Chapter Seven
“Five. Three. Seven. Nine.” Seamus called out number after number as he worked me through the paces in the gym beneath McDonough’s. It had been nearly two weeks since my meeting with Dante, and still nothing but radio silence. To keep Christian from getting suspicious, we agreed not to contact each other unless it was absolutely necessary.
He wanted Christian dead for what he’d done to Libby. As much as I didn’t want to stop him from putting that asshole’s head on a spike, we needed him alive still.
Only for a little while.
“Focus, Ava,” Seamus reprimanded when his kick made contact with the side of my head. I stumbled to the side, wincing at the pounding pain before cracking my neck and hunkering back into position. “You’ve been too distracted lately.”
“Got a lot on my mind,” I mumbled before throwing my uppercut at the pads.
“If you lose focus in a fight,” Seamus scolded, “you die.”
My lip curled into a snarl. “And if you keep pushing me,” I taunted, “so will you.”
“Feisty today.” Kiernan laughed from the doorway. I kept my focus on Seamus, but a slight movement from behind my brother drew my attention.
“Fuck.”
I was pretty sure I saw stars when Seamus landed a punch to my jaw, knocking me off balance and sending me careening to the floor.
“Seamus!” Bailey’s voice was panicked. “You need to be more careful.”
The motherfucker shrugged as he watched his girlfriend peel me off the floor.
“She should have been paying attention, astoré.”
Bailey rolled her eyes at my brother, then turned back to me. “Ava, there’s a delivery for you upstairs.”
“Wait,” Seamus called out. “I’m not done kicking your ass yet.”
I flipped him off as I headed up the stairs to the main floor.
The bar was empty at this time of day. No one but my father, the twins, and Bailey were usually around, except the few kitchen employees who came in early to prep for the night’s crowd. Marianne was blissfully never around unless my grandmother forced her to help, which wasn’t a lot because Liam couldn’t stand the bickering between the hotheaded pair.
A small, unmarked box sat on the bar top. I wasn’t expecting any packages except the one from Portland, but it was too tiny to be filled with evidence.
“Came by special courier.” My father spoke up from behind the bar where he was polishing glasses. “O’Malley’s boys dropped it off. Said it was urgent.”
I winced. My father wasn’t on the best terms with the O’Malleys.
“Want to tell me what is so important that it has them risking their lives to deliver it here?”
There was only one person it could be from. The officer from Portland where the O’Malleys were based. No one else knew I was here.
“It was supposed to be evidence from the night my mother was murdered.”
Tilting his head, he studied the box for a moment before he frowned. “Seems a wee bit small for that.”
A smile tilted my lips.
We really were alike.
I shrugged. “Might as well find out what she sent me.”
Liam nodded and grabbed a pair of scissors, cutting away the tape in a few quick slips. I opened the flaps to reveal a small black burner phone nestled among some foam.
I picked it up and turned it on.
There was only one number programmed into the directory. Before I could second-guess myself, I dialed it.
“Jesus, those couriers are slow,” a woman huffed as she picked up. “Took you long enough to call.”
“Took you long enough to send something my way,” I shot back. “I didn’t ask for a phone call. I asked for a box of evidence.”
The woman on the other end of the line snorted and chomped her gum.
“Yeah, well,” she sighed again, “things came up, and that’s why I’m calling.”
“Please tell me you didn’t lose my box of evidence.”
She chuckled on the other end of the line.
“Hell, no,” she assured me. “Who the hell do you think I am? My precinct is dirtier than a fat man’s undies on cardio day.” That was an image I could have lived without. “I sent out a false package to see what would happen to it. My instincts were right. Some fucker grabbed it up, shot my courier, then tried to come after me.”
“Hope the motherfucker is dead.”
“Oh, he is.” She paused, the gears in her mind working overtime as she thought through what to say next. “Look…you sure you want to go digging around in this, Ava? Whoever is trying to get this evidence, they mean business. I can help but…”
“You want something.” There was no anger or resentment in my voice. I understood where she was coming from. The woman cleared her throat uncomfortably.
“My uncle wants a sit down with you and Liam Kavanaugh.”
“And who is your uncle?” Seeing as how it had been the O’Malleys who had delivered the phone I could almost guess, but I wanted to hear it from her.
“Sully O’Malley.”
