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He turned back to the table and waved his men away. They all rose, leaving only the handful of women behind.
Liam took a seat right next to Una, so unaware of the viper in his midst. I guess a pretty smile and a short dress would make a man stupid. Una was a good actress, but she couldn’t blunt her lethal edges that much, no matter how hard she tried. She draped a hand over Liam’s shoulder while smirking right at Nero. He, in turn, allowed the woman beside him to practically climb into his lap. God, those two were so messed up.
I typed out a text on my phone and hit send before turning my attention to Liam. “I had nothing to do with Patrick’s death.”
He snorted. “Don’t insult me.”
“I won’t. I’ll prove it to you.”
He narrowed his eyes at me, and I understood his hatred; I did. There was a lot of spilled blood between us, but Patrick’s wasn’t included.
A couple of minutes later and Sasha seemed to materialize out of the darkness of the hallway, startling the guards. They went for their weapons, but the assassin was lethally fast. One second they were standing; the next, they were crumpling to the floor, the glint of a blade protruding from each of their thighs.
O’Hara shoved to his feet at the sight of his groaning men, his face tinging red with rage. “What the fuck is this?”
Sasha’s cold stare fixed on O’Hara as though the man were an ant to be crushed beneath his boot. He walked up to the table and dropped a duffel bag on it. “I killed Patrick O’Hara,” Sasha said in that creepy terminator voice.
Liam’s gaze hardened, and he reached for his gun, but Una had a tiny blade pressed to his jugular almost immediately. It looked no bigger than a hairpin and hid within the silver cuff at her wrist, but I’d seen her open a man’s throat with it many times.
She stroked the side of Liam’s face, a smile playing over crimson lips. “That would be unwise.” She allowed just a little of her Russian accent to bleed through.
The mob boss let out a low laugh. “Una Verdi, I presume?” He glared at me like I was responsible for him thinking with his dick. “What is this?”
I waved toward Sasha. “Proof. That we had nothing to do with Patrick’s death.”
“That’s hard to believe when Verdi’s assassin wife is defending the killer.”
Una rolled her eyes. “We’re contract killers. We have no interest or side in your wars. We are neutral.”
“Says the woman married to the Famiglia boss.”
Nero snorts. “That makes her less inclined to side with me, trust me.”
“Look at the position you’re in,” I said, nodding toward the blade at his throat. “I could have you killed right now. But I didn’t come here for more blood and death. We were never enemies. I met with Patrick because we’d both been played by Sergio Donato. He pitted us against each other, hoping the Famiglia would take out the mob for him and he could rule over Chicago.”
“You attacked us first,” Liam said, trying to shift away from the lethal press of Una’s blade. “Sent a head to my uncle’s bar if I recall.”
“Because you stole one of our shipments.”
His eyes narrowed at me. “No, we didn’t.”
“You thought it was Outfit because that’s what Sergio fed you.” His brows pulled together. “And when I figured it out, I rushed to make amends with Patrick, but Sergio had him killed.”
Sasha unzipped the bag, revealing Sergio’s well-traveled head. We’d put a couple of ice packs in with him, but the smell still made me gag.
Liam wrinkled his nose and turned away before Sasha re-zipped it. “Sergio Donato paid me to eliminate Patrick O’Hara. I only disclose this because Donato is dead, as are all who were once allied with him.” Sasha’s icy gaze landed on O’Hara. “I do not care for your politics or vendettas, and I am only here as a favor to Una. Try to find me or kill me, and you will die.”
It was the most I’d ever heard the assassin say. Sasha turned around and walked out of the VIP room, disappearing into the shadows, probably not to be seen again for months.
Liam clearly wasn’t happy about letting his uncle’s killer simply walk out, but he had to understand that this was the way Sasha and Una operated. Just as they had when they’d worked for the Bratva. They were neutral. A mafia boss might pay them one week, only to be taken out himself the next. They didn’t discriminate or take sides, which was why, as Nero said, Una usually avoided working for us. It wasn’t personal.
But death always seemed to become personal to someone, and that was the very reason the two killers worked so covertly. Sasha had done us a huge favor by coming here and admitting he had done the job. He’d broken his own rigid protocol and risked the wrath of the mob. For us.
