Bile bubbles up my esophagus at the image he paints. I seriously doubt it, but I decide to keep my thoughts to myself.
3
Angelo
Ishould have known Kyril’s offer of assistance would come with strings. Of course it does. I’m not an idiot. When mafia families offer their men and logistical support on what will very likely turn into a shitshow of epic proportions, there are always strings.
“A favor,” Declan says as he settles into a soft armchair in front of a blazing fire.
This place is an Airbnb. There’s a guest book on the coffee table, alongside stacks of brochures advertising various local attractions.
Ronan thumbs through the leaflets.
“Fancy fly-fishing, Dec?”
Kane leans against the wall by the window, staring out into the black night. He’s been quiet since we arrived at this log cabin on the edge of the Barrington estate. It’s too dark to see, but Declan tells me a high wall surrounds three-quarters of the cunt’s property, with a loch forming a barrier on the far side.
We’re in a deep valley between towering mountains. From the bite in the air, there’s likely snow already falling at higheraltitudes. I’m beginning to regret not bringing warmer clothes, but we left in a rush, and I barely had time to pack a toothbrush.
“A favor,” I repeat, my gaze fixed on Declan. He’s a big guy. A fraction taller than me. Older too. Late thirties at a guess from the dusting of silver at his temples.
He seems like a direct sort of guy, which I appreciate, but I’m not here to be taken advantage of, despite how desperate I am.
“Yeah, a favor to be redeemed at some future date.”
“What sort of favor?” My game face is locked in place. Declan’s two guys are in the kitchen preparing food. It smells semi-decent. Some kind of pasta dish, from the smell of garlic and tomato. The small store we stopped at on the way here had slim pickings—mostly tourist shit like shortbread and novelty candy—but Connor found enough supplies to feed us for a day.
“No idea. But when I call, you deliver.”
The bastard has me over a barrel, and he knows it.Fucking Kyril.No doubt he’ll expect a favor too. At this rate, I may as well pull my pants down and let them all fuck me.
When he finds out I’ve racked up favors to the Irish and Russian mafias, my father will go nuclear.
I give Declan a terse nod. He smiles like a cat who just walked in on a family of defenseless mice.
“Good man.” The bastard leans over and slaps my shoulder so hard I nearly fall off the sofa.
“How about pony trekking?” Ronan shoves a leaflet under Declan's nose and points to a photo of horses. “Looks like fun,” he muses before frowning. “Oh fuck, there’s a weight limit. Think you’re too fat, bro. Sorry.”
“For fuck’s sake, Ro, this is muscle, not fat, and we’re not on a fucking vacation!”
Ronan pouts. “But this is an Airbnb. I need something fun to write about in the guest book!”
“Give me fucking strength.” Declan mutters a string of curses.
“Fine! No pony trekking or fly-fishing,” Ronan grumbles. He tosses the leaflets into the fireplace and I watch them burn. “I’m off to video call my pixie.”
“Keep it clean. Nobody here needs to hear my wife coming.”
Ronan smirks. “Ourwife, bro. And I’ll try. Not my fault if my pixie gets carried away.” The cocky fuck disappears upstairs. I hear a door slam and pray to god I don’t have to hear him talking dirty to some woman I’ve never met.
“Is everyone happy with the plan?”
I push my plate away, unable to stomach another bite of eggs. It’s still dark outside, although the sky has begun to lighten. Slivers of apricot paint the brooding mountains looming over the valley. Snow is in the cards for later.
Insects scratch under my skin at the thought of Chiara being out in this weather. Is she cold? Hungry?
“So we’re gonna put some cool masks on, get over the wall, and kill some motherfuckers?” Ronan seems way too excited about this rescue mission. For the millionth time, I fight against the urge to punch him. He seems incapable of taking anything seriously.
