“Right here,” he says, coming out of the kitchen. He’s showered and wearing grey joggers and a blue henley and even as bad as things are, I wantto rip them right off his body.
But there are guests.
“This is quite a collection,” Morgan saunters down the stairs. She’s a sight in my black bustier, satin sleep shorts and a cat clinging to each shoulder like furry epaulets. “Is this a recovery meeting for the Hot and Extremely Entitled?”
“Not the latter,” Roman says, smiling devilishly, “though I have heard the extremely hot designation before.” Michael and Dmitri, eldest sons of the eldest son, exchange a look of mutual exhaustion.
“Flirt on your own time, ye bastard.” Wallace herds them into the great room. “We’ve got bigger problems than your lack of game, lad.”
All I hear from Wallace is a Scottish accent coming back. And it sounds like home.
Bolstered by an enormous platter of food and many drinks, we start plowing through all the information.
“So, we know The Gadfly was hired to murder your father,” Michael says.
“He’s the Albanian Mafia guy, right?” Morgan asks. “He’s why you’ve been lighting up warehouses and dive bars for the last week.”
“Really?” Dmitri raises an elegant brow. “How many targets?”
“Twelve,” Wallace says evenly. “I’m only on number ten.”
“He’s always been an overachiever,” Michael says proudly.
“Aye, Morgan, this is an Albanian group. But the head of the mafia is The Gadfly, he rents his people out to stir up trouble and cause havoc while a bigger mafia is busy behind the scenes,” Wallace explains. “Distract, then destroy.”
“The fecking eejit,” Michael says. “I canna believe he put his entire organization on the line for the second party. He must know we’ll rip his mafia to shreds for this.”
“Down to the last man and building standing,” Wallace adds. “Bone, and ash.”
I take his hand and squeeze it, knowing he’s thinking of his father in that hospital bed.
Roman, clearly not one to read the room, grins enticingly at Morgan. She’s settled herself on a cushion by the fireplace, happily drinking a sherry with her long legs on display in those satin sleep shorts. “If we’re short on seating, I’m happy to offer my lap, darling.”
“And I’m happy to put my boot up your ass,” she says, unperturbed. “Though that means I’ll need to go upstairs and put them on, so we can revisit your weak attempt at flirting later.”
“Moving on,” Wallace snaps. “Ye said Xenia finally decrypted the Frostbite files?”
“Aye.” Michael pulls a pile of photos and paperwork out of a folder. “We thought we knew the who, we just dinnae know the how.”
“I’m losing you.” I raise my hand.
“The files were created by Kholodov. It makes sense, since we knew he set his sights on your syndicate. But these files, now… They’re beauties, it’s all laid out, their entire plan to cripple the other Boston crime families by cutting off their suppliers and making the Banner routes the only ones they could use. He even has plans to make inroads into New York.”
“There’s no doubt that it’s Kholodov?” Wallace asks.
“None,” Dmitri says grimly. “His headAvtoritetwas spotted with five of his men near Marblehead right before the warehouse fire. We have security footage of him in Salem today.” He nods at Morgan. “I’m very sorry about your home.”
Her smile slips for just a moment. “I am, too. That’s why I’m looking forward to watching you fuck this guy up.”
“Here’s some of the surveillance images,” Michael continues, spreading the photos out on the table. “Kholodov was having dinner last night withArmand Renner, one of your chief weapons distributors, correct?”
Mouth tight, Dmitri looks at the photo before tossing it down. It slips off the table and lands on the carpet. “Renner.Podonok,that fucker. I’m sure our father will enjoy pulling his next arms shipment unless he wants to pay triple the price.”
Picking up the photo, I freeze. “I know this man.” The photo’s getting blurry and it takes me a minute to realize it’s because my hands are shaking.
“What do ye mean?” Wallace scoops me up, putting me on his lap. “You’ve met Kholodov? Why have ye not told me?”
“That wasn’t his name. Kyle, that son of a bitch bastard-faced shit-eating prick, introduced him as Xavier Frost.”
