“What’s the damage to the bastards?”
“A couple of black eyes. But there were three of them and only one of me.”
Silence fell at that, and then Da growled, “Bren, you’re dealing with it?”
“Conor and me are. Yeah.” Only knowing they’d ganged up on him had made me agree to the insanity of reappropriating three little shits’ trust funds.
He grunted his approval. “Shay, I’m telling you—you did good.”
“Thanks, Grandda,” he said gruffly, and I knew I wouldn’t be the only one to take note of him dropping the ‘d’ on Da’s title.
I smiled at Shay and told him, “Go on, kid. Get. Face the music, give her the apologies, take whatever punishment she gives you on the chin, but know we’re all proud as fuck of you.”
His smile was sheepish, but he nodded. “Night, Uncle Bren, Grandda.”
“Night, kid.”
“Night, Seamus.”
As the door closed behind him, and I watched him head into the foyer of Dec’s building, Da said, “Did you hear that, Bren? He called me Grandda.”
“I heard, Da. I heard. Little man’s not used to getting into fights. He’s a bit shaken.”
“He’s a good boy,” Da agreed. “Not ideal really.”
I snorted. “It is ideal. Remember, he wants to get into politics.” Even though I knew it was a pipe dream, I wasn’t about to encourage Da to start tainting Seamus with mob bullshit.
“True.” He hummed under his breath. “That might come in useful. A few legitimate O’Donnellys along the way. I know your grandda would have fucking loved to have one of his descendants in the White House.”
I rolled my eyes but said, “Yeah, he sure would.”
My grandfather wasn’t as insane as Da, but he still was a bit mentally unstable. Not that I could judge. You had to be in this line of work.
The difference between me and my father, though, was enjoyment. To me, it was a job. All the shit I did, all the moves I made, all the blood I spilled, it wasn’t for pleasure. Da liked it. The entirety of NY-fucking-C knew that.
I scrubbed a hand over my chin as I watched Shay from the side of the road, not pulling away until he got into the elevator and was whirled up to Declan’s high rise.
As I drove into the heavy traffic, I asked, “What’s wrong, Da? Did you need something?”
“Can’t a man just call to shoot the shit with his son?”
Some men might, but not this one.
Wryly, I said, “It’s unlikely.”
Da huffed. “Well, what’s with these fucking snakes you’ve sent my way?”
“I didn’t send the snakes to you. Just the task of finding them. You know I ain’t got contacts in the right departments. Plus, I got enough to handle thanks to those fucking Sparrows.”
That had Da falling silent. “You figured something out?”
“A couple of things.” I cleared my throat and decided to dodge a bullet. “You and Ma got plans for tomorrow?”
“No. Not as far as I’m aware, anyway.”
“Can I come around for dinner?”
“You don’t have to ask.”
My lips twisted. “Cheers, Da.”
“No need to thank me, son.” He hummed. “This for business?”
“No. Everything’s under control for the moment. I have news though.”
“Spill.”
I explained about Coullson and how we’d found him in a compromising position, and I could just imagine his eyes sparkling as he roared with laughter.
“That fucking prick. He was the one who tried to block us buying the Andersen lot, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah. That was him. Coullson got in with donations from the Hannegan Corp. He’s their bitch.”
“Not anymore,” Da said gleefully. “Well fucking done, Bren. What’s the game plan?”
“You still got that invitation to the Davison’s Hudson River Clean-Up Gala?”
“Yeah. Want it?”
“The bastard knows we have him on a string, but I think we need to show him how much we can make him dance.”
Da hooted. “You go for it, kiddo. It’s next Friday.”
“Thought so.” As I headed over to Linden Blvd, making my way to my pit, AKA The Hole, I told him, “I’d really appreciate it if you could deal with the snakes, Da. Got a lot on my plate at the minute. Those fuckers raided another of Hummel’s jewelry stores the other night, and I need to get cracking with figuring out who they are.”
“Understood, son. He pays a lot in protection money so you’re right, he’s the priority. I’ll get my people in Customs to deal with the snakes and help get them where they need to be. Consider it done.”
I arched a brow. “You’re in a good mood today.” What I meant was an ‘amenable’ mood, but I didn’t say that. I didn’t feel like turning his proverbial smile upside down.
He’d been on a rampage ever since we’d found out we had a lot of rats in our midst. The Sparrows had infiltrated the Points in more ways than we’d have liked. Sniffing them all out was at the top of Da and Aidan Jr.’s agendas.
I knew Da was dedicating himself to the job with the zeal of a missionary in uncharted waters. Whether or not Aidan was pulling his weight was another matter entirely.
“Got a reason to be in a good mood,” he murmured, “my boy just called me Grandda, you just told me we have the mayor in our pocket, and I trapped some rats today.”
Wincing, I asked, “How many?”
“Six.”
“Jesus. So many?”
Da hummed. “I’d be pissed if I hadn’t had fun.”
“Who?”
“They were on Junior and Finn’s crews.”
