The lighting’s shit, the place reeks of beer and piss, and there’s only a handful of men inside, all of whom look like they couldn’t recite the alphabet if asked by a cop.
In other words, it’s perfect.
The right kind of place for three mafia-affiliated men to meet and talk shop.
I’ve never been a fan of fancy establishments like Gossier’s and the Banshee is off the table for the time being, so this dive bar is as good as it gets.
“He’s in the back,” Lochlan says. He juts his chin. “The large Russian with one eye.”
We’ve walked through the door and paused long enough to survey the barroom.
Aleksei sticks out like a sore thumb, even though he’s the type to be moody and disgruntled, camped out in a corner. He’s doing just that now as he tosses back shots of vodka and scowls at anybody who comes remotely near his table.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
We head over, skipping the introductions.
Aleksei worked for Lochlan when he was on his quest forrevenge against the clan. I’m familiar with him too—we shot at each other a few times during that period, as Aleksei was Lochlan’s righthand and I was Ronan’s.
It’s true that in the underworld sometimes you make strange bed fellows. Enemies become allies at the drop of a hat and vice versa.
“You save any vodka for us?” Lochlan asks. He claims the seat directly across from the Russian. I take the chair on the side. “You knew we were coming.”
“You know I am greedy with my vodka,” Aleksei answers plainly. “You will have to get your own.”
A crooked grin comes to Lochlan’s face. “Wouldn’t expect anything less. Anyway, you know why we’re here. We need resources to take down Fedorov. Turns out, you’re a gold mine for that.”
“Help is not free,” he says flatly, curling thick fingers around a small glass and tossing back the clear liquid. “You have my respect, Loch. We are allies. But I learned not to get involved with Irish affairs.”
“This is different from the beef between me and my brother. This is a matter of control for the underworld,” Lochlan explains. He leans forward businesslike, arms folded on the table, calling back to his days as the Callahan heir. “The Raguzins have gotten out of pocket. They’ve sought this war with us.”
“I’m sure Fedorov would see it differently. The reneged deal at the Vodka Room soured relations.”
“True,” Lochlan admits. “But they’ve more than gotten payback for that. Killing Seamus—myfather—takes it to a new level.”
“Are you helping us or not?” I interject moodily. “I was under the impression you hated the Bratva’s guts.”
Aleksei pins me with a cold blank slate of a glare. The kindof glare where his features are neutral yet the coldness in his good eye speaks volumes.
The patch covering the other only adds to the effect.
“Fedorov Raguzin took everything from me,” he says slowly. “He not only stripped me of my position, but my honor. He took myeye. If I am to risk revenge, it will need to be worth it.”
“We can ensure it will be,” Lochlan says. “We’ll cut you a hefty checkandyou’ll have the satisfaction of having a hand in taking him out.”
The ex-Bratva soldier nods in agreement, then pours himself more vodka.
“I assume you would like to know more about him.”
“He’s a fucking fortress,” I say. “Anything you’ve got could tip the scales.”
He swallows the vodka he poured only seconds ago, his thick throat working as he does. “Fedorov has an estate on Long Island. One of the most impenetrable estates in the country. Cameras everywhere. Armed guards at every entrance. He rarely leaves these days—he is too paranoid and too old. He is aware he is frail and helpless without his guards. The estate is also where he keeps his pets.”
After what I’ve learned from Jhene, my stomach knots tighter. “Pets?”
“The women,” says Aleksei, then he adds, “and the girls.”
My gaze meets Lochlan’s, both of us barely keeping a lid on the instant rage that fills us up.
