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The Russian bodyguards stood, but didn’t move. They didn’t need to. Jericho was a giant who could probably take on everyone in the room if he was of a mind to.
“She won’t survive if you die, you old bastard,” I said when I regained my air. “She won’t fucking survive. You’re too dumb to see it.”
Jericho stopped fighting with Rohan and Eoghan, and stared at me.
“She already feels abandoned—”
“So you abandon her too?” He interrupted me.
“She can’t lose you. You’re the only father she has!” I continued without acknowledging him, laying on the Irish thick. “I’m doing the only thing I can for my woman, and that’s helping your sorry ass to survive.” I fixed my collar and my tie. “Believe me, I would be more than happy if Anton Vasiliev put your feet in concrete shoes. But Rose wouldn’t survive. Do you hear me?”
“How would you help me?” His voice was low, angry, but at least he was listening now.
Eoghan and Rohan tentatively let him go, slowly coming to sit, but eyeing Jericho like he was a delicate bomb, primed and ready to blow.
“An alliance,” I said plainly. “We help you take the position of pakhan and tip the scales in your favor. Make it less of a suicide mission.”
“In exchange for what?” Jericho went back up into the seat at the other end of the table, flanked by his two men. We all sat down, taking the position of two armies negotiating across a table.
It was then that I noticed one of his guards was a woman. She was incredibly tall, wearing a suit the same as Jericho. Her hair was in a low bun, a few stray hairs framing her face. Under her blazer, she had a pistol. She sat with her elbow on the table, her shoulder towards us as if ready to tackle at any moment.
“Nothing,” I said, and Eoghan looked pained at my words.
“Nothing is free,” Jericho said, tilting his head forward and looking at Eoghan. “What are the real terms?”
Eoghan smiled, dismissing what I said. “Oh, there are terms.”
“Have you finally decided to be Irish?” Jericho finally asked, his voice pitching high in his delayed disbelief. His Russian accent faltered back to the Brett Bradley I knew. “I thought you were British and turned your back on all of this… criminality.”
“I’ve always been Irish,” I smiled at Eoghan and Tommy. “I’m from Londonderry, and I can straddle two worlds. Just like you, Russian.”
I lay my Irish on as thick as whiskey, wondering if Rose would enjoy hearing it. It was considered one of the sexiest in the world, after all. Maybe I should try it the next time I see her.
“The terms.” Jericho tapped his index finger on the table, bringing us all back to the present.
“Marriage.” Eoghan said plainly. “An alliance, sealed in marriage.”
“My sister’s not likely to go for it.” Jericho rolled his eyes at Eoghan then looked at the woman to his right, who, I guessed, was the aforementioned sister, before looking back at my cousin. “And aren’t you married?”
The woman to his right laughed. Was that his sister? I looked at their faces and there was definitely a resemblance. They both had chocolate eyes, thick brown hair, and strong chins. There was also something in their mannerism that showed an affinity.
“Aye, but my second isn’t.” Eoghan shrugged.
Jericho looked over at Rohan, confused. Rohan’s scar seemed to tick under his scrutiny, and he shook his head slightly, as if the idea of marriage frightened him.
“I’m the second, you fucking bastard.” I rolled my eyes, then said under my breath. “Jericho here’s got fucking jokes.”
“This must be a new development.” Jericho said dryly, then narrowed his eyes. “And my sister’s off the table.”
The woman at his side laughed.
“I wouldn’t be too hasty.” She smirked at her brother. “He’s cute.”
Jericho visibly cringed. She was a smart ass like him. So that was obviously a genetic trait.
“I don’t want your fucking sister, you stupid knob!” I wiped my palm down my face in agitation. “No offense,” I said gently to the woman, who simply lifted a thin arched brow in my direction. “Acknowledge Rose Marie as your daughter. When we win the war for you—and we will—you walk her down the aisle in a white dress and give her to me in marriage.”
Jericho’s eyes narrowed to slits. His hands formed fists so tight his knuckles turned white. His shoulders tensed, his jaw ticked.
