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“Hey,” I greeted him as I settled in, unable to deny that this SUV was so much more comfortable than my own. I rocked back into the plush seat, placed one arm on the rest, and let the car drive me.
He grunted at me in reply—charming. “Go straight ahead. I’ll tell you when to turn off.”
“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “You were fast. Thanks for picking me up so quickly.”
“Was twiddling my thumbs when you texted me.”
I shot him a quick look at the unusual turn of phrase. “Are you originally from New York?”
“Nah. Irish. Moved over when I was eight.”
“Why?”
“Why not? People immigrate, don’t they?”
“They do, I was just curious is all,” I told him, unruffled as I started back toward Hell’s Kitchen.
In the distance, the majestic lines of the Empire State Building made an appearance, twisting in and out of sight like a mirage as massive skyscrapers stole it from view. All around me, the buildings loomed, but I liked it. I’d missed the city. New Jersey had granted me shelter, sure; that didn’t make it home.
Baggy broke into my musings by grousing, “Curiosity is dangerous. You know that as well as I do.”
“I do, but we’re going to spend a lot of time together, aren’t we? You should take it as a compliment. I never wanted to know anything about my Russian guards.”
“Why not?”
“Because I knew they’d die soon.” I shrugged. “My father wasn’t as cautious with his men as the Irish.”
“Ain’t that the feckin’ truth.” He grunted. “Shit general was your father. Too short-sighted.”
“You won’t hear me arguing. I know nothing about how he handled business, just know there were a lot of miserableboyeviks.”
“You told Brennan that?”
“No. Haven’t had the chance.” I shrugged.
“He’ll be interested to hear morale is low.”
“Morale was always low, but Father ruled with an iron fist.”
“Aidan O’Donnelly Sr. does too,” he pointed out.
“Maybe, but everyone knows the Irish care for a man’s family. In the Bratva world, it’s different.”
“For someone who knows nothing about business, you know more than I do.”
His grousing had me scowling at him. “This isn’t business. This is people. That’s different.”
“How is it?”
“Becauseboyeviksaren’t just soldiers, they’re men too. The Bratva likes to tear families apart, make people rely on the Brotherhood for everything. They gain strength that way. The Irish do the opposite. I think that makes them stronger, no matter what Moscow believes.”
“Bet the Bratva wouldn’t agree.”
“Well, they wouldn’t, of course, because it’s just how it’s done. Doesn’t mean it’s right though. Doesn’t mean it creates loyalty.”
“Agreed.” He sighed, conceding, “We immigrated because my da got into trouble with theGarda—the Irish cops. Aidan Sr. brought us here to save his bollocks from jail.”
“Bollocks?” I asked, turning to him with a frown.
