No pleasantries. No small talk. Straight to the point.
Some would find it bad form that he’s offered no chaser. But I consider it being real.
The Irish and the Russians aren’t exactly allies—never have been, probably won’t ever be—so why the hell should we pretend we’re best buds?
I appreciate a guy like Rurik. Somebody who doesn’t do the smoke and mirrors shit but is upfront about where they stand.
I take the chair while Killian and Sean position themselves behind me and decide to let him know. “I appreciate a man who doesn’t waste time.”
“Time is money, and money is valuable,” he answers, taking a slow drag from his cigar. “I’ve heard about your marriage to the weapons dealer’s daughter. As well as your warwith the Albanians. The Raguzins have no interest in your conflictorany deal with your father-in-law.”
A grin cracks onto my face. “Rest assured, I’m not here for no deal on his behalf. More like an attempt on my life was made. You understand why I’d want to check potential suspects off the list. I’d like to think if we had a problem, I’d know about it before bullets started flying.”
A waitress in a slinky, lingerie-like dress approaches with a tray of drinks, but I wave her off before she can set anything down. She retreats without a word, respecting the nonverbal cue for discretion.
“Our history hasn’t been perfect. We’ve had our run-ins in the past,” I go on, leaning forward, elbows on my knees and hands clasped. “But I’d like to think there’s a basic line of respect between our families.”
Rurik’s expression remains stoic and unreadable. Even his eyes don’t change, remaining dark and borderline lifeless. “We had nothing to do with it,” he says simply.
“I didn’t think you did.” I lean back again, then give a shrug. “But I had to be sure. Consider this me checking in to make sure there’s no issue. Because if therewasan issue... the Callahans would address it. Cordially. Or by other means if necessary.”
“There’s no need for not-so-thinly veiled threats,” he replies, nonplussed. “The Bratva has our own complications at the moment. We have no interest in petty squabbles with other families.”
Killian’s briefed me about what Rurik’s alluding to. He’s got experience dealing with the Russians through his professional boxing and the underground gambling rings the Bratva have a heavy hand in.
He warned me about the turmoil in Raguzin circles. Their Pakhan is old and frail and supposedly on the verge of naming a successor. It’s caused infighting among the brigadiers, each of them jockeying for the position.
Rurik included.
I nod my head, deciding he’s being straight with me. “Good. I’m glad we’re on the same page. I didn’t really want to deal with the Russians when I’ve got the Albanians to fuck up.”
Rising to my feet, I turn to go with Killian and Sean half a step behind. Rurik remains silent as we do ’til he finally decides on parting words.
“Killian.” I glance back to find his gaze has shifted to my boneman. “Good luck at next week’s match.”
Killian merely inclines his head in answer, offering no other reaction.
I wait ’til we’re inside the Escalade, the doors sealed shut against the drizzle and city noise, before commenting on it.
“He got a stake in your next boxing match?”
Killian shrugs, settling into the leather seat. “The Bratva have always got a big interest in every match. I’m fighting some Polish fuck, and they’ve bet heavy on me to win.”
The Russianswouldbe more concerned with their sports gambling ring than something like the conflict between our clan and the Albanians.
In the New York underworld, everybody’s got their own interests, playing their own game.
As Sean pulls the Escalade away from the curb into the wet Manhattan traffic, I mentally cross the Bratva off the suspect list.
They’ve got nothing to do with the shooting. It seems like the old saying is true—the most obvious answer is usually the correct one.
Which means all signs still point to the Albanians; which means I’ve got some revenge to plot.
I come home to the sound of laughter echoing on the ground floor.
It’s such a foreign sound in Callahan House that I almost don’t recognize it at first.
But as I make my way down the hall toward the kitchen, it grows louder—warm and bright and so unexpected I find myself slowing my steps just to listen.