“Fine. But what I’m about to tell you changes nothing. Do you understand?”
I gritted my teeth, remaining silent.
“I received quality information regarding the identity of your assailant.”
“Who is it?” I fisted my hand, more than eager to fucking kill the son of a bitch.
“If I tell you then you’re going to promise not to do anything stupid.”
“Talk.” You bet I was close to becoming disrespectful to my Don, but with the pain I’d endured, I was owed discovery.
“Grigor Pavlov. It would seem the Russians have reared their ugly head again. This time, we’re going to cut it off. Not that he’s anyone of importance that I can tell, which is why this entire situation concerns me.”
Meaning Grigor wasn’t a noted member of the Barishnikoff Bratva, a New Orleans nemesis we’d managed to strong-arm before.
“Then I’m headed back.” I was deadly serious. The Russians were utter pigs.
“Not a chance. You’re staying put, especially now. No vigilante justice. Do you understand? You have a target on your back and until I figure out what we’re dealing with, I don’t need your interference. Do not dare try and tell me you won’t tear apart the city to find this guy. I know better.”
Anger breached the surface to the point I was seeing spots in front of my eyes. “I deserve to be on the hunt.”
“Not now. Heal. That’s your current job. Do not cross me on this. I’ll provide you with additional information when it’s confirmed. If I see your face in New Orleans, I’ll have you locked in a goddamn jail cell.”
“What aren’t you telling me?” In learning to follow my instincts, I could spot a liar a hundred feet away so on the phone was a piece of cake.
His sigh was yet another confirmation that he wasn’t interested in providing me with every aspect about the situation. “By way ofour computer experts, a job listing was found on the dark web, posted on an extreme Russian site.”
Every muscle in my body tensed. “What did it entail?”
“Murder for hire. Want to guess the mark?”
Exhaling, I rubbed my eyes, the ache behind them more intense than the days after the shooting. “When was it posted?”
“A week ago. While the first attempt was foiled, likely handled locally, the last line of the offer is an indication of how far they’re willing to go.”
“What did it say?”
Alexander’s deep breath was full of aggravation. “That the offer stood until the job was done.”
Why the Russians would come out swinging with me as a target might be unknown, but their desire to see me dropped straight into hell wasn’t.
My death would be a decent distraction, which was exactly what had happened with our father’s murder.
“Fine. I’ll stay here. For now.”
“Good. I’d hate to need to send several soldiers to keep you in line.”
With the call ended, I glared at the stereo system, cringing deep inside. This would be one hell of a difficult week.
What the fuck?
The sound dragged me from a fitful sleep. There was nothing wrong with my reflexes as I immediately reached for my weapon. In doing so, the force used slammed my hand against a hard object. Just before it shattered, I blinked, managing to drag myself from the light fog enough to realize I’d knocked my whiskey glass to the floor.
Another sound and I snapped my head forward. Someone was at the front door. What the hell? Who the fuck knew I was here? Shit. Maybe Bart had stopped by to see if I needed anything.
What time was it?
My eyesight still blurry, focusing my eyes enough to read the time on my watch proved difficult. When I managed, I groaned. Eight in the morning. Fucking fantastic.