“Please hold.” I put her on mute and turned to my father.
“Sully wants a sit down, doesn’t he?” I nodded, not even bothering to ask how he knew who I was talking to. My father had been in this business so long he didn’t need me to tell him what was going on. He’d put the pieces together the moment the box was delivered. “It’s smart.”
“I don’t care about smart,” I told him. “What do you want? He’s most likely going to want to build an alliance with you.”
“Us,” my father corrected. “Sully knows it’s a smart move to side with the first female head of the Bratva. I’m just a consolation prize.”
“Do you want to?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea. The O’Malleys, although brash, would make powerful allies. They know everything that goes on in their territory. You might find some answers from them.”
Unmuting the phone, I said, “You have a deal.”
The woman sighed in relief. “Thank you,” she said. “How is tomorrow at two p.m.? There is a warehouse in the Eliot district we use. That’s where I put the evidence for safekeeping.”
“Text me the address.”
“Okay.”
“What’s your name, by the way?” I asked her. “Should probably know it if we’re going to be doing business together.”
“Aine,” she told me. “Aine O’Malley.”
“Well, Aine O’Malley—” I shifted the phone to my other ear. “It’s nice to meet you officially. Let’s talk about that precinct of yours.”
* * *
Things were fishy with Mark and Dima. Mark had been on edge when I walked into his office at the compound to find him on a video call with Dima, who still refused to tell me what he was up to. The two of them looked guilty as they interacted with me, rushing me out of the room. Mark all but pushed me out the door like a madman after I asked him to dig up some dirt on Sully O’Malley for our meeting today.
We left him to watch over things remotely from the compound. The warehouse address Aine had given me was now fully covered by surveillance cameras, satellite imagery, and a few dozen soldiers. We weren’t taking any chances. I didn’t doubt Aine’s sincerity when she informed me that her uncle was truly looking for an alliance, but just because she believed him didn’t mean I had to.
Sully O’ Malley was nothing like what I expected him to be. From the long list of dirty laundry Mark aired out about the man, I expected him to be older. Closer to my father’s age than my own. He sat at the head of the small metal table, head held high like he was the king.
We were certainly not his subjects.
The man had short black hair and brilliant blue eyes. The angles of his face were outlined by a rough stubble that gave his features a dark edge. He looked like the young pirate Hook from that silly modern fairy tale show Bailey insisted I watch with her.
Aine, or who I assumed was Aine, stood next to him, her head bowed slightly as she whispered angrily to her uncle. Her soft features didn’t match the rugged tone of her voice when we’d spoken on the phone. I half expected her to be wearing ripped jeans and an AC/DC top. Instead, she stood demurely next to Sully, wearing a collared lace blouse with peasant sleeves tucked into a gentle peach tulle skirt with a pair of white flats.
Her long raven hair was braided back loosely, a few strays framing her gentle porcelain face. When she looked up at me, her ocean blue eyes were anything but submissive, and I loved it. Aine O’Malley may have been forced to play dress up, but that didn’t mean she liked it.
“Welcome.” Sully’s voice was strong, dripping with honey. His gaze roamed over me. Not leering, just curious. He tilted his head and studied me. My red hair hung in loose waves around a makeup free face. I’d chosen to wear black leggings that I tucked into a pair of low-heeled leather boots. A loose olive wrap completed the ensemble.
Stylish but also loose enough that if we were attacked, I could easily move and bend.
I approached the table, my father on my right, and Vasily on my left. Both dressed to the nines in Armani suits and gold Rolexes. The woman at Starbucks this morning had a field day with them when we ordered our coffees.
Neither of them noticed, of course. They just smiled, placed their orders, and moved to surround me as if a barista attack was imminent. One of them had been eyeing me with thinly disguised hate when Vasily all but brushed off her obvious advances.
Sully stood and reached out his hand to me with a disarming smile. I took it with a smile of my own. Once we all exchanged pleasantries, we sat.
“Thank you for coming.” Sully leaned back in his chair comfortably.
I glanced at my father and then at Vas. Smirking darkly, I said, “I was under the impression I wouldn’t get the box of evidence I wanted if we didn’t. Not the best way to start relations, is it?”
Sully chuckled. “No, I suppose not,” he admitted. “You’ll have to forgive me. I have been trying to get your father to agree to a sit down for years now.”
