The Petrov Bratva ring, signifying his status as Sovietnik. A one-of-a-kind diamond carved into the shape of a skull.
“We’ll find it. When do you remember seeing it last?”
“Last?” he roars, “I have not taken it off in ten years!YA ub'yu vsekh v etom klube,I will kill everyone in this club!”
“Steady, Arseni. You’re not killing anyone,” I say coldly. “Let’s retrace your steps.”
“Well…” he rubs his forehead. “I was at the bar, then I came out here to smoke a cigar.”
The little thief’s dosage was perfect. Isla effectively cut out any memory of her at all. “Why don’t you join me in the VIP suite, my friend? I have several lovely women who’d love to meet you. We’ll lock down the club and search everyone before we let them leave.”
There goes opening night…Angus murmurs in my earpiece.
Escorting Petrov up to my suite, I instruct the guards to start a search, and after I’ve successfully distracted my guest with women and a fresh tray of party drugs, I head up to the security room.
Two of our best digital security employees are deftly operating the surveillance equipment. Looking at the bank of monitors, I say, “Ladies, why don’t you take a break? I’ll keep an eye on things for fifteen minutes.”
Neither one argues, nodding and hastily leaving the room. Settling in one of their expensive ergonomic chairs, I rewind the footage on Camera Ten back fifteen minutes. There she is… I see her silver dress and the long flow of hair down her back. When Isla turns, though…
She’s using some kind of a jammer that’s blocking our facial recognition software. It’s blurring her features on camera. Even though I know who she is, there’s no digital trail. Even while questioning why I’m doing it, I delete the footage for the three minutes and twenty-seven seconds showing my little thief stealing one of the rarest diamonds in the world.
Chapter Five
In which there is only one thing more terrifying than the MacTavish men. Their mother.
Dougal…
One year later…
“The goddamned Blackwoods made the alliance with the Conti Mafia,” Cormac says with a frown. I’m power-drinking coffee in an attempt to hide that I’m hungover as hell.
Cormac’s a lot less fun since he became Chieftain of the MacTavish ‘Corporation.’ That’s what we Scots call it, an industry built on taking advantage of the fraud and corruption of others who are even worse than we are. We keep our hands tidy, no drugs, no Red Trade. The memory of turning the Stepanov Bratva compound into rubble still gives me a surge of grim satisfaction. No crime group that sells women and children will ever approach us again.
“That opens up Italy and Sicily to the Blackwood diamond trade,” Cameron muses.
“As well as Greece,” Cormac says, “and France.”
“I thought we were discouragin’ that?” Lachlan asks, flipping his knife and catching it. He flips it again. And again. I’m ready to snatch it out of midair because the movement isn’t helping my headache.
“I don’t know what Blackwood offered them,” Cormac is clearly frustrated. “I thought we had this agreement with the Contis is all but signed.”
“How does this impact our expansion?” I ask.
“It doesn’t, specifically. But anything that gives them more power puts them in a position to face off against us. I don’t like how much ground they’ve gained in Glasgow recently.”
“You know,” Lachlan says, “I never heard the story of why we’re mortal enemies with them? I was in the Warrior’s Division with Gavin Blackwood at the Ares Academy. We didn’t talk much, but he was popular. He seemed like a decent lad.”
Cormac rubbed his eyes. “Da’ and Bruce Blackwood were friends once, when they were young and building their empires. Everything fell to shite. Da’ has never told me the full story, only that there’s a grudge between them that will never resolve.”
“Da’ isn’t Chieftain anymore, brother.” Cormac looks up at me in surprise. “You are,” I stressed. “Other than the occasional skirmish between our clans, we’ve co-existed for decades. Maybe it’s time to talk to Da’ about a change. There’s always plenty of enemies, but never enough allies.”
“Dougal, the middle child,” Cameron says, “always the diplomat.”
Lachlan snorts, “I don’t remember that from my childhood.”
We’re all gathered at the MacTavish estate for yet another of Ma’s fundraisers. Even though Da’ hates opening up our family home, there’s no denying this one always raises the most money.
“How’s security for tonight?” Cormac asks.
