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“Hardly. You killed their cartel leader.”
“On their instruction,” I inserted coolly.
Silence fell as they processed that. “The new leader paid you?”
“Ten million. My friends can be your friends, Comrade.”
“I need to discuss this with my people. I will call tomorrow.”
“Can’t fucking wait,” Aidan snapped and slammed the phone down before he rubbed a hand over his face.
“Seriously?” I blurted out. “Seriously?They were spying on us, caught a goddamn assassin trying to break into my place, so killed him, then broke into my fucking home anyway, and expected us to thank them?” But dammit, theyhadsaved Aoife, hadn’t they? I wasn’t even sure which part of my statement was the most fucked in the head.
My heart felt like it was going to pump its way out of my chest. My blood pressure was soaring so hard I could hear it whooshing in my ears.
“It’s good she’s on lockdown,” Brennan said calmly, and I glowered at him.
“That has nothing to do with this.”
“Yes. It does. She’s safe, and that’s what matters,” Declan insisted, nodding at Brennan. “Plus, we know there’s a weakness in our security that’s twofold. If the Bratva can follow our top people around without us knowing it, and a Cartel foot soldier can hack their way into our penthouses? Jesus, what fucking use are we? Useless cunts, that’s what.”
The words resonated. I saw that. Aidan ground his teeth at his son’s candor, but he ducked his chin as he processed the bare, hard facts. “We’ve grown lazy. We’re not as hierarchal as the Bratva. We’ve been making money hand over fist and instead of shoring our defenses, we’ve taken a step back from our roots.” He ran a hand over his head. “If the Russians cut a deal with us tomorrow, and we act as middleman for the Mexicans, first thing we do is recruiting and training.”
“It shouldn’t be hard to double our numbers,” Conor stated, tone confident. “Lots of kids have been trying to get recruited. We’ve just been limiting who we take on.”
“They think it’s like Sons of goddamn Anarchy, Conor. What use are they to us?” Brennan snapped.
“We have to train them, dick,” Conor snapped back. “Not saying even ten percent of them will be worth shit, but we have room to be selective.”
As the two bickered, I realized I needed some air, but I wasn’t going to get any.
Aidan’s main office was close to the Hudson and from atop the roof, you could even see the dingy water if you tried. In here, he could be as paranoid as he wanted to be.
There were no windows in case an enemy tried to assassinate one of the council, and back in the early years when safe rooms had become a ‘thing,’ he’d had this space converted into one. Making it half safe room/half nuclear bunker.
The only trouble was, whenever I was in here, I felt like we were running out of air. We were safe but closed in like a can of goddamn sardines.
I pressed my elbows to the mahogany table and leaned over the desk, trying to ignore my straining lungs, my madly beating heart.
“What’s the intention here?” I rasped. “We train new guys up for what reason? To run the Colombians out totally? Or because there’s safety in numbers?”
Aidan shrugged. “Don’t see why not. Lukov’s right. They’re crazy motherfuckers.”
“Most of the Latino gangs are,” Brennan tacked on dryly. “They’re all snorting their own shit. Crazy cokeheads.”
I nodded because that was partly true. “At least the Bratva are disciplined.”
Aidan shot me a look. “You believe Lukov?”
“I don’t see why he’d be lying.”
“Explains why Aoife’s hiding place held. If he’d really wanted to find her, he’d have looked in the goddamn wardrobe,” Declan said, his tone rueful, and though I understood his humor, we were talking about my fucking wife here.
I wanted to snarl at him, but he was right, and there was no need for me to take out my piss-poor mood on my brother.
Aidan sighed. “Son, go to her.”
“There’s shit to be done here, Aidan.”
