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He laughs out loud at that — a genuine one this time. “I wouldn’t accept a penny of that sadistic fuck’s money. But I’ll go to his funeral, if only to make sure he’s really dead. And then I'll piss on his grave.”
“You spoken to him at all these last few years?”
“No,” he snarls. “Have you?”
“No. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since we came to New York.”
“Ten years!” Paul lets out a low whistle. “A long time not to see your father, Shane,” he sneers.
“How did you even know we left Ireland?” I frown as I turn on my computer. He knows we left ten years ago, and that makes me nervous.
“I’ve kept tabs on my nephews. Condolences on your failed engagement, by the way,” he chuckles.
“Fuck you!”
“Still got that smart mouth, I see. So, why did you finally leave?”
“It’s a long fucking story.”
“Well, then you can tell me at the old fucker’s funeral?”
“Maybe,” I sigh. “Where the fuck have you been, Pol?”
“I told you. Around.”
“You still killing people for a living?”
“Shane,” he feigns his indignation. “We never discuss business on the phone.”
“No, of course not,” I laugh. “But, now that we are. In your line of work, you ever come across the Wolf?”
He doesn’t reply, and I listen to the sound of his labored breathing for a few seconds. “Why the fuck are you interested in the Wolf, kid?” he eventually snaps.
“Professional curiosity.”
“I hear he retired, but there’s a rumor he’s resurfaced.”
My heart seems like it stops beating, as though Paul has just thrust his hand into my chest and has it squeezed in his fist. “You have any idea where he is?” I grind out the words.
“Russia, or so I heard. Why the hell do you need to know anything about the Wolf?” he asks again.
“Nothing really. I told you, professional curiosity.”
“You don’t need the services of a hitman, Shane. Between me and your father, didn’t we teach you enough about how to deal with your enemies by yourself, kid?”
“You sure fucking did,” I snap. Pair of sadistic assholes.
“Yeah? Well, stay away from the Wolf. He’s bad news.”
“Isn’t everyone? Anyway, you said he’s in Russia. So he’s nowhere near New York, is he?”
“You hiding something from me, kid?”
“Plenty. But not about this, no,” I lie again. “So, I’ll be seeing you soon then, Uncle?”
“It seems so,” he coughs again. “Let’s hope that cunt dies soon, eh?”
“Hmm,” I agree, but my mind is elsewhere. Where the hell has Paul been all these years?
