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Yet Vasov spoke as though whatever he’d done had gone according to plan when Aoife was tucked up in bed, safe and relatively sound.
“We want to know what the fuck is going on, that’s what,” Aidan snarled, his usual diplomatic self.
“I think we can call our favor canceled out, no?”
Favor canceled out?
“Now, why the fuck would you think that?” Aidan shot me a perplexed glower.
“Because my Boyevik took out that Colombian cunt.”
What. The. Fuck?
What Colombian cunt?
Aidan grated out, “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Vasov.”
“You don’t—” Vasov spat out something in Russian, and in the background a volley was batted back his way. Then, Aidan’s phone dinged and Vasov stated, “Look at the pictures I sent.”
“Two minutes.”
Aidan picked up his cell, then in less than five seconds, had sent them to our secure group chat. As one unit, we scanned the photos and I frowned down at what I was looking at.
The Colombian was unmistakable. His face was slathered with Roman numeral tattoos, well, the parts that weren’t covered in blood were.
What the hell was going on here? Who was the bastard?
“I see them. I see the dead Colombian,” Aidan confirmed when his sons and advisors shrugged with their lack of understanding. “Why you sending me snuff pics?”
Vasov grunted. “The boy was sneaking into your Sovietnik’s building. According to my Boyevik, he hacked his way into the private elevator where my soldiers took him out. When my man went to check all was well in your apartment, he found no one there.
“I see no reason why the Colombians would try to infiltrate an empty apartment unless there’s something stored there… I think it’s time you upgraded your security, Irish.”
Aidan shot me a startled look. “You weren’t there to kidnap my Sovietnik’s wife?”
An explosion of Russian burst down the line. “What bullshit is this?” Vasov spat, rage coating his every word.
“Until you sent me the fucking picture, Vasov, I had no idea a Colombian had been anywhere near my boy’s place. This is the first I’ve heard of all this.”
There was a sound, like a click, and another man began speaking—Basil Lukov, the Obschak, the leader behind the Pakhan’s security. “Since our meeting, we’ve been maintaining an eye on your council.”
“Why would you be doing something so foolish as that?” Aidan demanded, his tone cool.
“Because the Colombians are crazy,” came Basil’s answer, and he sounded candid. “In fact, that’s an understatement. They’re insane and they don’t give a fuck who they hurt in the process.
“We’ve been gradually weaning our supplies from them to the Mexicans. They’re far less volatile. Keeping an eye on major players can be lucrative for us. In this instance, we consider your marker with us canceled.”
Aidan snorted. “Much as I love my boy and his woman, Lukov, there ain’t no way in hell their lives are worth the two hundred million dollars we saved you when we gave you that pig all those months ago.
“You consider spying on my major people to be something good? How the fuck do I know you didn’t take some random Latino, slice him up, and tattoo his face?”
There was a hushed sound. “You do not.”
“Exactly. You still owe my people and me. And rather than considering it a favor for a favor, maybe we should be working together against the Colombians if you’re wanting to cut ties with them permanently.”
“I’m listening,” Vasov stated.
“I’m friendly with the Mexicans.”
