s mouth and toss it to the side. “What’s your name?”
“Like you fucking care, you Russian scum,” he replies before spitting blood at the floor near my feet.
Of course, they grabbed the most defiant one. That’s fine. I have ways to work around stubbornness.
I step out of the room for a moment before coming back in with a metal baseball bat gripped in my hands. I swing it against his knee, hearing a sharp crack, followed by his howl of pain.
“What the fuck, man!” he cries out.
I lift the bat again. “Name!”
“Brendan!”
I slowly lower the bat and take a breath. “Okay, Brendan. I need some information from you, and if you don’t want me to bash your skull in slowly, gradually, you’ll give it to me.”
Sweat and blood already glisten on his face as he glares up at me. “What information could I possibly give you?”
I know what I want to ask first, but I should start from the beginning. I should be smart about this, even if my rage is making it hard for me to think straight.
“The shooting at the Wynn — did the Irish have anything to do with it?” I question him.
Brendan screws up his face at me. “What? No. We like to fight dirty, but not from rooftops miles away.”
I eye him, but as he stares back with a plain look on his face, the more I start to believe he’s telling the truth. “But you did attack my goddamn warehouse.”
The corner of Brendan’s mouth turns up. He doesn’t say anything, the grin is answer enough.
I punch him in the face this time, making blood splatter across the floor.
“Son of a bitch,” Brendan bites out.
I reach out with my free hand and grab the front of his white t-shirt, yanking him forward as much as he can go in the chair. “You killed one of my men that night. A good man! All for fucking what?”
“Don’t know,” Brendan replies through bloody, gritted teeth.
“You will tell me,” I hiss out in his face, feeling his shoulders tense underneath his shirt.
“What does it matter? You’re Russian, we’re Irish. Vegas was ours first, that’s why,” Brendan snaps.
“Trust me, I know that the Irish mob has been up to a lot lately,” I tell him.
Brendan’s stony expression wavers.
“Not only have you been attacking my men and my warehouses, but you also sent her,” I say as I release his shirt and step away from him, watching his jaw tighten. “I’ll admit that it took me a while to realize it. You picked wisely when choosing the person to infiltrate my fucking life.”
Brendan stares at me in silence. I may have to encourage him to fill in the blanks.
I twirl the bat in my hand as I pace in front of him, attempting to suppress my anger. When I think about Cara and what she’s done to me, I want to take this bat and beat the shit out of Brendan.
“First of all, what was the point of the plant?” I ask him.
Brendan looks away from me, and all I have to do to make him flinch is raise the bat in the air. He shrinks back in the chair with a scowl. “Intel. The usual reason you’d have a plant.”
I shake my head as an uneasy feeling creeps up the back of my neck. “It wasn’t just intel. She was way too…involved. Way too deep.”
Brendan grips the arms of the chair, his eyes trailing me as I pace again. “That was the job. Get as deep as possible.”
I whirl around to turn on him. “What else? She was there for a bigger purpose, wasn’t she? I fucking know it!”
Brendan tenses as I point the bat at his head. “Do you think I was let in on all the details? I’m just a soldier. A grunt on the street. I don’t know shit about all the boss’s decisions!”
He’s probably lying, but my mind travels to a new point of interest. It’s curious that a young woman is the one those assholes trusted with such a risky assignment. Cara is obviously someone the Irish viewed as loyal.
But how the fuck did she get that way? What is her place in the mob? Did her convict ex drag her in too deep?
“Why was she chosen to be the plant?” I question him as I step closer, the bat now hovering just a few inches in front of his eyes.
“O’Malley chose her. You would have to ask him,” Brendan replies, his eyes nearly crossing as they focus on the end of the bat. He swallows hard, more sweat accumulating on his forehead.
Chosen by the big boss himself. Interesting.
“You know her as Cara Cahill,” I state.
Brendan shrugs, which I take as answering in the affirmative.
My PIs are still looking into Cara up in Boston, but the man in front of me likely has information that a background check can’t tell me.
“She’s young. She doesn’t act like someone who’s involved in the mob. How did she get chosen for a mission like this? Why was she trusted to be put near me?” I question him.
Brendan looks away from me, shifting uncomfortably in the seat like he wishes he could disappear. “O’Malley believed a woman would be a better plant. You would see her as innocent. Less of a threat.”
Yet, she’s been the biggest threat in my lifetime.
“I’m sure there are other women who owe the mob a favor,” I reply. “Why send her in?”
Why does he keep dodging that damn question?
“She’s nothing. A shadow,” Brendan says with a shrug. “She wasn’t on your radar. It was easier to sneak her in.”
A decent reason but not the main one that I think he’s still hiding.
“O’Malley obviously trusted her,” I reply.
Brendan glances to the side, but I can’t read his expression. “Again, you’ll have to ask him.”
“Why did she agree to this shit?” I question him. “Because of her asshole ex?”
“Huh?” he looks genuinely perplexed now.
“The drug dealer?”
“Bullshit,” he says, sounding certain that’s a lie.
Of course, she didn’t have a criminal ex.
I should’ve known that she was lying about that shit too. Each of her lies eats away at me a little bit more.
“Why her?” I ask again as I shove the end of the bat into his gut, making him groan.
“Why do…why do any small nobodies take on big missions? To prove themselves,” Brendan replies with a gasp. “And look how that turned out for her. You’ve probably dumped her body in a ditch by now. O’Malley will fucking annihilate you for that shit,” he mutters.
I don’t comment on whether she’s alive. I’ll play that card later if needed. Why would O’Malley give a shit about the death of some random girl, though? I doubt he would go after anyone for killing one of his whores. He’d just replace her like the careless bastard he is.
“There’s still something you’re not telling me,” I remark. “Why would O’Malley care if she’s dead?”
Brendan refuses to look me in the eye. That’s the question that he’s avoiding the most.
But he will give it to me.
I tap the bat against his other knee, making him wince. “I’ll break this one too if you don’t answer me!”
“Fuck you!” Brendan says, his voice threatening to shake.
I strike the front of his shin with the bat as a warning, making him cry out in pain. “Why is she so important to him? Tell me!”
Brendan tries to cower, but the ropes and chair keep him in place. He’s not going anywhere. Shaking his head emphatically, he says, “I can’t!”
“You will!” I snap before raising the bat over my head. “Tell me now or I’ll crack your fucking skull open!” He still fucking hesitates. “What does it matter now that she’s dead?” I lie to try and drag the answer out of him.
Brendan squeezes his eyes shut as if in agony. “Okay, okay! Fuck, I’ll tell you!”
“Then spit it out!” I shout at him, my heart pounding furiously.
“Sean might be a mean son of a bitch even to her, but he fucking loves her. Loved her.”
“What?” I whisper, unable to wrap my head around this bombshell. “Cara and O’Malley were…” I trail off, unable to say the words because she’s mine. Even though I’m fucking furious with her, she belongs to me, only me.
“Cara was Sean’s daughter, okay? His only kid!”
Daughter.
The word detonates like a goddamn bullet exploding through my chest.
The woman I was falling for is my enemy’s daughter.
The man I suspect killed my best friend is Cara’s fucking father.