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I gave him a pat. “Watch and learn.”
He nodded.
That established, we walked into another seedy building. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but once we stepped through the first set of doors, there was a guard at the second.
“Name?” He looked like he could go from bored to snapping a neck in four seconds flat.
“Alexie Petrov. A call should’ve been placed ahead of time.”
The guard looked skeptical but pulled out his cell and contacted someone inside. While we waited, Roman got antsy. His eyes were taking in everything. It was like he was casing the place.
“You’re all clear. Even the runt.” He nodded over to Roman.
I wanted to pull a gun on him for saying that. Back in Russia, he would’ve already been choking on his intestines. But this wasn’t my home turf. I couldn’t afford to get kicked out.
We walked past him into the hallway, and an Irish jig was playing. Fuck. I cursed Roger to hell and back. My syndicate and the Irish didn’t play well together.
If I’d known this place was housing the Irish, I wouldn’t have come here. As it stood, the Italians didn’t have any issues with the Irish. They were at peace. I couldn’t say the same for the Russians. Which meant if the mafia contacted their allies to look for me, these fuckers would turn me over in a heartbeat.
The dim room at the end of the hall was covered in green, white, and orange. The national flag of Ireland. One stood hanging above a small bar that looked like it was self-serve only. I didn’t see a bartender, but the whole room was so messy, so it wouldn’t surprise me if there was one who was simply too sloshed to do their job. Men sat together around a table, playing cards, boisterous and drunk.
I tried not to sneer, but I guess I couldn’t keep the disgust off my face.
“Hey! Who let you in?”
The Irish brogue grated on my nerves.
“The guard.” I nodded my head back to the front door.
At the sound of my accent, six guns pointed in my direction. I let out a long-suffering sigh. This was supposed to be easy.
“No need for that,” I assured. “I’m just picking up.”
One of the red-headed gentlemen stood tall and approached me. “Russian scum!” He spat on my shoes.
I tensed. I wasn’t unarmed, but this wasn’t the place to make a stand in the name of pride. The disrespect was noted for later. That would be enough. I was down now, but I wouldn’t be down forever.
I held my hands in front of me. “I just need to get my bag and go.”
“What did you say your name was?” the redhead asked.
“I didn’t.” I wasn’t being cheeky. I hadn’t told them shit.
“Then what is it?”
“Alexie Petrov.”
A pin could drop with how silent it was.
“They said you were dead.” A low rumble shot through all the men. No one lowered their weapons.
Fuck. “I almost was.”
“Get him what was set aside.” The redhead fellow nodded to a man on his right who scurried to obey.
“Thank you.”
The guy who ran off to get my gun bag came back and thrust it on the ground at my feet. He didn’t want to approach me. Smart. I was a man with connections and nothing to lose. I would later have to ask my godfather just how many beds he was lying in.
