“The Americans will come looking for him,” Mikhail said.
The Americans had had a long-standing—albeit uneasy—relationship with the Clarkes for years. They’d become a problem ever since they started sharing a bed with the Feds. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. The Outfit would feed the Feds just enough information to keep them off their backs and often gave up smaller players. Like Ricky, one of Liam’s men, who’d gotten himself clipped. He was the reason I’d had to deal with the damn Callahan brothers originally. They weren’t supposed to know about the marina, yet they were controlling it from thousands of miles away.
I took a drag of the cigarette, the glowing embers falling to my shoes. “No need,” I replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I’ll make it very easy to find him.”
It would be far too simple, almost effortless, to have him delivered along with the shipment of opium he’d so blatantly stolen from me. I imagined him wrapped up neatly, with a note pinned to his chest that read “delivery.” That would send a clear message to the Americans, wouldn’t it?
Dealing with the Callahan brothers was like asking to play cat and mouse. They controlled politics and would blame anyone for their crimes before taking accountability for themselves. They were barnacles along for the ride, avoiding the consequences without even trying. They had a vast network—one that had found its way to Washington. They had judges, senators, and even a couple of governors in their pockets. They didn’t just control the politics; they had their claws in construction, real estate, and even a few tech startups. They were everywhere.
Attention from them wasn’t good. And I had it.
“And what about this Valentina girl?” Mikhail asked.
My eyes fell, and I rubbed my forehead. I explained to Mikhail that Valentina had lost her assets to Liam when Cillian died a year ago. Since Liam had given me everything he had, I also had control of Valentina’s money. She could only reclaim the money by remarrying.
She was desperate to get it back—that much was obvious—but I couldn’t marry her off in her current state. She was a chronic alcoholic who skipped her AA meetings. No one would want to marry her. Valentina was a loose cannon. I needed someone to keep her in check. If she wanted her money, she needed to take this seriously. I didn’t want to wait long for her to get her act together.
Valentina was dangerous when she was alone. I never knew what she was up to, and I had no idea how close she was tothe Americans. She knew too much to be alone, drunk, and vulnerable all the time.
“So she’s a liability.”
“A huge one,” I confirmed. “And the Callahan brothers know it. The last thing I need is for her to run her mouth too much and then have to deal with them at the marina.”
“Right, so kill her. Problem solved.”
I shook my head. “It’s not that simple. She’s connected, and her disappearance would raise too many questions. Besides, she’s family, in a twisted, scheming kind of way.”
Mikhail frowned, clearly not convinced. He was always practical, always looking for the most straightforward solution. “She’s a loose cannon—you said so yourself. What’s the plan?”
Valentina was going to be difficult to deal with. I couldn’t threaten her with a gun like I had Mason. She was too smart, too cunning, and she had too many connections.
I stood there for a moment processing what I needed to do. Valentina’s manipulations were a ticking time bomb—one I didn’t need to blow up in my face. I’d have to have a conversation with her in a language she understood clearly.
Money.
CHAPTER 42
MAX
I’d barely stepped into the house when I heard Rosalie’s furious voice coming from the living room. Her words were rapid and sharp, echoing off the walls. She was ranting in a language I didn’t speak.
Irish.
Shrugging off my coat, I lifted it onto the hook, trying to act calm as I walked toward her. I nodded along to her incomprehensible words—noises, really—hoping she might pause for a breath of air.
Her red hair was tied with a band, and her green eyes were ablaze. Her lips were movingfast.
“Are you even listening!” she yelled at me, her voice piercing the tension.
All right, I got it. Didn’t need a translator for that one. I may not speak Irish, but I knew frustration when I saw it. It was written all over her face, in every sharp look she shot my way.
What happened next shocked me. In an impulsive act, she snatched up the remote control from the couch and hurled it at me at full force. Reacting on instinct, I swiftly ducked, the remote whizzing past me to hit the wall.
I turned to her, wide-eyed.
The hell?
As if the remote weren’t enough, she grabbed a handful of pillows and flung them in my direction. They landed softly on the floor.