Father snorted derisively. “Then you shouldn’t have been trying to push into my territory.”
“And I have tried telling you that it wasn’t us.”
“Men bearing the mark of the O’Malley clan don’t lie,” my father snarled. He pointed his finger at Sully. “Each of them was selling your drugs stamped with your mark, and so were they.”
Sully waved his hand at him dismissively. My father growled. “Do you honestly believe I would be that careless? Also, if they were truly my men, I would have retaliated.”
“You did.”
Sully snorted. “I never retaliated, and that is why I’ve been trying to sit down with you,” he explained calmly. “Your territory is nice and all, but I don’t need it. I have my own, and I like it here. Why would I want to give that all up for a territory that’s three hours away?”
“Shipping ports,” Liam said confidently.
“I don’t need your shipping ports, Kavanaugh,” he told him. “I run one of the most successful ground transport companies in the nation. Boats aren’t my family’s thing, and you know that. It’s why my father turned down your offer all those years ago.”
That caught my attention. Liam had been out of town on my grandfather’s request to scope out a trucking company here in Portland. It was his alibi.
“You never bought it from him?” I asked my father.
He shook his head. “No.” The muscles in his jaw clenched tightly. “Nearly got me killed coming down here. Luckily, Owen O’Malley didn’t have an itchy trigger finger, or I would be dead.”
“He set you up,” Sully deadpanned.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” my father snarled. Vas and I exchanged a knowing look. “That man raised me.”
“No, he didn’t.” I said at the same time as Sully.
Well shit.
Sully looked at me with mirrored surprise. “Looks like I’m not the only one who’s been digging where I shouldn’t.”
“What the hell are the two of you going on about?” Liam roared, his face turning red. “Seamus McDonough raised me. Arranged for Katherine and me to go to college together.”
“I am not contesting that.” Sully’s voice was low and calm, like he was talking to a spooked animal. “What I am saying is that the man who sent you to buy my father’s trucking company wasn’t Seamus McDonough.”
“And neither was the man at the gala,” I spoke up. My hands twisted nervously in my lap. This was a conversation I had been avoiding. He never believed me when I voiced my doubts about him, and I was not up to feeling that sting of rejection again. As a result, I avoided talking to him about anything related to my mother and grandfather. The only reason he was here now was because Sully wanted the sit down.
Liam groaned. “Not this again, Ava,” he chastised. “We already put it to bed.”
“No,” I growled. Pain lanced through my heart at his words. We hadn’t put it to bed as he said. He chose to ignore what was in front of his eyes. “You refused to acknowledge what is right in front of your goddamn eyes. I understood your reticence when it was just me, but now you have someone else telling you the exact same thing. Something isn’t right about Seamus McDonough. If that’s who he even is.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Avaleigh.” He stood his ground. “This isn’t some—”
“Actually, she does,” Sully interrupted. “Whoever is setting us up is using Seamus McDonough as a patsy.”
“It’s more than that,” I whispered. “Whoever he is, he’s pretending to be Seamus, down to his very looks.”
“That’s insane.” Liam shook his head. “There is no possible way that someone is impersonating your grandfather.”
“I have proof.”
“Let’s see it then.”
The pain in my chest deepened. The knife Liam had shoved into my heart twisted deeper at his stubborn refusal. I told him once that I refused to be the daughter of a man who dismissed my cares and worries as if they were nothing more than dirt underfoot. I warned him of the strain it would cause. He was proud to call me daughter, he told me, but he wasn’t acting like it.
At this moment, I wasn’t proud to call him my father.
Vas, who had been sitting by my side, hands clenched into fists as his anger rose, shoved his phone at Liam. Both photos were time stamped. One was the photo of my mother’s graduation, and the second was an airport security photo.
The man in the photo was an exact match to Seamus McDonough with one glaring difference.
The silver cross cane.
Liam stared at the evidence, eyes wide, searching for proof that we were wrong. He couldn’t deny it anymore, however. The truth was before him, plain as day, and he would be a fool if he attempted to refute what was before him.
“This…” The disbelief in his voice killed me. The hurt and sadness reflected in his eyes made me want to hold him. Comfort him. But now wasn’t the time. Over time, his face hardened, his eyes narrowing at the man in the picture. He was coming to terms with the truth. “Tell me more.”