“Figures. Money and the direct line to you... the Sparrows aren’t messing around.”
“No, but we knew that already. If they wanted us in jail, we’d already be there. So they want something else.”
“What do you think that is?”
“My guess would be information. Or, they might want to make the same deal with us as they did with those Italian cunts.”
“Would you go for it?”
Da snorted. “Brennan, when have I ever been anyone’s bitch?”
“Well, when you put it like that...”
“That’s exactly how I’m putting it. I ain’t about to be fucked in the ass by these bastards. If anyone’s doing the fucking, it’s me. We’re going to get them right where we want them, turn them on their heads, and bury them upright. Fuckers think they can mess with us? They can think again.”
For a second, I didn’t reply, just let the silence hover, before I said, “Might have some leads on a couple more rats.”
“Damn. I keep hoping that’s the last of them, and we flush out some more.” He sighed. “How did you hear about these?”
“Caroline Dunbar.”
He grunted. “At least she’s keeping to her end of the deal.”
I snorted. “What? The ‘tell us everything or you die’ deal?”
“Yeah,” was his gruff reply, but he laughed a little. “That sounds about right. Good thing too. Don’t mind getting into shit, but prefer to leave the federales alone if I can. When they turn up dead, it always causes such a fucking stink.”
“What happens when a bunch of pigs get together to mourn another pig’s death, I guess.”
“True, true.” He sighed again. “You got it under control or need some input?”
“I can manage. If I can’t, I’ll bring Declan and Eoghan into it.”
“Okay.” Da hummed. “I understand why they turned. What concerns me is preventing it in the days ahead.”
Reaching into the cup holder where I had a pack of money mints, I popped a couple in my mouth, unable to believe I was about to make the suggestion at the forefront of my mind: “How about a céilidh? That’s a good excuse for all the ranks to mingle. Shore up ties while maybe seeing if anyone is on edge? Acting suspiciously, you know?”
The céilidh was a traditional Gael
ic dance. I hated the fucking things. The music, with all the bodhráns and the fiddles, was a migraine waiting to happen. I chomped down on the mints at the prospect.
“Thanksgiving is approaching,” he mused, his voice introspective. “Might be a good idea.”
“I have them sometimes,” I said wryly, popping a couple more mints into my mouth. “Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow night, Da.”
“That you will, Bren. You’re a good boy, son. Thank you for all you’re doing.”
Though I was about to choke on his gratitude, because he’d never thanked me once for the shit I did in his name, I didn’t have the chance to reply before he cut off.
Peering up at the sky then glancing down at the ground, I saw that pigs weren’t flying and hell hadn’t frozen over, which meant Da had thanked me for something without Armageddon breathing down his neck.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, and for the first time in my life, I said the Lord’s Prayer without being instructed to by Father fucking Doyle.
If Da was thanking me… of all people, well, I didn’t know what to think.
Inessa has to forgive me first.
Twenty-Two
Camille
My appointment with the nail tech had been awkward to say the least. She’d kept peering at my palms, and I’d remembered why I’d stopped going to a nail salon before—questions. Even if they weren’t voiced, they were there. In someone’s mind.
With Inessa lurking on the opposite bench, the last thing I wanted was for her to see my hands so I’d been glad for the simple manicure, and had gone for a full out pedi instead.
Inessa elected to have both, but we’d still managed to chat over the treatment, and while it wasn’t, and probably never would be, as comfortable as it had been in the past, that wasn’t to say that we couldn’t start afresh and make something better.
I hoped so.
I hoped that my adolescent fears wouldn’t wreck ties that should be concrete.
If that meant making an effort, I would.
So when Inessa asked me, shyly, “Would you come with me to church on Saturday? For Vespers?”
What was I supposed to say?
Tell her that I’d prefer to stick pins down my nails than listen to a bunch of pious pricks spout nonsense at me?
That would go down like a lead balloon.
“Of course. That would be great. Does Victoria go?”
“She will if I tell her to,” Inessa said with a sniff, then, her lips curved. “Just wait for Sunday.”
“Why? What happens then?”
“They’re religious. The whole family. We have to go to church and everything. I only go to Vespers every month or so. For Mama, mostly. But with Aidan Sr., there’s trouble if you don’t go every week, and the men have to go to confession.”
For a second, I wanted to gag.
Church—twice? In the same week? Hell, in the same year was two times too many, never mind within the latter half of this already shitty week.
Maybe I had something to confess, but I wasn’t religious. Had stopped believing in that stuff when I found Mama bleeding out, covered in Italian cum...
My jaw clenched at the thought, but I just said, “That’s really going to be fun.” Poor Brennan... I couldn’t imagine him on his knees in a confessional. It just didn’t fit his personality.
“Yeah, Father Doyle is a real prick. He makes the new priest at the Orthodox Church look liberal.”
Rolling my eyes, I told her, “Can’t wait.”
She grinned at me. “I’ll bet.”
Which keyed me into the fact she knew I’d prefer to overdose on Swedish Fish rather than go to church but was making me go anyway...
