Eileen
“How is everything coming along?” Anton asks as we sit in the backseat of his town car on our way to my café, Ian behind the wheel. It’s touching to see him trying to be upbeat and focused on me when I know he’s got so much on his mind. The recent string of fires and sabotage attempts against his businesses have left a deep furrow between his brows.
“We’re almost done, actually,” I reply with a warm smile. “The furniture arrived earlier this week. I’ve got the interior decorator popping by in a couple of hours to help me with the layout before I order the appliances and have the rest of the kitchen equipment delivered.”
“And it only took you, what, two weeks?”
I nod excitedly. “Yeah. Granted, Laura and Ian have been incredibly helpful every step of the way. I thought we’d have to wait another week for the light fixtures to be delivered, but Laura managed to pull some strings, and in less than forty-eight hours, we’ll have light. A godsend, that woman. But most importantly, I have you to thank. You provided all the funding we needed, allowing us to make sure we could accomplish everything in the shortest timeframe possible.”
Anton gently squeezes my knee. “Anything for my bride, you know that.”
“I’m so grateful. Had I not had your support, Anton, I would’ve had to scrounge for pennies and think twice about the smallest details. I would’ve prioritized the coffee stock before anything else, but the place probably would’ve looked like a semi-posh café wannabe spot for Gold Coast commuters.”
“I’m so proud of you, Eileen. I know this is a dream come true for you, and, given the double buns you’re carrying and the toll it’s taking on you, both physically and emotionally, I am genuinely impressed that you were able to pull this whole thing off in such a short period of time.”
“It was a team effort.”
“No, no, don’t be modest,” Ian politely interjects. “You put in most of the hard work. Own it and be proud of it. You deserve the accolades.”
Glancing out the window, I watch the shopfronts whizz past as we make our way through River North. I love this city, warts and all. It’s my home, and I know it’s underbelly better than most. Ciara and I were lucky to be raised as Donovans. Many of my father’s underlings struggled harshly to reach the top of the food chain. We were born up there.
“I don’t know about that. Technically speaking, it kind of got handed to me,” I mutter.
“You were given a barren space, and you turned it into what is likely going to be a very successful business and a wonderful customer experience,” Ian insists. “Do not sell yourself short.”
Anton agrees. “You had the resources and the capabilities. Ian’s right. Be proud of yourself, especially under these circumstances.” He pauses and looks out the window. “Have you heard from Ciara?”
“No,” I shake my head slowly. “She hasn’t returned any of my calls or messages. It’s been two weeks, Anton. I’m frightened for her.”
“My intel confirms she’s still alive,” he says. “She hasn’t left the Donovan property; she was seen earlier this morning in the back garden.”
“How do you know?”
Ian scoffs. “We had to send a drone over in order to avoid detection. The entire mansion has been taken over by Kuznetsov’s men.”
“What about Paddy and the rest of our security detail?” I ask.
“We don’t know,” Anton replies. “Andrei is making inquiries across the city. Morgues, hospitals, anything.”
“God, this is awful.”
“It could be worse.”
“Really?” I give him a confused look. “How? How could any of this be worse?”
Anton looks at me, and I see the dark shadows settling in his deep, hazel eyes. A grim reminder of what he has seen and lived through, long before our paths ever crossed. “It could be an all-out war in the streets of Chicago, like back in the ’30s or even the ’70s.”
“Or the ’80s, when crack entered the scene,” Ian reminds us.
“You’re right; that was a particularly gruesome decade,” Anton sighs. “Point is, it could always be worse. We’re gathering evidence against Kuznetsov as we speak. One way or another, I am taking that bastard down, and I will do everything in my power to get Ciara out of it before she gets hurt or worse.”
“In the meantime, we move on,” Ian says. “You’ve got the café’s grand opening party to organize. A soft launch next week, and an official opening in about a month. That’s what Laura suggested, anyway.”
I was on board with that timing until the brewery fire. Now, I’m not so sure. “It might be dangerous to hold a public event in this current climate,” I respond. “Kuznetsov’s goons might target us.”
“I doubt that, knowing we’d all be there, the Karpovs and other high-ranking members of the Bratva,” Anton says. “He’s a monster, but he’s not a fool.”
