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I stuff my hands into my pockets so he can’t see my clenched fists. “I wouldn’t have been, had you left the doctor out of it. Surely you can understand my hostility toward you? Why I refuse to work with you? My alliances aren’t that if they threaten my family.”
He chuckles. “I was simply trying to get a message to you. If I knew you were that attached to her, I’d have chosen a different way.”
He could have called Declan, but this conversation is running us in circles. It’s pointless to even bring that up.
Besides, I located Yulia’s daughter as well. I don’t have her yet, but I know where she is. Semenov will owe me big time. And I can set up the cartel to set up the Popovs. If they’re framed, Semenov can go after them. It runs both of my problems out of Boston.
″Alright, Vaska. I have a few conditions first.” I nod toward my vehicle and Cillian opens the door to let Yulia out.
Her eyes land on Vaska and she smiles widely, running for him. There’s a Russian exchange between the two as he checks her over, then ushers her into the plane. He turns back to thank me.
″The doctor looked her over. You should know she’s pregnant.”
″Blyad,” he curses, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I need to get her home. When should I expect to meet you?”
I think for a moment about the situation. I should fly to him tomorrow, but I don’t want to leave Boston. Not with Haley living away from me. It’s time to split the responsibilities with my brothers. “Declan will meet with you tomorrow.”
″No. I want you, not a messenger.”
″I assure you that he has permission to negotiate whatever he sees fit. Working with any of my siblings is just the same as working with me.”
″You Irish make no sense. There’s a chain of command and it should be followed.”
I wave him off, walking away to my car. “He’ll see you tomorrow, Vaska,” I call over my shoulder.
Chapter thirty-five
Griffopensthebagsof takeout on the coffee table, pulling out small containers of different salsa and queso with tortilla chips, then unveils the tacos and fajitas. Once we’ve got a nice assembly line, he dashes for the pitcher of homemade margarita in the kitchen.
The freshly squeezed lime mixed with the saltiness of the tequila wafts into my nose. I want nothing more than to drink it, but I know what will happen if I do. I won’t stop until I’m passed out drunk, and waking up the next morning dehydrated and shriveled up like Spongebob on a hot summer day at the beach.
I dive into the spicy queso, the warm liquid dripping from my chin as there’s a knock at the door. I groan, closing my eyes to breathe through the immediate frustration. It’s been fourteen hours since I left Callum and I’ll bet it’s him or Scotty to drag me back.
″I’ll get it,” Griff says, standing up as I continue to eat.
If it is either one of them, I’m going to enjoy every bit of the food in front of me before anyone tries to force me back, even though I won’t be able to put up much of a fight with my ribs still healing.
″Go away,” Griff grumbles from the front door as he attempts to slam it shut. I turn around as a hand shoves the door open, which pushes Griffin back.
Griffin is only about five foot ten, but he’s strong. He kept up his physique in the gym when we came home from the military and I wouldn’t bet against him in a fight, so I’m a bit shocked when whoever knocked on the door gets inside so easily.
″I told you not to fucking come here again.” Griff’s tone is hoarse and agitated. I stand from the couch to get a better glimpse.
He has dark hair, so Callum is out.
″I’m here to check on Savi,” Paddy says.
″She doesn’t need any of you Murphy boys checking on her. I’ve got it under control.” There’s venom in Griffin’s voice. A hatred for his friend that I’ve never heard before, and I wonder what they’re in a fight over. I don’t think I’ve ever caught them arguing.
″It’s fine, Michael,” I say as I emerge from the living room and cross my arms against my chest. “What do you want, Murphy?”
Paddy slides down the entryway, pressed between the wall and Griffin. He’s wearing a black suit, white shirt, and no tie. He’s also missing the flat cap and vest Callum would be wearing.
Paddy nods at me, smiling like I’m one of his side pieces.
What I mean is he’s wearing that sweet grin, the dimple in his chin showing as he flashes his teeth in a panty-dropping, smoke show of a smile. His blue eyes are light, like a beautiful pool of water, unlike Callum’s seafoam mix of blue and green. Coupled with the smile, the twinkle and his Patrick Dempsey suave dark hair, I can see why Michael Griffin along with eighty-five percent of both single and married women always fawn over him.
He should know by now that I don’t buy the sweet smile act. Behind those cool blues is a monster lurking, just the same as Callum. There’s only room for one monster in my panties, even if I’m not speaking to him, and he wears navy blue.
