“Cormac! Get your filthy boots off my chair. Don’t make me come over there!”
The sharp, throaty tones of Hazel, owner of The Black Ox, drift over from the bar, and I immediately retract my legs from the chair on which they are resting.
“Sorry, Hazel!” I call. She shoots me a sharp look over the edge of the glass she’s polishing and abruptly turns away.
“Careful,” warns Saoirse. “You don’t want to piss her off or you’ll have more than just Russians to worry about.”
“You remember when I chipped the bar?” Cian groans softly. “We kill people nearly every weekend and yet Hazel with a wooden spoon was infinitely scarier.”
A soft chuckle rises from Hank who stands behind me, ever my vigilant guard. Hazel and her family have run The Black Ox for longer than anyone cares to remember. It’s the only place in the entire state that can be called neutral ground, regardless of the family you are from. Many treaties and deals have been hashed out at these tables, along with the smothering of potential conflicts and even a marriage or two. The Black Ox is a legend, and anyone who is anyone in this line of work knows that Hazel and her bar are not to be messed with. If anyone dared, they would have the full might of every family crashing down at their door.
This is why this is the perfect place for me to meet the Russian Godmother. It’s the only way I can guarantee I won’t shoot her on sight before I get my answers. Leaving Evelyn alone with Dale and a few of my men is the best choice, even if every part of me aches to be back with her. It’s a feeling I’ve never had to battle with before and it’s a strange sensation, almost like loss. As if I left a piece of myself with her in that apartment.
Saoirse slides a beer over to me with a silent raise of her brow. She can tell I’m tense and she wants to relax me before the Russians get here, but beer won’t help. Nothing will.
If my intel is right, my brother’s killer is about to walk through that door.
I need every drop of my focus.
Twenty minutes later, the door of The Black Ox swings open and in stride two burly men clad in red shirts and black leather jackets. They’re followed by a beautiful woman with poker-straight platinum blonde hair and striking green eyes. Anastasia Remizova is around my age but wasn’t raised the same way I was. It was common knowledge how desperately her father was trying to marry her off to someone rich and successful to try and stop the great Russian flagship from sinking into obscurity. His assassination was the talk of the town for a few months until Anastasia herself became the news. She refused to bend to the will of the generals in her family and then had them all killed for questioning her.
In one night, Anastasia proved herself to be tactical and ruthless, even if she’s still fighting for power within her own ranks. Which makes it even more believable that she would act out and come after Brenden.
Despite this, she has the same look of apprehension on her face that I feel in my heart. Being thrust suddenly into power carries a certain weight that’s hard to grow accustomed to when everyone is suddenly looking at you for direction and answers.
“Ana!” Hazel greets her with a smile. “Are you drinking tonight?”
“No,” Anastasia replies with a tight smile, and her Russian accent is sharp to the ears. “Business only, I’m afraid.”
“A shame,” Hazel replies, and her eyes dart to mine with a warning. Peace is the only currency here.
Anastasia approaches my table, and I wait until she’s a foot away before I stand. My brother and sister were on their feet the moment she entered, but I’m not here to keep relations smooth. Not if Brenden’s blood is on Russian hands.
“So.” Anastasia sits across from me and crosses one leather-clad leg over the other, resting her long red fingernails against her knee. “You’ve been causing me a lot of trouble, Cormac.”
“Not enough,” I reply shortly, sitting. Saoirse sits down, but Cian remains standing, squaring up to one of the Russian bodyguards who steps too close. Tension clogs the air as Anastasia and I hold one another’s gaze. Cian refuses to back down despite the Russian having at least sixty pounds over him.
Then Hazel appears and slams a bucket of ice down onto the table, making everyone flinch. “Don’t make me go over the rules,” she states sharply. “No blood, you hear?” She glares at me, then Anastasia. Then she departs after an affectionate pat on Saoirse’s shoulder.
“You killed Brenden,” I say as the Russian guard steps back and Cian relaxes a fraction.
“No,” Anastasia replies.
“Yes,” I snap, and anger ignites like a hot flame in my chest. “The only thing keeping you alive right now is Hazel, do you understand? You kill my brother then dare sit across from me and deny it?”
Anastasia tilts her head and presses her dark lips together. “I have no interest in war with you Irish,” she remarks. “You are misinformed.”
“You’re a liar!”
“Look.” Saoirse cuts me off quickly and leans one arm on the table. “We know Russian hands caused the death of our brother. We have a witness. She was being scouted by a loan shark on your payroll, and he was a frequent guest of the motel where Brenden was murdered.”
“And?” Anastasia raises one sharp brow.
“When we confronted him, our only witness was stabbed,” I say, curling my hands into fists beneath the table. I want to reach across the table and punch that smug look off her face, then force her to tell me exactly who killed Brenden and why she thought she would get away with it. The rules of this place are the only things keeping me still, but my blood runs hotter with each passing beat of my heart.
“Name?” Anastasia asks.
“Harry Fox.” Saoirse slides a thin paper folded toward Anastasia. “He was very forthcoming about who he works for after Cian was finished with him.”
Anastasia opens the paper and takes in the information gathered on Harry after Evelyn was stabbed. Cian beat him until Harry spilled everything and anything about who he worked for, but none of it was any use. So we’d let him go.
She purses her lips and then passes the paper to one of her guards. “He is one of mine,” she admits.
I lurch faintly in my seat. Under the table, Saoirse’s leg knocks into mine.
“But I have more important shit to be dealing with than trying to make a move on the Irish. As soon as you started on our territory, I had some of my own people look into why you would make a move against me. Imagine my surprise when I was able to trace my own men to the cause.” Anastasia snaps her fingers, and the second guard behind her pulls out a phone and taps the screen. Ten seconds later, a third bulky Russian enters the bar dragging a badly beaten Harry with him.
