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“Dmitri—”
“Answer me.”
“Six years. Just about.”
I nod. “Six fucking years. So don’t you stand there with a straight face and tell me I’m being impulsive. I can’t let it happen again.”
Aleksandr’s forehead wrinkles up like it used to when he was a kid. “Is that what this is about?”
It takes all of my self-control not to take a swing at my own brother in front of all my men. “She means nothing to me.”
“You just said?—”
“She’s carrying my son,” I spit forcefully. He flinches back and holds up his hands but I keep going. “And as long as my child is inside her, I need to make sure that nothing touches her.”
“I get it; I do,” he reassures me quickly. “I just want to make sure we’re hitting the right target.”
“Who else could it be?”
“What about Vittorio?” He plants his hand on my shoulder. “He’s suspicious about Wren. It might be that he’s figured it out.”
“I’ve got eyes on Vittorio. He may have his suspicions, but he doesn’t have enough information to act. Nor is he going to.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he wants us to move up the wedding.” It’s hard to say out loud, but the moment the words are out of me, I realize that a large part of my anger at this moment has been triggered by his unexpected visit yesterday.
Aleksandr eyes me carefully. “Shit. Uh, how… how do you feel about that?”
“Who are you, my shrink?”
He ventures a smile that dies almost immediately when I glare back at him. “I just mean, does it matter if you get married next week or next year? You’re getting married either way, right?”
He has a point, one that makes me realize that the idea of marrying Bee wasn’t always so unpleasant to me. In fact, not too long ago, it felt like the perfect solution to an inconvenient problem.
So what’s changed in the last few weeks? What’s made me so reluctant to go through with a plan that I set in motion myself?
“Gather some men,” I order. “Half a dozen of your best. I need to pay the Irish a visit.”
I head back to my car and start driving west. The last time I was in Irish territory was six years ago. To recover Elena’s body. I take the same route I did back then—the masochist in me is on fire tonight.
I drive slowly, just to make sure we’re seen in the area. If I know Cian—and I’m sure I do—he’s going to have eyes everywhere. My men trail behind in a car almost identical to mine. We’re impossible to miss.
I park outside O’Malley’s, which is only dimly lit from the inside. I chose this place for two reasons: it’s a known O'Gadhra mafia hang-out. And Wren mentioned it to me after our run-in with Cian at the concert. Nothing will send a clearer message than taking down a sentimental landmark.
As I get out of my jeep, my phone starts to ring. Unknown Caller. I snort—how predictable.
“Cian.”
“Little late to be dropping in unannounced, don’t you think, old friend?” His voice is gravelly, rough with sleep. Someone’s clearly woken him up to tell him that I’m in his neck of the woods.
“I figured it was only polite, considering you just targeted one of my warehouses.”
His shallow breathing slows. “I didn’t target shit.”
“Unfortunately for you and the building I’m standing in front of, O’Gadhra, I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your mouth.”
“Whatever you’re going to do,” he hisses, “I suggest you don’t.”
