The Russians knew and decided to give us a helping hand.
So long as we agreed to help them out in their underground gambling ring for professional boxing.
Seamus took the information and ran with it. He got Malcolm Langston on board, convincing him his daughter’s life was on the line and the only way to save her was to work together.
The two men were reluctant to strike another deal, especially after recent fraught tensions, but at the end of the day, Simone is his princess, and he was desperate to save his daughter.
Malcolm provided the weaponry, including the explosive that blew the warehouse doors off their hinges.
Rurik offered up a handful of Bratva soldiers. Enough to tip the scales in our favor.
It was kept secret because my father still wasn’t sure what the truth was. He didn’t know if the Langstons were involved in the betrayal or if he could trust anyone outside of his innermost circle.
So he played it close to the vest, waiting ’til the last possible moment to make his move.
After I went to the warehouse, Killian alerted the rest of the clan, letting them know where I was and what I was walking into. Dad decided to lead the charge himself, despite his age and illness. Despite the many disagreements and tensions between us.
The Albanians are finished now. Dren is dead. So are his sons. His crew is scattered or slaughtered.
For tonight at least, the underworld has reached a fragile point of peace.
Tomorrow’s another story altogether. But right now, I don’t give a fuck about tomorrow.
Right now, I just want to see my wife.
I find her in our bedroom, sitting on the foot of the bed, looking as if she’s still processing the night. She’s still wearing the dress from the gallery, though it’s torn and stained with blood and dirt. Her hair has come loose from its elegant updo, dark strands falling messily in tangled waves. And her face...
Fuck. Her face.
Bruises spread across her cheekbone and jaw, black and blue against her bronze skin. Her lip is split in the corner and crusted with dried blood. The same for her nostrils where she apparently took a fucking punch to the face.
There’re angry red marks around her throat where Eddie’s hands squeezed the life out of her.
Rage flares hot in my chest remembering the sight of her squirming on the ground and him crouched over her, choking as hard as he could.
It’s a murderous kind of fury that’s white hot as I think about his audacity—and Dren’s—to puttheir hands onmywife.
Eddie and Dren are already dead. If they weren’t, I’d kill them all over again. Slower this time, to truly savor the moment.
Simone glances up as I enter, her hazel eyes meeting mine.
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We simply look at each other, taking in the damage and processing what we’ve survived.
Then I crack a grim smile.
“Well,” I say, limping toward her. “Dren’s finally shut the fuck up. Turns out all it took was a bullet to the brain.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “A little soon, don’t you think?”
“He had it coming.” I stop in front of her, close enough to touch. “I took one hell of a beating for you tonight, princess. Just so you know.”
“I noticed. I watched from the audience.” Her eyes travel over my battered face then drop to my bandaged arm. “You look terrible.”
“You should see the other guys,” I say. “Oh wait. You did. They’re all dead.”
She allows for a small laugh this time. It’s not as melodic as her usual laughs, weighted down by exhaustion, though it’s still the best sound I’ve heard all night.
It’s real and genuine and eases up the tension in my chest.