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“As a front?” Danny asked, knowing full well that everyone was expected to launder money for the family.
Artyom laughed. “Sometimes, but mostly, it’s legit. We’re making so much money that it’s getting hard to clean it. We’re having to store it, and you can imagine what kind of risk that is.”
“Yeah, I can.” Danny suspected that risk was going to be his problem soon. It seemed like the sort of job he would be handed, keeping piles of money safe from all the rats in town. “What about Ireland?”
“What about it?” Artyom took the salmon and foil-wrapped packets of vegetables from the grill and placed them on a baking sheet.
“What was the real reason for sending me there? I know it wasn’t just to put that tracker on the ship or to scope out the situation.”
“It’s complicated, and it’s not for me to say. Yet,” he added, with a pointed look before taking the food back into the house.
Danny found plates and silverware in a cabinet and drawer and placed them on the table. “This brings back memories.”
“Of when you were a shithead punk that wouldn’t stay out of trouble?” Artyom portioned out their dinners. “When I had to chase you down after dark, drag you home, and stand over you at the kitchen table to make sure you finished your homework?”
Danny grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
“You were an angry kid. It’s what angry kids do.” Artyom grabbed another beer. “You want one?”
Danny shook his head. The jet lag was starting to get to him.
“Here.” Artyom handed him a Dr. Pepper. “Now—let’s talk about Macy.”
“What do you want to know?”
“I know about her family, but I don’t know about her.” Artyom cleared his throat. “She’s younger?”
“Yes.” There was no getting around that. “She’ll be nineteen soon.”
Artyom laughed. “Uh-huh.”
“I can’t help the age difference. I didn’t ask for the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen to be six years younger than me. I didn’t set out looking for someone who was still in high school. It happened. Okay? I did the right thing. I left her alone.”
“Did you?” Artyom asked, pinning him with a stare. “Because you seem to have gone from not having a girlfriend to having a girlfriend as soon as the tires of your plane hit the tarmac here in Houston.”
“We kissed. Once!” Danny insisted as Artyom laughed. “It happened. We stopped. We agreed to wait.”
“And you what? Set an alarm on your phone for the day she graduated from high school?”
“It wasn’t like that!” Danny squirmed because, okay, actually it sort of was like that. “I like her. I respect her. I want to make this work.”
“So, make it work.” Artyom stabbed a grilled zucchini medallion. “It’s your life. You make your choices. You fight for the things that matter.”
Danny wondered if that advice was only meant for him or if his uncle was giving himself a pep talk as well.
“She’s going to college soon?”
“A&M,” Danny said in between bites of salmon. “Pre-med. She wants to be a surgeon.”
“We always need someone handy with sutures,” Artyom remarked. “Someone who won’t ask questions when bullets need to be removed or stab wounds need to be closed.”
“I think after her brush with our world she’s going to be a tough sell on becoming a mob doctor.”
“If she intends to be with you, she’s going to have to toughen up.”
“Maybe.” Danny didn’t want her to toughen up. He didn’t want her to become the perfect little mob wife. He wanted her to be the successful, respected surgeon she dreamed of being someday.
Artyom let it go and instead asked, “Where is that dickhead father of hers?”
