“About the Russian delegation that just swanned through the gates like they own the place.”
“The what?” Alertness vanquished any lingering fatigue I’d brought with me from Decoy’s sofa. To my knowledge, the Kings had a peaceful relationship with the Russian mobs operating in the UK, but if there was one thing I’d learned on battlefields a thousand miles from here, it was that shifting sands never stopped shifting. Peace became war in the blink of an eye. “How many?”
“Two.”
“You know them?”
“Me?” River popped a bag of Tangfastics and shoved a couple in his mouth. “Oh yeah. I’m at the top of my mafiaguess-whogame. Everyone else seemed to know them, though.”
“How did they arrive. Car or bikes?”
“They walked in. No idea how they got here.”
“We need to find out. There could be twenty of them waiting for the sun to go down.”
“That’s what Saint said. He sent Locke and Decoy out.”
Unease prickled my skin. It was a sensible plan, but why did he have to send the brothers that meant the most to me?
I gave River a nod and pressed on to the chapel door, knocking once before pushing it open.
A cloud of cigarette smoke greeted me, laced with the herbal musk of the weed joints Rubi and Mateo preferred. The chapel was dark too, lit only by low wall lamps, but it took barely a split second for me to register every face in the room.
Nash, Rubi, Embry, and Mateo in their seats.
Saint hovering by the window.
Alexei lurking at the back like a cobra waiting to strike the men who sat in the spare seats at the table.
Familiarmen.
Viktor and Jakov.
I relaxed a touch. I’d only seen Jakov once—on the ground, the day I’d shot Lorenzo Sambini. But Viktor was a man I’d dealt with long before a motorbike had become my most discerning feature. Couldn’t say I liked him or even trusted him, but better the devil you knew.
“Take a seat, Folk.” Nash pointed at the sole empty chair in the room. “We’re just getting started.”
I obeyed without comment, absorbing Nash’s calm demeanour, keeping my gaze to myself.
He waited for me to settle, then pointed his lit cigarette at Viktor. “What are you doing here? And what does it have to do with them?”
Without glancing up, I knew bythem, he meant me and Alexei. There was no other reason for me to be in here. Nothing recent, anyway.
Viktor bestowed Nash with a pleasant smile. “They killed eight Sambini men last night. I would like to discuss why and what it means for the future of our special relationship.”
Deafening silence greeted Viktor’s statement. To Nash’s credit, he didn’t blink, but Rubi did, choking on his zoot.
“Jesus fuckingChrist. I thought this was gonna be the year without murder?”
“Who said that?” Alexei slunk out of the shadows, coming to a stop at Nash’s shoulder, a vague and rare show of deference to anyone who wasn’t Cam. “It was not me.”
“Clearly.” Rubi rubbed his chest and stubbed his smoke out.
Viktor’s eerie smile widened. “Am I to discern from this display that I was not the only one surprised by this news?”
Nash shifted in his seat, unwilling to divulge any weakness in our ranks but unable to entirely hide that he was as blindsided as Rubi. “It was a long night. We haven’t had a chance to regroup yet.”
“Fair enough.” Viktor sipped from the water bottle someone had put in front of him. “Allow me to help you. Last night, the Sambini family were moving a large shipment of guns into this country. Weapons they planned to transport, using the roads you have given up to them, to fight the war in the north they have decided to join. It was my intention to stop them. Imagine my shock when I arrived to find my work already done.”
