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Jamie’s gaze alighted on me. His mouth broke out in a grin, and his cheeks flushed with what I assumed was shame.
“My parents have me paying my own tuition this year. I don’t think I could afford a glass of water in there,” he joked, nodding toward the opening of the restaurant. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Claire slip behind the hostess stand. She busied herself with cleaning her workspace, but I knew she was eavesdropping.
“How can I help you, then?” I asked, all too aware that I had tables waiting. I didn’t care about the tips—they would be split among the staff. My managerial pay bump was incredible, not that I needed it. Jack’s black Amex was still burning a hole in my wallet, untouched. I was conservative with money for someone who had never needed to be. There were just too many people suffering in the world for me to be spending thousands of dollars on things I didn’t need.
Jamie glanced around the Shannon’s exquisite lobby, which had been designed by Shannon herself. It seemed as if he didn’t want to meet my eye, which was understandable. Our last interaction had been awkward—what with the drinking, his hard-on and Jack’s foot in Jamie’s face.
“I came to apologize,” he explained, his gaze downcast. “I was drunk, but that’s no excuse for pushing myself on you. I’m glad your boyfriend was there to stop me from making an even bigger ass of myself.”
Before I had a chance to respond, someone burst through the revolving doors and latched onto my upper arm. His grip was familiar, but gentle this time.
“You’re coming with me,” Eoghan commanded, tugging me across the lobby. He was agitated, which must mean this was something important. The restaurant staff would have to survive without me for the night.
“Thanks, Jamie,” I called, pausing at the revolving glass doors. Jamie was frozen in shock, staring at Eoghan like he was Hades emerging from the underground to abduct Persephone. “Consider yourself absolved!”
Eoghan yanked open the backdoor to the SUV and guided me through, climbing in after. Mick nodded once from the passenger seat, signaling for the driver to pull into traffic. The driver cut a taxi off, forcing the cabbie to switch lanes with a long, drawn-out blare of his horn.
“Where are we going?” I asked, like being dragged out of a building with no more than a six-word explanation was common. It was for me, but it was usually Jack barking the order.
Mick glanced back, raking his gaze over me. I was still in my little black dress and heels, the standard uniform at Roisin’s.
“Moscow,” Mick muttered, his expression grave.
My pulse raced. Had I heard him correctly? He’d said Moscow, right? As in Russia? I couldn’t go to Russia. What the hell was in Russia?
Eoghan grabbed my hand, reassuring me. “The Moscow Vodka Room. It’s in Midtown.”
“Oh, thank fuck!” I breathed in relief. The men snickered, shaking their heads. “Any reason in particular?”
“Why do you think?” Mick grunted.
“Jack,” I answered, lacing my fingers together and squeezing hard.
Judging by the apprehensive energy in the car, tonight was going to be long. If Mick and Eoghan were enlisting my help with their boss, it wasn’t going to be pretty, either.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Emma
The SUV pulled to the curb of a dark side street off Broadway. Despite the summer heat, a chill doused my bones when we entered the Moscow Vodka Room.
The restaurant was…red—red walls, booths, chairs, lighting. One side of the space housed a lengthy bar with over two dozen giant jugs of flavored vodka, everything from lemon to horseradish. A traditional Romani band was performing, strumming their instruments and singing jovially. Every seat was taken, but that didn’t stop people from standing arm against arm, drinking and shouting to one another. Over half the room was speaking Russian, the other half Ukrainian.
It was after ten and everyone in the room seemed well watered. They didn’t notice as we shoved through the restaurant. Eoghan held my hand, parting the crowd with aggression. When we reached the back door, a giant bouncer stepped in front of it.
“Emerald Devil,” Mick shouted at him.
The bouncer sneered, opening the wooden door to let us pass.
The Emerald Devil was Jack’s alter ego, so to speak. He used the nickname when he was participating in underground street fights. If that was why we were here, why were Eoghan and Mick so distraught? Jack was an excellent competitor.
We descended a spiral staircase, coming upon an elaborate barrel room. It was dusty and ill-lit with medieval wall sconces. Eoghan prodded me in the back with his finger. I sighed in frustration and continued after Mick, teetering in my heels. If Eoghan wanted me to go any faster, I would be tumbling the rest of the way.
When we leveled out, I realized I was right. About the fight, at least. The dingy storehouse was as congested as the restaurant had been, but the zeal down here was violent. Most of the men were yelling in Russian.
“Finally!” Kieran emerged from the crowd, animated. His eyes landed on mine and relief flooded through him. “You ready, Ivy League?”
“For what?”
