“You’re making this personal.”
“Anyone who says everything’s business is a fucking liar.” His hand tightens into a fist. “The clan is my whole world. It’s my family’s legacy. My father built it, my brother runs it, and I’ll bleed and die for it.”
“But you don’t need to bleed and die tonight.”
He turns to me, a crooked smile cutting through the rain. “That’s why you’re here, right?” He claps my shoulder. “You’re here to make sure I don’t get shot in the face.”
I sigh, like I have much control over it.
We lapse back into silence. I listen to the rain and think about how I ended up in a dirty alley during a storm with my friend and mentor. I think about my wife back home, and maybe Finn’s right. When the Baranovs come after the Whelans, they’re coming after all of us, and now that includes Regan. Max did approach her first, right? He’s dragging her into this.
Finn taps my elbow. He gestures ahead into the darkness. A door’s leaning open at the far end of the alley, light spilling out, the noise of a kitchen with it. A figure steps into the rain with a frustrated grunt. He’s middle aged, wearing black slacks, shirt, and jacket. He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, trying to stay tucked against the wall to keep from getting soaked. An overhang gives him just enough cover.
I restrain Finn and catch his eye.Not yet. I wait a few seconds longer, letting our new friend enjoy his smoke. The man takes out a phone, unlocks it, and starts scrolling. His attention gets sucked into the screen.
The rain’s cold on my neck as I stride into the dark. Finn’s on my heels. It’s strange how calm I feel in moments like this one with the promise of something very bad hanging in the air. Nights like this can turn wrong in an instant, but I never seem to feel it. Why care when random chance rules everything around me? Better to stride toward death with a smile and face it like an old friend than to remain cowering like a child.
“Pavel Ivanov?” The second I say his name, the man looks over with a deep scowl. “I thought that was you. Friend, brother, it is so good to see you, still managing this old dump!”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. I keep moving forward, closing the distance. Ten feet. Eight. Five.
“Do I know you, friend?”
“Sure you do.” Three feet. Two. “You know me very well.” I punch Pavel in the mouth.
He grunts in shock. His hand goes to his belt, moving quick. I follow with a knee to his guts and grab his wrist. Finn’s gun clicks as the hammer cocks back and he presses the cold metal against Pavel’s head.
“Easy,” Finn says calmly. “We just want a chat.”
Pavel snaps something in Russian. I pry the phone from his hand and shove it into my pocket.
“English now, please.” I find a gun tucked into his belt and take it away. “Any other guns? I’ll be very mad if you lie to me.”
“Fuck you.”
I hit him hard with my elbow then pat him down. No more guns, though I do find a nasty blade. I draw it out and test the edge on my thumb. “For the manager of a high-end steak house, you really do like to go around armed.”
“Bad neighborhood.” Pavel spits blood on the ground.
“Right. Real bad.” I grab the front of Pavel’s shirt and slice a button off. He flinches in fear. “I have some questions for you.”
“Fuck you.”
“You should answer him,” Finn says, still steady. “He doesn’t like it when people are rude.”
Pavel’s eyes flick to Finn and back to me. “You’re Whelan, aren’t you?”
“That’s right. And we’re very unhappy.” I tap his chest with the tip of the knife. “You and your family have been very naughty.”
“I don’t control what the Baranov does.”
“No, you definitely don’t, but since when did that matter in our world? Men like you pay for decisions you never agreed with all the time. Do you think that’s just?”
Pavel doesn’t answer.
I slice off another button.
“Tell me who ordered the hit on our meeting. I want names.”
