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“No,” Daniel said. “But I wanted to make sure that we weren’t being set up. The setup was too last-minute.” He gave me aninscrutable look. “Should the guys stay put?” Daniel asked, and I nodded. My cousin lifted the walkie-talkie and gave the order.
At the same time, I took his lighter and flicked it on and off twice. A responding lighter flared up on the other end.
“Heavy and Perro are set,” I said and strode forward to stand under the single lamppost in the joint. Daniel joined me and slumped against it, lighting another cigarette. “Jesus, Danny. Another one? You’re hitting a pack a day!”
“It’ll make the Russians feel more at home,” was his bland response. “Don’t give me shit about my bad habits, Ty. I don’t give you shit about yours.”
My jaw bit down hard on that pointed remark. I wanted to either slug him or have this shit out but a black truck had whipped in.
Big and expensive tires crunched over the salt and gravel as it pulled up towards us. We’d left our cars a street over and I pushed back my jacket, letting my hand rest on my piece.
The passenger side door opened and a huge man exited, his head clearing the top of the door. He gave me a single nod and then closed the door, holding up both hands.
“No need,” he said in a deep voice with a light Russian accent. “You are Tyler Michaelson, yes?”
I surveyed the man for several seconds and realized he was closer to my age than I first realized. He had a close-shaven head of dark hair and green eyes with a hawkish look to them. There was something familiar about him that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Finally, I nodded briefly and he came forward, offering a hand that I didn’t shake. Instead, I glanced at him then at the SUV – probably packed with Bratva – and then surveyed the Russian again.
“What the hell do you want?” I asked.
“I want to know why you killed Ivan Volksov,” he said with a cold smile, “and then thought you could keep breathing.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ty
Ahuge fist barreled through the air and I barely managed to deflect it as I swung out of the way and went for the Russian’s kneecap. But, for a big fucker, he was fast and dodged me, putting up his dukes.
Red washed over my gaze and, for the first time all night, I almost forgot about Lia.Thiswas the shit that Luca had insisted was life or death? Some badly informed Russian who wanted to fight it out in a back alley?
“Fuck this,” I spat and held up my fists. “You wanna go, Drago?”
“My name is Kir Volksov,” he spat. “And I’m here to avenge my uncle.”
“Good for you,” I retorted. “Fuckin’ do it then, asshole. But before you do, you should know you’re way off fuckin’ base. You’re not even in the goddamn stadium.”
Kir swore in Russian and started forward, only to stop as a metal barrel pressed to his temple. Daniel, my goddamn ninja of a cousin, had slid up next to him and now had his beloved .45 Colt aimed at the Russian.
“You know, we were allies when this gun was made,” Daniel said. The 1940s gun glinted like moonlight in his hands from the ivory and pearl inlays and the restoration done by Daniel himself. “Antique but still works a treat. And you know that Luca Michaelson isn’t someone to double-cross, especially not after he so graciously set this up.”
“Plus, if you’re friends with our cousin then you’re not stupid, Drago,” I said and narrowed my eyes at Kir. “Youhadto know we have men here and that Daniel could’ve shot you. Why throw a punch,cavone?”
“You're not here to settle the blood debt, are you, Kir?” Daniel asked. “At least, not tonight.”
Kir straightened, his hard jaw working and then a grin cracked across his face. “Ah, sorry. I’ve been cooped up on the plane too long. Besides, I wanted to see how you’d react. Heard you were very fast and a good fighter.” He paused. “From Ivan, no less.”
I should’ve known. The Volksov Bratva always did have a weird-ass sense of humor.“And?” I asked. “What do you want?”
Kir rubbed his chin and nodded then glanced over at Daniel in surprise, as though he’d forgotten the gun at his head. “You can put that down. I am unarmed. And you are right. This is, how did Luca put it, a ‘sit down’?” He made a face. “Though we are not sitting down.”
Daniel held the gun there a second, glancing at me, and I nodded. He tucked it away and walked over to me, studying Kir, and then asked, “Ivan’s dead, isn’t he?”
My stomach lurched. “Wait, what?” I asked and looked between my two grim companions. “I thought you were fucking around. Ivan—dead?”
Kir nodded, and Daniel’s eyes frosted over. Fucking hell, we’d liked the old Russian. He’d been funny and generous, doting on his family and friends and especially his hookers. I blew out a breath.
“You thought I’d ice an old man?” I asked. “For what? Ivan never—”
