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“Why have you called me?”
“The Kozlovs have ordered a hit on you. They ignored my discontent and decided to move forward with an effort to kill you,” he explained.
“Is this Anton Kozlov’s orders?” I asked carefully.
“It is. I highly suggest you do not go to your penthouse tonight. You should go somewhere else for the time being,” he continued.
“Why are you telling me this? Wasn’t it your goal to align your family with his to establish yourselves here in Boston?”
“I do not approve of a man without honor,” he replied. Immediately I could tell there was more to the story of his daughter’s wedding than I had originally thought.
I didn’t let on that I knew the details of the arrangement either. Maxim had agreed to marry his daughter off to Anton, but evidently, he was quickly coming to regret such an alliance. Apparently, the grass wasn’t greener on the other side.
“What do you suggest I do?”
“Go somewhere safe for the night. Tomorrow, you and I should meet, and we can discuss options for dealing with the Kozlovs’ growing aggression in a way that suits both of us,” Maxim offered.
“We will meet at a location of my choosing,” I countered.
“Of course. You may reach me at this number. I’m looking forward to meeting you in person, Mr. Kavanagh,” Maxim replied.
“You as well,” I said, and he hung up on the other line.
My limo turned the corner, just pulling onto the street that my penthouse was on.
“Stop the car,” I dictated, and my driver immediately pulled to the side. I stared at the Beacon Residences building, what was now my home, carefully assessing the crowd along the street before I got out when a deep boom sounded far overhead. Immediately, my gaze directed upward as the windows of my penthouse exploded in a massive fireball that lit up the sky.
Several much smaller explosions followed, radiating so much heat it was as if the fire was only feet away instead of twenty stories above us.
Ada gasped as I watched plumes of smoke rise into the night sky. Flames continued to flicker out of the obliterated windows as my home went up in smoke.
“Well, I guess your place isn’t an option now, but at least we weren’t upstairs when that happened,” she whispered quietly. Her voice showed zero signs of fear, and I was grateful for it. She stayed calm beside me.
“We have Maxim Morozov to thank for that,” I replied.
She nodded curtly. “Let’s head back to Southie for the night. My family has several safe havens that will keep us alive and unfound so we can get some rest tonight and deal with this tomorrow,” she replied.
“He wants to meet,” I offered, and her expression hardened.
“We’ll figure all of that out tomorrow,” she replied brusquely. Her sense of calm was impressive, and I found myself getting rock hard again.
“Is the place you have in mind sound-proofed?” I asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively.
“Maybe,” she replied, smirking knowingly.
She leaned forward and whispered an address in the driver’s ear before she joined me once again. With her head held high, she pressed her lips against my cheek. We drove for a while, and I didn’t ask any questions when we pulled into a dark parking lot behind a row of abandoned warehouses. We drove into a blacked-out garage which quickly shut behind us before she led me out into the darkness. Dim lights started to glow as she walked into what looked like a rotting stairwell. We went down two flights of stairs before she reached into her pocket and pulled out a key.
“Welcome to my underground bunker, Mr. Kavanagh. I hope you enjoy your stay,” she whispered mischievously.
I followed and closed the door behind me as she slid three bolt locks into place. The lights came on all at once, revealing a sprawling shelter underground. The walls appeared to be very thick cement reinforced with beams of metal. I looked back at her with a raised eyebrow, and she shrugged, clearly amused.
“Did you design this place, too?” I asked.
“I needed somewhere to store all my guns,” she said with a wink.
“This seems awfully nice for an armory,” I observed, chuckling.
“I like nice things,” she stated rather proudly.