“He’s not the brightest pea in the pod, either,” Ian mutters. “I heard from my buddies in the CPD’s Arson Unit that they’re hot on a trail that involves Paul Mattis. Paul to Sergei is just a stone’s throw, isn’t it?”
“Well that’s a positive lead,” Anton says.
“We’re on to something. And we’re fortunate to have some support within the CPD. They’re not fans of a potential Kuznetsov administration either. They know how Sergei’s people operate.”
“The fact that the Karpovs have been running the Bratva for the past few decades is why the morgues weren’t overflowing.”
“You’ll get him, I know you will,” I tell Anton.
He gives me a soft smile, his happy expression fading as he looks somewhere over my shoulder. A cold shiver travels down my spine as I follow his gaze.
“Oh, shit,” Ian mumbles.
“What is it? Oh.” I lose my breath altogether once I realize we’re parked outside my café.
“Eileen, stay in the car,” Anton says and jumps out. Ian is quick to join him.
I step out despite his command. My heart breaks into a million pieces as I slowly try to take it all in.
My café has been horrifically vandalized. Some of the windows smashed, others with paint thrown all over them, a milky white that spreads like disease.
From my vantage point, I can see the interior damage. Every damn couch and chair was torn wide open, the fluff from the stuffing all over the place. More broken glass and spray paint. Ugly slurs painted across the walls in bright pink, neon green and yellow, and toxic orange. The decorative mirrors have all been broken, their frames in pieces.
The bar, my beloved coffee bar, is a dreadful mess.
“Oh, I think I’m going to be sick,” I whisper, leaning back against the car. My legs feel as if they’re about to give out.
Anton and Ian take out their guns and agree to split up. Ian goes around the back to check the service entrance on the other side of the building, while my husband steps through the smashed double doors and checks the interior.
I can hear the broken glass crunching under his shoes. It’s a sickening sound.
“Clear!” Ian’s voice echoes from inside.
I meet them by the bar. My beautiful coffee bar. Even the pastry displays were obliterated. There’s paint in the sink and all over the marble worktops. My salmon pink and white gold finishes scream at me, vandalized beyond recognition. A lot of hate went into this. So much hate, in fact, that I can almost feel it in the pit of my stomach.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Anton whispers as I burst into tears.
He holds me close as I let it out, wailing and sobbing, while Ian calls the police to report the horrendous crime that happened here. We all know who did it, and we know why. We have the motive and the suspect, but without tangible evidence, the cops won’t be able to do much.
“He did this,” I say.
“I know.”
“He has to pay, Anton.”
“Oh, trust me, my love. He will. A million times over.”
Ian gives us both a troubled look as he touches a spray-painted corner of the bar. “This is fresh, sir. We missed them by minutes, at most.”
“What?” Ice thickens in my veins. “You mean they were just here?”
“Your CCTV system isn’t installed yet,” Anton looks around with a frown.
“We had the technician scheduled to come in today, along with the guys from the internet company,” I say, shuddering in my husband’s arms.
Ian takes a deep, heavy breath. “Had we arrived just a few minutes sooner—”
“This was timed close to perfection,” Anton says. “You and Ian were due to get here half an hour earlier, but you got here later, waiting for me, because I wanted to see the place.”
“What are you saying?” I ask him, though deep down I think I know precisely what he is getting at.
“Had I not made you late, chances are you would’ve been here when Kuznetsov’s goons came in. I think they tossed the place, because they couldn’t be seen waiting around. It’s close to opening for a lot of the businesses up and down this busy street. They missed their window, so they did a number on the café, instead.”
The look on his face is lethal.
“Kuznetsov has just declared an all-out war. Either he thinks he’s got something to bury us with, or he’s attempting a dangerous gambit. But I can assure you, Andrei and I have done a damn good job of covering our trail over the years.”
He’s either insane or desperate for absolute power. Maybe a little of both. Either way, I was the intended victim. If his men really were here waiting for me to arrive at my usual hour, there’s no telling what would’ve happened to me or my babies. Instinctively, I cradle my bump.
I am in clear and present danger.
“Anton, do you trust me?” I ask.
He gives me a curious look. “Of course.”
“Then I need your support. There’s something I have to do. And only I can do it.”
He doesn’t seem confident anymore after hearing that.
It’s going to be a struggle to get him on board, but I need to give Ciara one last chance to do the right thing before Anton meets Sergei in this soon-to-be bloody war.
