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This must be the woman Jimmy Burlosconi had been hired to kill. What an idiot. Anyone with half a brain would have stayed far away from the contract no matter how much money was put down. Not only was she obviously involved with the head of the DashkovBratva, but she was also a Kavanaugh.
“Very well.” Liam inclined his head at me. “Then you may call me Liam. Seamus and Kiernan, you obviously already know.”
Cue heated cheeks.
“They did kidnap me,” I pointed out somewhat jovially to deter attention away from the embarrassment creeping up my neck.Did they suspect what we did?Kiernan pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned quietly next to me, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair. If they expected me to be intimidated or frightened, they were in for a surprise. I wasn’t some wilting flower or damsel in distress, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be cowed by the amount of power sitting at this table.
I would, however, crawl under the table at the first sign of a sexual innuendo.
Even Superman had his Kryptonite.
“Indeed.” The corners of Liam’s mouth turned up slightly. At least I amused him. That was better than annoyed or aggravated. “This is my eldest daughter, Avaleigh.” He motioned to the woman sitting across from Seamus, who winced at the use of her name.
“Ava is fine.” She sighed as she put her hand on theBratvaleader’s shoulder. “This is my husband, Matthias Dashkov.”
Ah, yes. I remember hearing about the Dashkov wedding. Lucille, who had been the journalist covering the extravagant event, had gone on an immediate sabbatical after the wedding turned into a massacre. Elias Ward’s daughter Libby had been brutally shot and several others had lost their lives as well. If that wasn’t enough of a showstopper, the FBI rolled in during the aftermath and arrested the surlyBratvaleader for murder.
Those charges were false, of course. Matthias Dashkov had been getting away with murder for years. He wasn’t about to let himself be caught on camera killing his rival. They just needed a reason to hold him. I wondered why. I’d been covering the arrest, but since it had led nowhere, the story ended up dead in the water. Even the FBI refused to comment on why they had let him walk out.
I could ask him.
“We’re acquainted.” Matthias shot me a dark look. Nope, I would not be asking him anything at all. But then again, even if I didn’t want to get eaten, that didn’t mean I couldn’t poke the bear a little.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” I tilted my head. Even sitting, I had to angle my chin up slightly to look directly into his eyes. The man was tall.
The Russian smirked dangerously.
“Detective Monty Belgrade told me all about your invested interest in the fire at the shipping port not that long ago,” he lazily explained, as if it was somehow common knowledge. “And your interest in the explosion at the Ward stables. Both times, you’ve tried to muscle your way into the investigation and into interrogating the freed women. He thought that it was something I’d want to be aware of.”
Fucking Monty.
Never trust a cop whose name sounded like it came straight out of a bad eighties’ television show.
Several weeks ago, there had been a fire at the Port of Seattle where investigators found containers of kidnapped women along with drugs and weapons that had been smuggled in from overseas. Not long after that, the Ward stables, where Lina had been investigating the trafficking ring, also exploded and caught fire. More than a dozen women were rescued then as well. I’d been attempting to get aninterviewwith the rescued women since the incidents but had been blocked at several turns.
Someone, no doubt Dashkov, had completely annihilated Elias Ward’s shipping containers down at the port. The ones that hadn’t been blown to smithereens had been holding the women and illegal contraband from Mexico.
They had to have come from Elias’s stables,which meant one of them might have seen Lina. When the stables also blew up, I tried to find Lina, or someone who had seen her. Again, I’d been blocked at every turn for a chance to talk to any of them. I’d even used my father’s name.
That had not gone over well.
“Should have known he was dirty,” I sneered. “Especially with a name like Monty.”
Dashkov chuckled. “He’s not as dirty as you think,” he told me, nodding his head in thanks to his wife when she handed him his plate. Yum, BLT sandwiches. My favorite. “Monty is actually a very good cop.”
“If you say so.” I snorted, making a grab for a few slices of bread. Seamus smacked my hand away. “Hey.”
The asshat didn’t bother to respond. He simply swept my plate away and grabbed the slices of bread himself to begin layering a sandwich.My sandwich. I went to remark about how I could plate my own food and I wasn’t some child, but one scathing look from him stopped my complaint dead in its tracks.
Great.
“I do,” Matthias continued, amusement written across his face as he watched my frustration mount at having the twins make my food.
My inner feminist was fuming, steam rolling out of her ears and everything.
Were they going to hand feed me too?
But there was that small niggle in my brain, the one that softened at the thought of them caring for me. I’d never had that before. Growing up, I’d learned to do things for myself. Sure, I was taken care of, but I was never held or loved. This small gesture, however misogynistic I thought it was, warmed something inside me. Something dangerous.
