But Seamus is gone now. The man who ran the clan for decades and became known around New York as the face of the Callahans is no more.
He’d already stepped down from his role as Clan Chief, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still the spirit of the family. The one people thought of when they thought of the Callahans.
It’s an end of an era. Which means a new dawn’s underway.
I pull up to Callahan House for a war planning meeting and immediately notice the changes around the estate.
The place feels different. Heavy. Grim.
A sense of mourning in the air.
Oona and the rest of the staff have draped black fabric over the windows and replaced every floral arrangement in the house with dark blooms.
I find out from one of the maids that Mrs. Callahan hasn’t left her room in days. She’s barely eating or speaking, spending most of her days shut off from everybody. She and Seamus might not’ve had the most loving marriage, but it’s clear the woman cared about her aloof husband in her own way.
Both Ronan and Lochlan are in the office when I turn up.
Ronan’s behind the desk that used to belong to his father. Lochlan’s in one of the leather chairs across from him, his expression unreadable.
“Close the door,” Ronan says as I enter.
I do, then take the other chair beside Lochlan.
“There’re still a lot of questions to be answered,” Ronan begins. “One thing’s clear. The Raguzins know us well. They’ve been able to use our patterns and behaviors against us. Time for us to do the same to them. Approach this using their tells against them.”
“Easier said than done,” Lochlan says. “The Bratva keeps everything under wraps. Fedorov’s excused himself from public life. He almost never goes out in public. Hasn’t for almost a decade now.”
“Ever since the Albanians almost took him out with that car bomb,” Ronan adds with a nod.
“Which is why the bastard’s paranoid as hell,” Lochlan says. “He keeps his location off the grid on purpose.”
Ronan scowls. “Then we need intel. Inside information about him. Some way to find out his vulnerabilities.”
Both his and Lochlan’s gazes shift to me. It doesn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out why.
“The stray,” Ronan says. “She was with them for years, right? She has to know something useful.”
“I’ve already extracted intel from her. She’s told me as much as she knows. She went through hell with those people. Shit I don’t even know the specifics of. Fedorov had her from the time she wasfourteen. At one point, she lived in a fuckingcage. You think she wants to relive that shit?”
“Look, nobody’s saying it isn’t fucked up what she’s been through. But this goes above her,” the younger Callahan brother argues. “The fact remains, a lot of this shit’s popped offbecauseyou took her in. We’re offering her protection. The least she could do is give us every fucking thing she knows.
“The more she tells us, the quicker she can help us end this. She’s the only advantage we have. She lived in Fedorov’s house and saw how he operates. She probably knows things that could help us take him down. We don’t have the luxury of protecting her feelings right now.”
“It’s not about her feelings, it’s about her fucking trauma?—”
“There’s another option,” Lochlan pipes up suddenly. “We might have somebody else who knows Fedorov and the Raguzins well.”
Ronan cocks a brow. “Care to share with the class, Loch?”
“My crew of misfits—we had a Bratva soldier who was excommunicated.”
“The fucker with the eyepatch,” I grunt. “The big Russian guy who was your muscle?”
“Aleksei Mashkov. He was banished from the Raguzins a while ago. Fedorov punished him by taking his eye.”
Ronan regards his older brother for a second then folds hishands on the desk and nods. “Set up a meeting. See if he’s willing to align with us. We’ll make it worth his while.”
“He’s doing freelance work these days.” Lochlan rises from his chair. “I’ll make some calls.”
