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The Charity Event
There are far too many people with guns for this to be an event for a children’s hospital, Issac thought as he and Felinus walked into the hotel where the charity event was being held. They were right on time and the front lobby was full of people already milling about in small groups wearing suits or party dresses as they chatted or started moving towards two of the open doors further in. Issac didn’t know if he was more pleased or concerned that even a few of the women were carrying. He didn’t often see women carry. Sexist ideas of women not being in these sorts of dealings as actual players hadn’t gone away to his knowledge as an outsider over the last fifteen years, but maybe he was wrong. He was at least a little reassured when a quick glance around the room revealed no one with a clover tattoo on their neck.
Lucio, Felinus’s cousin, was a few yards away, listening rather than talking to the group he was in. He made eye contact with Felinus over the top of an Asian woman’s head. Felinus had told Issac that morning over breakfast with Brutus that Lucio would help run interference to keep any Clovers away from Issac. He had admitted that it was not going to be a perfect system, but it would keep Issac from being caught in a conversation alone with someone who might have known his dad.
“How the fuck did you convince him to do that without telling him what’s going on,” Brutus had asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I cashed in my ‘no questions asked,’” Felinus said in a dismissive tone and changed the subject, but Brutus’s look of surprise and amusement made Issac think calling in that favor was more of a big deal than Felinus was letting on.
“There are Mr. Volkov and Mr. Esposito,” Felinus murmured, nodding to the closest thing to a private corner the lobby had, where two large men were talking near a wall with a smaller person only noticeable by the wrong number of shoes. “It’s best if we get this part over with now.”
Issac recognized Dimitri’s father immediately from the picture Dimitri had once shown him of a fishing trip he had taken in the summer. It had been a long-winded account of how much fun he had had with his dad, brother, and a handful of other people and was almost immediately followed by a “You should come with us next time!” The head of the Russian mob had been smiling with his arm around his son’s neck as they held up a fish each. He was smiling now, too, his head going back in a deep throaty laugh as the other man Issac could see talked animatedly with his hands.
The Don looked a lot more like someone’s eccentric uncle than he did the head of a mafia, even with the pistol carefully strapped to his chest so it wouldn’t show in the line of his carpet bag-patterned suit. He was the one who spotted them first, facing the doors more than Volkov was. “Ah, Gatto, Topolino! You’ve arrived!”
“Mr. Esposito,” Felinus said, his hand in the small of Issac’s back with just enough pressure that Issac wasn’t sure if he was holding it there to reassure him or to keep him from bolting. Probably both since Issac considered running as Felinus shook his boss’s hand.
“And you must be Issac,” the eccentric uncle said, holding out his hand to him. “It is good to meet you at last, Topolino. I have heard much about you.”
“And I about you, sir,” Issac said, taking the hand and thankful that his own didn’t tremble as Esposito matched his grip. “Everyone speaks highly of you.”
“Dirty little suck-ups, all of them,” Esposito announced, smirking at Felinus as he patted Issac’s hand with his other one, then released him.
“Da, myshonok,” Volkov said, still smiling. “Do not let this pasta twirler fool you. He is as shrewd as they come.” He took Issac’s hand, briefly crushing his fingers before relaxing his grip quickly. “It is good to meet you at last, Issac. Dimitri thinks your footsteps turn to gold.”
“Is that why he’s always walking behind him,” Felinus muttered, soft enough for Issac to hear but if any of the others heard him, it was ignored as Issac got his hand back.
“Seems everyone is acquainted with the lad except me,” a voice directly out of Issac’s childhood said in the same joking tone he remembered as the third man stepped around Volkov’s shoulder. Fergus O’Hare froze when he saw Issac, his eyes widening, and it was only fifteen years of lying and Felinus’s warnings that kept Issac’s face in place as his heart raced. “Lu-Lu?” he breathed.
Issac made himself blink and frown. “I’m sorry?”
Fergus had gotten old in the last fifteen years. Issac had last seen him walking with his dad out of the pub to “run an errand.” He hadn’t had any wrinkles back then, and his pale red hair had gotten noticeably paler at his temples, as had the clover on his neck. But he still had the same sharp blue eyes as he studied Issac and the hard muscular frame Issac remembered. “Sorry, lad,” he said, his throat constricting briefly. “Ya just look- What was your Da’s name, if I can ask?”
“Hans,” Issac lied immediately, “but he died before I was born.” There was something comforting in the old lie. People tended to stop asking questions when he told them he couldn’t possibly know his dad and no one thought twice about the very German first name.
The lines around Fergus’s eyes and mouth deepened. “I’m sorry to hear that, lad,” he said and held out his hand. “Fergus O’Hare.”
He took the hand and tried to will his heart to beat somewhat normally. There was no lying about this part. “Issac Maus.”
Fergus’s hand tightened so suddenly, Issac thought his fingers would break. He stumbled forward as he was tugged towards the Irishman. “Are ya sure about your Da?”
Felinus had his arm around Issac’s waist and elbow at the same time that Volkov seized Fergus’s forearm, a vein bulging in his hand as Fergus hissed in pain and released his grip.
“The boy isn’t well, Fergus,” Esposito said as Felinus stepped back and let Issac’s waist go. Issac very much wanted it back around him as he held his own throbbing hand. “You’ll break his arm doing things like that.”
“Sorry, lad,” Fergus said, rubbing at his own arm when Volkov released him. “Ya just… ya look a great deal like an old friend of mine.”
“I think he just has one of those faces,” Volkov said, patting Fergus’s shoulder hard enough that Fergus shifted under the force. “I thought something similar when my boy showed me his picture years ago. Speak of the devil.”
Dimitri’s familiar cologne was the only real warning Issac had as the large Russian’s arm came around his shoulders and pulled him carefully but quickly into his chest. “There you are, Issac,” Dimitri spoke in that overly excited voice he usually had when he wanted something as he patted Issac’s chest. “Finally! I have so many people to introduce you to!” He looked up and seemed to blink in surprise at his father and the other two men. “Ah, izineniya. Was I interrupting something?”
Issac’s eyes flicked from the three faces of varying amusement to Felinus, who, to his surprise, didn’t seem at all bothered by Dimitri practically hanging off Issac. He supposed Felinus couldn’t make good on his promise to break Dimitri’s fingers for touching Issac in front of Emil Volkov.
“Nyet, Dimitri,” Volkov said almost fondly to his son before he looked at the other two. “We should let the boys mingle, do you not agree? We have things to discuss still before dinner.”
“Aye, ya have a point.” O’Hare was still frowning slightly at Issac. “Perhaps we can speak later, lad.”
“Perhaps.” The idea made Issac wish he could simply cease to exist at that very moment.
