Chapter 50
Rhys
Isurvive a grueling ninety-minute drive from Westchester to Manhattan due to the snow and arrive at the Lancaster a broken mess. A hollow ache tears through my chest, knowing Fallon is locked away, being mistreated in a dungeon while I’m here…watching my mum prepare a seven-course Christmas dinner.
But the scent of my feral rage overpowers the smell of her honey-baked ham.
“I hope you have a plan to get that lass of yours back.” Mum slices up a pineapple. “Whatever it is, I have a mind to go with you and teach her scummy father a lesson that you don’t mess with an Irish mother-in-law.”
One thing I’ve always appreciated about my mum is that she’s not fragile where Trace and I are concerned.
“Trace, you need to fix this,” Shea-Lynne needles him.
“I’m going back to Ashbourne tonight,” I say, sipping a calming tea. “Storm the place at midnight and just start slaughtering people. That bastard Kosta is—”
“That Kosta isn’t just some soldier working for Elias Black,” Trace cuts in, fingers flying over his laptop. “After you called from Ashbourne and told me what happened, I’ve been digging into everyone you mentioned. He’s Kosta Volkov.”
My heart stops. “Fuck. How did we not know the pakhan had a fourth son?”
“Kosta’s mother is the pakhan’s long-time mistress,” Trace says with worried eyes. “But Yuri Volkov never acknowledged him. He and Kirill, Yuri’s heir, are close, though. Kosta grew up using Orlov after his mother. That’s the name the Black world knows him as. But his blood name is Volkov.”
A cold dread rolls through me.
Trace adds quietly, “And that makes him untouchable.”
“No, he isn’t,” I scoff. “Watch me. Now I want to crush Orlov more. The Bratva are vicious, but I’ve met Yuri Volkov. I don’t think he’ll approve of his bastard son Kosta drugging and beating a wife, one with documented mental problems.”
“I agree with you. But you can’t break into Black’s mansion to take her from them.
It’s too fortified, it’s a labyrinth,” Trace says, turning the laptop toward me and running the pointer across the blueprint on the screen.
“I don’t even trust these plans. They don’t include that basement prison you mentioned.
If you breach the house, there are too many places that can trap you. You’ll never make it out of there.”
“Fuck.” I put my head in my hands.
Trace’s phone rings, and he nods before answering it. “But I sent the trackers there to spy. Find an angle I’m not seeing. Alo?”
Blade’s face appears on Trace’s phone with Jett at his side. A bit of a surprise since Jett moved to Shane’s guard detail a few weeks ago. Even they get to spend Christmas together.
“Is Rhys back?” Blade asks.
“I’m here, Blade. What do you have for me?”
“We’re in Ashbourne now,” Blade says, flicking snow from his jacket. “One of their idiot guards got drunk and chatty in a pub. Said Black’s team is moving Fallon and Kosta in a motorcade tomorrow morning. They’re taking her to City Hall in Manhattan.”
“City Hall?” My stomach drops at the expediency of Black’s plan. “To get married?”
“Why else do people go to City Hall?” Blade says grimly.
“Then we wait for them there.” I push off the stool. “Blow Kosta’s head off when he steps out of the car!”
“We can’t storm City Hall,” Trace grumbles. “Too many cops who will shoot first and check IDs second.”
Everything is quiet for a minute, then a clang from the stove turns both Trace and me around.
“Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Just run the bloody motorcade off the road!” Mum barks, icing her homemade cinnamon buns.
Trace scrubs a hand down the back of his neck. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“No.” I shake my head, hating that plan more. “Fallon can still get hurt. They can throw her out of the car.”
“They won’t do that,” Trace assures me. “Kosta needs her to get close to his father. Black’s been holding out to align with the Bratva. He is giving his daughter to them in exchange for their exclusive contract. That’s why Black hasn’t bent the knee to anyone.”
“Trace, she’s the only thing in this world that—” My throat locks. I can’t breathe around the thought of her body shattered on the side of a highway, tossed like a bag of trash. “I can’t lose her.”
“With them on the road, it will level the playing field,” Trace says.
Shea-Lynne stares at us, her calm expression impressive and terrifying. “Level playing field, my ass. I’m calling Kieran right now.” She takes out her phone to call her brother, the head of the Irish Mob in Astoria. “My brothers will help box them in.”
Trace nods. “I’ll talk to Griffin, too. There’s no way he won’t summon the entire empire.”
“If we’re stealing a bride from Kosta Volkov, we are starting a war with the Bratva,” I mutter.
“The plan must be complete annihilation.” Trace moves his fingers across the laptop, summoning other resources. “They won’t even know it’s us.”
“Now let’s eat.” Mum carries a frittata skillet of scrambled eggs past me. “We need our strength for tomorrow’s take down.”
It’s the kind of thing she said before rugby matches when we were kids.
But when I glance past Mum, I notice my father sitting in the living room armchair, silent and looking worried.
“Dad?” I call out to him. “What do you think?”
Everyone stops moving and waits for him to respond.
Dad’s gaze drifts to Trace, then me. “I was relieved when you lads went to work for the ministry, not this bleedin’ mob business.”
Trace stands by his chair, steady and sure. “We’ll be safe, Dad. Uncle Aiden taught our cousins how to fight, and the military taught us.”
“We’re well prepared for this life,” I add, my voice strong so he doesn’t worry.
“And I taught you nothing?” Dad says, not exactly insulted, but hurt.
The room goes silent. Not because I can’t think of anything. No, the list is too long. Trace and I stare at each other.
Finally, he glances at Shea. Now I get where my gentleness with Fallon comes from.
I smile. “Dad, you taught us how to love a good, strong woman.”