I nod.
“How do you know all this?” Matthias asks curiously. “That’s a lot of secretive information for someone locked in a gilded cage nearly her whole life.”
I grin over at my husband, who sits across from me at the table. It isn’t round like the one in the bunker, but rectangular and large enough to accommodate his men and most of Liam’s.
“Even gilded cages have wi-fi,” I tell him. “Plus, Elias never kept much a secret from me. He talked openly, believing he had complete and utter control over me. His mistake, really. Something to be learned from.”
Matthias’s eyes flash with something I don’t quite recognize, but I see the anger behind the gray storm clouds at beingcompared to Elias. Kiernan coughs uncomfortably as the tension between us heats and crackles like a summer storm.
“Why cash though?” Leon taps his chin thoughtfully. “Ward Enterprises under the control of Dashkov is a billion-dollar company. Why is the cash so important?”
“Because cash can’t be tracked.” I lean back in my chair, wine glass in hand, my fingers dancing along the crystal as I silently tap out the beat toRenegadeby Styx. “Sure, money is money, but cash is its own ball game. These are untraceable small bills. Perfect for bribes, drugs, guns…” I look over at Liam, who is completely at ease sitting in his chair, ankle on one knee as he taps on the glass of his beer bottle too.
I always wondered where I got that habit from.
Some things are just innate.
His emerald eyes meet mine, sensing me staring at him. His brow furrows as I study him.
“Ground shipping companies,” I finish rattling off as I draw my gaze away from my biological father. I’m not about to ask him about that—not when he nearly blew the top of his head at the mention of Marianne somehow being complicit in my mother’s kidnapping. How would he react if I call out the man who’s supposed to be his father-in-law?
“Think of what else that money could buy.” Vas slowly releases a long breath. “Christian would have every politician in his pocket with money like that. The gaming commission. The new mayor—if he’s just as bad as the old one. He could’ve taken over more than half the underground, and we would never have been the wiser for it.”
Fuck.
That’s the general mood of the room as we all let that revelation sink in. If we hadn’t intercepted this shipment, it would’ve meant the end for the Bratva and the Irish mob.They would’ve lost suppliers, runners—everything. People trade loyalties when there’s cash involved.
“All right.” Liam stands from the table, stretching. “The container might not have been what we thought it was, but that doesn’t change the plan. We can still move forward with finding out who is funding Christian, and the best way to do that is to schmooze the top players at the annual charity gala in two weeks. Meanwhile, we’ll all keep gathering information. Keep our spies busy.”
We all nod and stand, clearing away our empty bottles and glasses. As I reach for my coat, Vas frowns down at me.
“Why don’t you stay, Ava?” he asks. “This is your home, and honestly, we could use you around here.”
Home.
This isn’t my home. It’s another prison. Another cage. I’m not naïve enough to believe it’s ever been a home for me.
“I don’t think…” I begin, my eyes searching out Matthias, who doesn’t bother to look at me. I expect him to say no. To adamantly refuse—but he remains silent, his body turned toward Maksim, who speaks to him in low tones.
“Good idea, Vasily.” Liam smiles and clamps one of his large, tattooed hands down on my shoulder. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. I pull my gaze from my husband to my biological father. He’s smiling, green eyes lit with mischief as he stares down at me.
“Do you not want me to come back?” I whisper so no one else hears. “Did I do something wrong?”
Is this because of Marianne? Does he not want me around anymore because of what I say? Do I lose him that easily? Before we even get to know one another?
“We need a liaison,” Liam whispers back. “You’re the best choice. Plus, I think it’s time you stop running. Don’t you?”
Running? Who’s running?
I’m not.
Running implies a slowness I don’t possess. Fuck. I’m not running from anything. I’m bolting. Like the Flash or Superman. Speed of light. Not fucking running. Running is for pussies.
I’m not a pussy. I’m a strategist.
That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.
