“I know.” He faced the front. “Stay behind me anyway.”
I rolled my eyes, but the worry in his voice made me secretly melt. Then Gennadiy pushed through the doors, and we were inside.
I wasn’t ready for the wall of noise that hit us. It was barely noon, but the place was already crowded with people drinking and talking. There was a rowdy, happy, blue-collar atmosphere, like everyone was either about to break into a song or start a bar brawl.
Part of what made it so noisy was the layout. The first two floors were one huge, double-height room with pool tables and three bars, and old, rickety-looking balconies loaded with people looking down from above. Everyone was in jeans and t-shirts, and the Aristovs stood out a mile in their suits. One of the bartenders pulled out his phone and muttered into it. Finn was going to know we were coming.
People cleared a path for us—even in Irish territory, everyone knew who the Aristovs were—and we worked our way up the wide,wooden staircase to the third floor. We approached a heavy oak door guarded by three unsmiling men. One of them opened it and waved us inside, then all three of them followed us in and closed the door behind us.
And there, behind an antique desk, lounged Finn O'Donnell.
He was in a suit, but he didn’t wear it the way the Aristovs wore theirs. More like Finn and the suit had negotiated, had a drink, and come to an amicable arrangement. He wasn’t wearing the jacket, there was no tie, and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and rolled up over his muscled forearms. He was kicked back in an aging leather chair, his feet up on the desk, and a glass of whiskey in his hand.
I hadn’t been ready for how good-looking he was. I’d seen him in photos, but they didn’t capture how deeply blue his eyes were, or how they sparkled when he smiled.
“Well, well, well,” said Finn. “The entire Aristov family. I’m honored.” He had a faint Irish accent, like a playful thread of gold running through his words. He looked at Radimir and cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “You didn’t want to bring your wife along?”
“She’s working,” Radimir told him smoothly. “Planning an important book signing at the bookstore.”
Finn stood up and walked around the desk. “And who,” he asked, “isthislovely lady?” He stood right in front of me, thumbs hooked lazily in his belt like a cowboy, and looked deep into my eyes. His grin was teasing and cocky and just a little filthy. “Has anyone ever told you,” he asked softly, “that the way you walk is pure poetry?”
“That’s enough, Finn!” snapped Gennadiy.
Finn and I both looked at him. I blushed. For a second, there, I’d been lost in those Irish blue eyes. He wasn’t a match for Gennadiy, not in my book. But damn, the man was charming.
“Is she yours?” asked Finn innocently.
Gennadiy gave him the same death stare I’d given Emanuela.Is he jealous?“I’m not anyone’s,” I told them firmly.
Finn smirked and leaned against his desk. “What do you want?”
Gennadiy took a long, calming breath. “Someone tried to kill her,” he said, nodding to me. “She’s?—”
“FBI,” said Finn. “Did you really think I didn’t remember? I saw her at the dog track. So you’re working with the Feds, now?”
“She’s not FBI anymore, Finn. And we need answers. Someoneisworking with the FBI, and they tried to frame me for killing her.” He paused, watching Finn carefully. “Was it you?”
The whole room tensed. This was it.
“No,” said Finn in a bored, tetchy voice. “It was not.”
“Blyat’,” breathed Gennadiy, and he drew his gun and pointed it right at Finn. Radimir and Valentin cursed and did the same, and I pulled out my gun, too. Finn grabbed his gun from his desk. Behind us, there were rustles of clothing and sharp, metallic clicks as the three guards behind us drewtheirguns. Mikhail’s four dogs, who’d been sitting like statues ever since we entered the room, became streaks of gray fur, darting between us to face off with the guards. The room filled with the low, chainsaw rattle of their growling.Thatwas why Mikhail brought them.
I looked around. Nine guns leveled at heads. One twitch of someone’s finger and we were all dead.Fuck.
And then I noticed something.
Finn’s men were pointing their guns at the Aristovs. The Aristovs were pointing their guns at Finn. But Finn himself? He was aiming at me.
“Put your gun down, Gennadiy,” said Finn tightly. “Or your woman dies.”
32
GENNADIY
Blyat’.Cold fear like I’d never known, wrapped around my heart and squeezed. “You’ve got it wrong,” I grunted to Finn. “We’re just working together.”
“Bullshit,” said Finn. “I saw your face when I flirted with her. Put your gun down, or I put a hole right through that pretty face.”
