Especially since Maeve and Declan won’t speak to each other.
“So.” Maeve breezes toward a corner in the VIP section of Emerald & Oak. Green velvet seats surround a table draped in white linen and decorated with a vase of white roses. “What kind of a jam?”
We sit opposite each other.
“I’m on a job.” I fish a pack of smokes out of my pocket. “But today, everything went sideways.”
Maeve eyes the pack of cigarettes with pursed lips. “What kind of job?”
My shoulders sag because there she goes, asking questions I’m not at liberty to answer. Not without World War III breaking out.
I light up and suck in a slow taste of nicotine.
Her pointed glare reminds me of the no-smoking policy, but thankfully, she keeps quiet. What’s the point of owning the hotel if you can’t do what you want?
Once she realizes I’m not going to explain, she moves on. “Does Dad know?”
“Probably.” I blow smoke away from the table. “It’s his job, and I haven’t reported in.”
Declan was meant to meet us at the construction site to retrieve Trinity, but the Russians showed up before he did. If he ever arrived, he found a graveyard full of dead enemies and two of our own men and would’ve called for details.
If he did, I have no idea because I lost my phone in the mayhem.
Premonitions of danger twinge through me, causing the muscles in my back to twitch. What if the Russians also attacked Declan? They clearly knew where we were going to be and waited to ambush us.
“If you want my help, I need you to be a little less cryptic.” Maeve aims a warm smile at a tall, curly-haired server who brings her a glass of rosé. “Thank you, Marcus.”
I exhale another trail of smoke and order a whiskey and medium-rare steak. “Dad and I were supposed to rendezvous about a drop earlier today, but the location was compromised.”
The spot above Maeve’s nose furrows as she sips her wine. Her eyes flick back and forth, like she’s reading words off an invisible sheet of paper. “By who?”
“Not sure exactly. There were at least ten of them. Maybe more.”
“Were they Russians?”
I freeze mid-inhale, my pulse stuttering. “How did you know?”
Her forehead wrinkles as she frowns. “A report came through. Apparently, a large mercenary crew of Russians arrived in Los Angeles late last night.”
I lean against the table, resting my cigarette on my bread plate. “Led by who?”
My sister’s frown deepens. “Andrei Kruschev.”
When I hear the name, shards of ice slice through my veins. Kruschev’s a top enforcer for the Roguilin syndicate on the East Coast. What the hell are he and his men doing out here? If anything, the New York Gallaghers should be their enemies, not?—
The pieces click together. Shit.That’s it.
They don’t want us. They wantthem.The Russians had the same idea we did.
To use Trinity as leverage to get to the Irish Kings.
That’s why they trailed her at her graduation. That’s why they ambushed us at the construction site. They intended to steal our ace and play it themselves.
“Brody, do you know more about this?” Maeve can probably sense the wheels churning furiously in my head.
We lock eyes. For a moment, I want to blurt out every single detail of what went wrong today, to just unload the way I used to after getting bullied at school. Spill my guts and let my big sister clean up the mess.
But I can’t do that anymore. Even if I weren’t too old, another big reason why sleeps in her bed every night.
