They’re gathered like generals planning a war. Close enough considering they’re Irish mobsters beefing with Russian mobsters.
If I had any ounce of delusional hope that this conflict would taper off, that’s squashed now.
It’s obvious this is only the beginning; this is about to spiral…
I heave a sigh and place my elbow on the wobbly booth table. Though I’m across the room, I’m still close enough where I can pick up almost every word spoken.
Sean’s the loudest of the bunch. He’s even more outraged about Teagan’s attack than he was about Tom and the Banshee. Cian’s beside him with arms folded and a grim expression on his face. A handful of others fill out the circle, angry but obedient as they take Killian’s orders.
“This is fucking bullshit,” Sean spits. “First they burned down our pub and almost got Tom killed. Now they beat Teagan and dropped him off like a goddamn package from Amazon. We’re supposed to just take it?”
“Nobody’s taking anything,” Killian replies. “We’re done with the back-and-forth. The tit-for-tat shit. We’re taking it to their doorstep. Straight to fucking Fedorov.”
My stomach twists itself into a knot at the sound of his name.
I try to avert my eyes, keeping them on the singed walls around me, but I’m sure the look on my face gives me away anyway.
Fedorov Raguzin is more than the stuff of nightmares.
He’s a living, breathing man inreality, and that’s scarier than any bad dream. He has no limits and no feelings. No ounce of mercy or sympathy to be found.
I’ve honestly questioned if he’s even human at all.
I’m not sure how much longer I can sit by and let this war escalate, knowing I’ve started it. While a lot of other factors have contributed to the recent tensions between the Callahan clan and the Raguzins,Iwas the spark that lit the match.
I’m the possession they’re fighting over, even if it’s more so symbolic.
The smart thing would be to leave. Slip out in the middle of the night and disappear. Take myself out of the equation and figure out another way to save Eva.
But how can I do that when she’s in Fedorov’s clutches? When this seems to be the only way to get my baby sister back?
Fedorov’s not going to let his preciousptichkago.
I can’t save her if I run. That’s the bottom line.
“What about intel?” one of the buttonmen asks. “If we’re gonna breach their compounds, we need more info. Security, building layout, Fedorov’s routine. We can’t just go in swinging and hoping for the best.”
“The fuck we can’t,” Sean growls.
“We won’t have to,” Killian answers. His gaze cuts across the room and lands squarely on me.
Several heads turn in my direction. Suddenly I’m the center of attention in a way that makes my skin prickle.
Sean’s red brows quirk toward his hairline. “The stray?She’syour intel?”
“She spent years with the Bratva. She knows their operation better than anybody else in this room.”
“How do we know we can trust…” Sean cuts himself off, clamping shut his jaw as if it’s been wired.
Killian seems to pick up on where he was going. His deep blue eyes harden and he grits out, “Because I say so. You don’t worry about the fucking details. I’ll iron it out, and then we’ll strike. Remember what we’ve gone over and get the hell outta my face.”
The meeting wraps up with men breaking away from the group. They filter out of the pub, talking among themselves. The door swings shut, and I find myself alone with Killian in the burned down bar.
He crosses the room, his boots crunching over debris, and slides into the booth seat across from me.
I heave a sigh, a sense of deep dread pitted in my stomach. I already know where this is going.
“We need to talk.”