I glance at Cian who subtly lifts one brow. Cian had given Harry a good once-over, but it wasn’t as bad as this.
Harry coughs up blood and immediately gets a meaty fist to the face because of it. “I told you,” the new guard spits. “Don’t bleed on Hazel’s floor.”
Anastasia straightens up in her seat. “Listen to me, Cormac. I have a lot of respect for the Irish. The work your mother did was magnificent and the few times I met with Brenden, he was a gentleman. I was… saddened to hear of his passing. Yes, technically, Harry works for me. He’s a low-level loan shark who’s nothing more than a handful of numbers at the bottom of one of my columns. He works for a nothing family that works for another family that works for me. Do you understand? He’s nothing.”
Her voice is level and her words strong, but it does nothing to calm the heat simmering beneath my skin. I’m boiling alive on the inside as seeing Harry just reminds me of Evelyn dropping like a rock right in front of me.
“You expect me to believe you?” I bite out through clenched teeth.
“I’d say I don’t care what you believe, but I don’t have time for a war with you, so yes, I do expect that. Harry certainly doesn’t have the smarts to make a play against your family, and the people he works for don’t have the balls to talk back to me, never mind make a move against you. Isn’t that right, Harry?”
Harry nods quickly, clutching at his bloodied shirt, and he looks at me with fear in his eyes. “It’s true. I ain’t never had orders about any Irish, sir. Evelyn was a nobody. She was just someone who sought me out because she needed money, and I obliged ’cause that’s what I’m paid to do!”
“And the man who stabbed Evelyn?”
“I have no idea, I swear. I always work alone. I didn’t know she was messed up in any gang shit, I swear. I never would have put her on the books if I knew she was Irish!”
I don’t correct the assumption that Evelyn is Irish. Instead, I turn back to Anastasia. “You can say what you want, but I wouldn’t ever expect truth from the mouth of a Russian.”
“I’m not my father,” Anastasia snaps, and it’s the first time there’s a hint of something human on her impassive face. “I have enough trouble stabilizing the internal mess my father left behind without tackling a family as big as yours. Especially one with the Italians on their side. It would be suicide for me, don’t you see that? I’m trying to build something up, not crush what little I have my hands on.”
I glance at Saoirse who gives me a small nod, a signal for me to keep listening.
“I don’t expect you to be concerned with the inner turmoil of the Russians. We’re hardly allies. But you must believe me that the death of your Captain is not on my hands, nor on my orders. I don’t know if someone is trying to make me look bad or is counting on your taking me out in blind revenge, but Cormac. This was not me. I’m balancing a family on broken stilts right now. War? Conflict? I may as well swap my antidepressants for cyanide.”
As much as I hate to admit it, Anastasia talks sense. What little I know of the Russian hierarchy is enough to make me believe her words, even if her intentions remain clouded. Indeed, this course of action, with proof, would result in my annihilating her and everyone associated with her. Instead, she’s here talking to me.
The anger inside me stalls and flares in my chest, suffocating me for a few long seconds. It had nowhere to go, and I was so desperate for some kind of outlet, even at the risk of Hazel’s wrath. Instead, I’m forced to squash it down once more, so I bite my tongue and sigh.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck indeed,” Anastasia murmurs, then she lifts one hand. “Hazel, I’ll take that drink now.”
As Hazel appears with some bourbon for Anastasia, I accept the beer Saoirse offered me earlier and pop the cap quickly. Three gulps later, I have a better grasp on my rage.
“I think we can help one another,” Anastasia says. “I’m not here for a war, you understand? I am here because I can’t afford one and someone is working really fucking hard to make it look like I’m out for Irish blood. I don’t care who they are, but I want them dead. Even if it’s someone in my own ranks.”
I study her face, seeking out any hint of a lie, but she appears to be honest. And I’m growing inclined to believe her. Whoever is behind this has made it seem like Russian hands took my brother’s life. If I’m wrong here, then his killer walks free.
“Alright,” Saoirse says. “We have two people we’re looking for. One we know is a sex worker, but other than her name, Peach, we know nothing else. The other person is a mystery.”
Cian leans over Saoirse and hands Anastasia two photographs of the police sketches. Anastasia glances them over, then passes them to the guard she gave the paper to. “I don’t recognize them, but I will have someone dig into it.”
“That’s all I ask,” Saoirse replies.
We fall into a strained but amicable silence where drinks are shared and Anastasia’s guards eventually take a seat. Cian remains standing, despite Saoirse’s persuasion, and even Hazel swings by to make sure we’re not secretly at each other’s throats. Through it all, my mind drifts to Evelyn and the man who stabbed her. If I take Anastasia at her word that the Russians really aren’t behind this, then who is the person who stabbed her? And how did they find her?
We drink until the early hours until one of Anastasia’s guards gets a call. They pass the phone to Anastasia, and she listens intently for a few long minutes, then she hangs up and sets the phone aside.
“Well?” I prompt.
“I know this looks bad,” she says tightly. “But Peach is one of ours. We’re in contact with her pimp and in the process of tracking her down.”
I’d let Harry slide as a coincidence, but Peach being on the Russian payroll as well makes Anastasia’s defense crumble around her. Every muscle inside tightens like the snap of a belt, and I slam one hand down on the table.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“The man isn’t known to us and will require some deeper research,” she says, meeting my gaze. “This doesn’t change what I said.”
“Yes,” I say, standing so abruptly that my chair clatters back. “It does. You better find that woman, Anastasia. And that man. Or I will stop at nothing until I have wiped you and all of your kind off the face of this fucking Earth.”
