Boris shakes his head. “A family.”
“Who?”
“Fuck if we know,” Dimitri says, his hands curling into fists. This lack of knowledge kills him. “We think it started in the late sixties. If the rumors are true, there were eight brothers. Hence the name the Spider. With their stupid little legs and beady eyes and webs of bullshit.”
“I’m taking it you’ve had a few run-ins?” I ask.
“You ever hear about those men obsessed with the Loch Ness Monster?” Boris asks. “The Spider is his Nessie.”
“Okay,” I say slowly, messing with my collar. “So how many are there now?”
Dimitri doesn’t have to say anything. I can read it on his face. They have no clue.
“Right, so. . .” My shirt sticks to me, the warm summer air not helping. “Let’s say someone manages to kill a Spider. What do we think would happen then?”
The men are silent.
Boris finishes his cigar, dropping it to the ground. His Italian suit is immaculate despite the heat, his nonchalance a stark contrast to his brother-in-arms.
“A Spider in the city—it's best to prepare now,” he says. He’s played good cop so far, but his serious face silently relays his thoughts. His wife and daughters weren’t the target, but a Spider got close to them.
“We’re not fucking involved in this,” Dimitri says. “We’re not fucking involved in this.”
“Why did he come to town in the first place?” Boris asks.
Dimitri picks his head up. “Who the fuck did she get into it with?”
“Guy named Cade. Weed and Tweed.”
Disgust twists Dimitri’s face. “Those fucking idiots who sell to bumbling aristocrats.”
“Perhaps they’re not all bumbling,” Boris murmurs, looking to me for confirmation.
“Cade and Isolde got into it over his newfound venture, selling women to customers. His family wasn’t in on it. The O'Connells think it’s only a matter of time before he slits his father's and uncle’s own throats.”
“I know you worked for the Irish, but you can’t trust the O'Connells as far as you can throw them,” Boris says. It’s all the confirmation I need to feel right about keeping Ian off Fujimori’s radar.
“The Stuarts aren’t fucking with him either,” I say.
Boris and Dimitri frown at one another.
“There’s no way the Stuarts know the kid’s got a Spider in his back pocket,” Dimitri says. “They would never let that stand.”
“They’re weak,” Boris reminds. “They have been for ages.”
I tuck away the information that Boris is calmer talking about the Stuarts, the same family who kidnapped his daughter, than he is about the O'Connells.
“No.” Dimitri shakes his head. “Something about this isn’t right. The kid might be trying out a new venture, but how the fuck does he get the money and influence to even be in contact with a Spider?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Boris says. “It’s happening.”
“I don’t fucking like it.”
“Neither do I.”
A silent conversation runs between them.
Boris sighs, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Call whatever O’Connell you’ve been talking to. Tell them Cade’s got a Spider on the payroll.”
