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Ava, you’re a murderer.
Chapter 6 - Viktor
Snapping the black briefcase close, I tucked the phone away and snatched my sunglasses from Fedor’s opened palm. He stood by the car, holding the back door open like some posh chauffeur, with squinted eyes, and a grim line for lips. “Are you ready, boss?”
Sweat trickled down the sides of my face and I dabbed it off slowly, with clenched teeth and a handkerchief. The sun was fucking hot, and something else—something I couldn’t place—was ticking in the back of my mind, like a memory I was struggling to recall.
“I am here, or am I not?”
A dark brow rose on his forehead, and he gave me a look that said he knew more than he was letting on. “You’re hesitating.”
He was right; I hesitated. It felt like I had left something behind, and that made me agitated. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, threw the briefcase in the back seat, and looked at Fedor’s black double-breasted suit. “How are you even surviving in that shit?”
“A killer look has to be maintained,” was all he said with a shrug before he motioned to the phone in my pocket. He had overheard the conversation—curses and severe threats I hauled—on the phone and wondered if it was related to a current shipment underway.
“Supplier?”
“Fucking swindler. Said he’s from Benjamin and has a good deal for me.”
Confusion settled on his face and his brows furrowed. “Benjamin never sends third parties.”
“I know.”
I wiped off more sweat and crossed my arms in front of my chest. The ticking in the back of my head became a nag and I tried to ignore it. “Must be some hungry lad trying to make money,” I said. “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten shitty calls like that.” I tried to distract myself, but the nagging didn’t stop. I looked back from the car to the factory and hoped it would click.
“We got word from Vlad,” I mumbled, perusing. Maybe that was it; I had forgotten to tell Fedor about the phone call. It was a fucking surprise to get a personal call from the Pakhan, even though I knew it had to do with his stupid brother.
“Let me guess,” his eyes held amusement. “It was about the punch.”
I smirked. “He called to commend me. Told me I didn’t punch him hard enough.”
Fedor tutted, shaking his head when he said, “Poor Boris,” without emotion.
I snorted. “Now, I’m the one that has to deal with the fucking mess he made …”
Then it clicked. The reason for the ticking and nagging in the back of my mind was none other than the red-haired Irish princess herself, and it wasn’t because I remembered how good she smelled or how perfectly our bodies molded, she fitted against me like a missing puzzle piece. Her long legs, her trim figure …
My head snapped to meet Fedor’s cursory gaze. “Is there a problem?” He asked and, immediately after, his lips twitched. “It’s the girl, isn’t it? The reason you’ve been hesitating?”
I allowed a scowl to cross my face and gave him a stern look. If I could have, I would have wiped that stupid smirk off his face with the butt of my gun, but that would only have proved his silent accusation to be true.
I ignored his insinuation and asked, “Who’s been taking care of her?”
He cleared his throat and shifted his stance, distributing his weight on both legs as he parted them. A slight tension fell from his shoulders as he closed the car door as I slumped into the back seat. “Pavel has the morning shift, Anton gets the afternoon, and Mikhail takes the nights.”
“Did you say, Anton?” I took off my sunglasses and a strange mix of fury and angst rushed through my veins. Vipers and Falcons. I remembered Anton and his brother Grigor. Two of the most loyal men we had in the Bratva. Everything might have been rays of sunshine when I jogged up memories about them. But there was a fucking problem.
Grigor got killed in a gang fight. A fight led by the one and only Cian O’Sullivan himself. After Anton discovered who’d pulled the trigger, he swore he’d get his revenge, one way or another. And that same Anton was on duty to watch Cian’s daughter.
Fuck!
“Wait, we need to go back!” I jumped out of the car again.
I flung the sunglasses at nothing—even if I’d been aiming for Fedor’s head—and my feet moved briskly. “Who the fuck told him to watch her?” I growled when he fell beside me, reaching for the silver steel inside his jacket.
“He volunteered.”
It all made fucking sense now. Word spread like wildfire after I captured the Irish princess; having Cian’s daughter gave us the upper hand. No doubt Anton heard it and must have been waiting patiently for the right opportunity to strike. Anger raged a turbulent war within me. I didn’t like being outwitted, and certainly not by one of my men.
