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Aidan whistled. “I said it to Vasov myself. You’re my Sovietnik.”
Sovietnik in the Bratva brotherhood was a leadership role—the Pakhan’s accountant. And at our meeting, when we’d asked the Brighton Beach brotherhood for their help in containing the situation with the Colombians, they’d agreed after I’d pulled the favor card.
I rubbed my chin. “It still doesn’t make sense to target me.”
“Not to kill, but to pressure?” Aidan tilted his head to the side. “You’re a husband now. You have a weakness. You know what they’re like.”
“You think they want to kidnap Aoife?”
“I think when she hid in that closet, she did a smart thing.”
“Why didn’t he check the wardrobe?” Brennan asked, his tone worried. “Isn’t that Kidnapping 101?”
Because I wanted to beat something up, I reached around and massaged the back of my neck.
I didn’t want to be here. I wanted to be with Aoife.
She needed me.
For the first time in my life, someone needed me with no ulterior motive in mind, and instead of being with her, I was discussing the events that had led to her getting shot and now, almost kidnapped.
“Think outside the box,” Conor urged after a second. Leaning forward, he added, “The Russians owed us, guys. Big time.”
“For doing them a favor. That’s no leverage in the here and now,” Aidan said with a sigh. “No honor among those cunts.”
“What did Vasov say when you called him?”
Aidan frowned at me, the bridge of his nose scored with wrinkles at my question. “Why would I call him?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You haven’t called to ask if he was involved?”
“He’s going to lie about it.”
“Maybe. But maybe not.” Seriously, did I have to do everything around here? “Aidan, please, call him. Let him gloat or let him deny it—we need to know the lay of the land.”
His lips firmed. “Look, Finn, I know you’re upset—”
“You’re goddamn right I’m upset. My wife’s been shot and might have been kidnapped today!” I roared, uncaring Aidan Sr. was a lunatic and that he might cut off a finger if I back talked him much more.
The older man narrowed his eyes at me. “Watch your tongue, Finn.”
It was a warning I should heed, but rage made me reckless. “No, Aidan, you watch your fucking tongue. I’ve been married for a month and my woman has spent every day of our marriage in her sickbed. How would you feel if it was Lena? If she’d been shot, if she was under threat?”
The darkness that came into Aidan’s eyes was a familiar warning, but he nodded brusquely. “I’d be mad.”
Ha. Understatement of the fucking year.
“Exactly,” was all I said though. “So, before we go to war with the Colombiansandthe goddamn Russians, let’s find out what the hell they have to say first, yeah?” I felt like tugging my hair out, but that was how it went with Aidan Sr. sometimes. The bastard could be stubborn as fuck.
I knew he didn’t like it, and he’d shout me down later on for talking to him like that in front of the whole council, but he could. I’d let him break my fucking nose so long as I could climb into bed with my wife at some point in the next eight hours knowing which way was up.
Shooting the shit about theories would get us nowhere. We needed facts, and we couldn’t get that unless someone was made to answer for their behavior.
Aidan dug into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Scrolling through his contacts, he hit call and turned it to speaker before he dropped the expensive gadget onto the table.
“I thought you might ring me tonight.” There was a note of gloating to Vasov’s voice that rubbed me raw. It irked the shit out of me, but the words confused me.
I knew Aoife was safe. I’d put her to bed myself in one of the rooms at the compound. No way anyone had broken in there. Not without getting laid out with a bunch of Tommy guns—as Aidan liked to call them; said his grandpa had used one in the Irish Civil War.
