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“I don’t want a war,” he said quietly. “But they have gone too far, Viktor. The two men in that car…once you’re done with them, I’m not sure.”
“You’re tired from your surgery and everything else. Take your time, give it some thought. We can wait another day.” I needed to buy time anyway, giving him time to think would give me time to consider all my options thoroughly without appearing to hesitate. “Meanwhile, once we get details on the Pueblo members who did this, we will bring those men in.”
“Did anyone get my briefcase out of the car before it was towed?” he fretted.
“Boris handled it. I have it in my office. I can bring it if you wish.”
“I do. I want to get some work done.” He smiled again at my expression. “Finances won’t wait until I’m up and around.”
I nodded. “I’ll bring it in tomorrow.”
“Perhaps I’ll have an answer for you then.” His tone was apologetic, but I could understand it. Ivan was not a man of the gun. Who was I to judge another man, especially when I, too, needed time for careful consideration?
On the way back home, I found my thoughts turning to Olivia. In two days, I would be welcoming her into my home, and into a couple of very awkward conversations. But perhaps she would understand where I was coming from if I explained it well enough, and led with my desire to do right by her and Michael. And I did plan to explain, at least partially, at least at first.
Because my woman would never be put in danger from ignorance. She would know enough to make the right decisions to protect herself and our children.
It was raining as I headed for my house near Scollay Square, one of those steamy summer rainstorms that barely relieved the heat. Now and then, I heard a rumble of thunder out across the sea. The eye of the storm was slowly getting closer—we would probably have a lightning storm later.
Despite my desire, the timing of meeting Olivia again was terrible. If the Puerto Ricans really were pushing for war, there wouldn’t be much I could do to dissuade them, besides answer violence with violence. Olivia and Michael would end up in danger if they associated with me too closely or too often during this time of potential turmoil—particularly if it became known to my enemies who they were to me.
That, I absolutely could not let happen. Not my son. Not his mother.
That meant I had to move quickly and decisively to bring this conflict to an end—either by never letting it start, or by pushing such a force of violence and blood on the enemy that they had no choice but to concede, or be wiped out, before it could turn into a long-term war. But how was I supposed to do that when I didn’t even understand the reasons behind the Puerto Ricans’ sudden shift from fist fights and fender benders to attempted murder targeted directly and purposefully towards our profits, not to mention my personal friend? Rashly resorting to violence might well underpin everything my Uncle Mischka and I had built, if I didn’t know everything first.
The whole situation had a fishy smell to it, something wasn’t quite adding up. I had to find out what was really happening. And I had to do it before there was any chance that Olivia and Michael could be connected to me by my enemies.
Chapter 7
Olivia
“You doing all right, sweetheart?” Anna asked me, brushing dark hair out of her eyes as she let me into her Cambridge apartment that was twice the size of my own. I felt a stab of jealousy, it must be nice to be married and have two incomes. But I pushed that thought aside as I stepped into her home. I wasn’t anything but happy for Anna for being in a good situation. I was just feeling some ugly self-pity towards the instability in my own life, since having a kid had drastically changed exactly what I could do with that big cash out I’d gotten all those years ago. But I had no wish to push that onto my friend.
“Oh, I’ve just got another assessment up in Salem tomorrow,” I said as breezily as I could. “That drive’s always a pain in the butt.” She didn’t need to know about Viktor, or how much meeting him again tomorrow was worrying me. “Where’s my little man?”
“Sleeping with Pookie again.” She had a little laugh in her voice.
I followed her into her clean, blue-and-white tiled kitchen and saw the enormous doggie bed in one corner was doubly occupied. Pookie was a huge, brown dog with floppy ears, a close coat and wide doggie smile like a pit bull, and a tail that inexplicably had long feathery fur like a golden retriever’s. She adored Michael and was thumping her tail hello, while holding the rest of herself still for his sake.
Michael was napping on top of her, hair askew, flopped there with his eyes closed, and his soft little face calm. He didn’t even twitch as I came over and bent down to look at him.
“Michael,” I called softly. He stirred a little. Pookie whined excitedly and then started licking his forehead, turning his bangs into cowlicks.
“Aaaa! Tickles!” His green eyes opened blearily as he pushed the dog away and wiped drool off his face, blinking in confusion, then beamed when he saw me. “Hi, Mommy!”
I scooped him up into a hug. “Hey, kiddo. How was your afternoon? You didn’t give Anna too much trouble, did you?”
“Nuh-uh! We did shapes.” He giggled as I bounced him a little, then set him down. I was going to have to start lifting weights if I was going to be strong enough to carry him in a few months, he just kept sprouting up more.
“He was fine. There was drama, but it didn’t have anything to do with him.” Anna was pouring us glasses of lemonade from the pitcher in her fridge. Pookie ambled up to her and sat, whining until she slipped the big dog an ice cube to chew on.
“What happened?” I felt my inner tension ramp up another notch, and prayed it wasn’t anything too bad. Nobody in the hospital, nobody in jail, nobody dead.
“It’s Luis. He’s doing that thing again where his work’s stressing him out and he won’t tell me what’s going on. Says he doesn’t want to talk about it.” She handed me a glass and Michael his little purple straw cup. The whole time, Gina snoozed away obliviously.
“Oh. Wow, I’m sorry.”
“How am I supposed to be there for my brother if he won’t let me know what’s going on?” She sighed, rolling her eyes. “I worry about him getting stressed.”