Why did I want to be friends with her again?
Still, aside from the prospect of that particular torture, it had been quite nice to clear the air.
She knew I’d had something to do with Father’s death, even if she didn’t know what, but rather than cast stones at me, we both concurred we were going to have a better life without him.
Which was, all told, pretty horrendous. Talk about a testament to how shitty a parent he’d been.
After we parted ways, with a promise to meet tomorrow for the early service, I headed out and found Bagpipes moving around the vehicle so he could climb into the passenger seat.
Thankful he’d remembered, I rushed over to him because traffic was on the rise, jumped behind the wheel, then, when there was an opening, pulled out onto the road.
“Hey,” I greeted him as I settled in, unable to deny that this SUV was so much more comfortable than my own. I rocked back into the plush seat, placed one arm on the rest, and let the car drive me.
He grunted at me in reply—charming. “Go straight ahead. I’ll tell you when to turn off.”
“Okay.” I cleared my throat. “You were fast. Thanks for picking me up so quickly.”
“Was twiddling my thumbs when you texted me.”
I shot him a quick look at the unusual turn of phrase. “Are you originally from New York?”
“Nah. Irish. Moved over when I was eight.”
“Why?”
“Why not? People immigrate, don’t they?”
“They do, I was just curious is all,” I told him, unruffled as I started back toward Hell’s Kitchen.
In the distance, the majestic lines of the Empire State Building made an appearance, twisting in and out of sight like a mirage as massive skyscrapers stole it from view. All around me, the buildings loomed, but I liked it. I’d missed the city. New Jersey had granted me shelter, sure; that didn’t make it home.
Baggy broke into my musings by grousing, “Curiosity is dangerous. You know that as well as I do.”
“I do, but we’re going to spend a lot of time together, aren’t we? You should take it as a compliment. I never wanted to know anything about my Russian guards.”
“Why not?”
“Because I knew they’d die soon.” I shrugged. “My father wasn’t as cautious with his men as the Irish.”
“Ain’t that the feckin’ truth.” He grunted. “Shit general was your father. Too short-sighted.”
“You won’t hear me arguing. I know nothing about how he handled business, just know there were a lot of miserable boyeviks.”
“You told Brennan that?”
“No. Haven’t had the chance.” I shrugged.
“He’ll be interested to hear morale is low.”
“Morale was always low, but Father ruled with an iron fist.”
“Aidan O’Donnelly Sr. does too,” he pointed out.
“Maybe, but everyone knows the Irish care for a man’s family. In the Bratva world, it’s different.”
“For someone who knows nothing about business, you know more than I do.”
His grousing had me scowling at him. “This isn’t business. This is people. That’s different.”
“How is it?”
“Because boyeviks aren’t just soldiers, they’re men too. The Bratva likes to tear families apart, make people rely on the Brotherhood for everything. They gain strength that way. The Irish do the opposite. I think that makes them stronger, no matter what Moscow believes.”
“Bet the Bratva wouldn’t agree.”
“Well, they wouldn’t, of course, because it’s just how it’s done. Doesn’t mean it’s right though. Doesn’t mean it creates loyalty.”
“Agreed.” He sighed, conceding, “We immigrated because my da got into trouble with the Garda—the Irish cops. Aidan Sr. brought us here to save his bollocks from jail.”
“Bollocks?” I asked, turning to him with a frown.
“Balls.” He grunted.
“Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re right. We’re going to be stuck together, might as well get to know you. Although Kerry-Louise will probably get jealous and make my life a living hell when she claps eyes on you.”
“She’s your—” A quick glance at his ring finger confirmed my belief. “Wife?”
&nb
sp; He hummed. “Capable of making a man more miserable than a TSA agent with a pair of gloves and a bottle of lube.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” He pointed at the road ahead. “Take the next left.”
I did as he asked, following his instructions until we got back to Brennan’s building.
My new home.
Bagpipes instructed me that the garage would open its doors when it scanned the plates, and as we maneuvered through the levels, finding the spot Brennan had parked in last night, he said, “Lyanov sent some of your stuff over.”
“He did?” I asked, surprised that Maxim had been so thoughtful.
“Yeah. Your sister’s things to Inessa’s place too. Forrest delivered both while you were busy.”
“Thank him for me?”
Bagpipes shrugged. “Will do.” He pointed to the elevator. “Conor, Brennan’s brother, will set you up with security clearance once the family knows about you and Bren. As it stands, I’ll come up with you because I have a pass.”
“Thanks, Bagpipes.”
“Just doing my job.”
We were quiet on the way up to the apartment, and even though I asked if he wanted a coffee or something before he left, he refused, saying there was still work to be done before the night was over. Considering it was past seven, our version of ‘night’ was evidently different. Still, I didn’t expect to see Brennan for a good couple of hours so I decided to check out the apartment.
My new gilded cage.
I knew the living room already. With its open plan layout, it was a comfortable space and that was where Forrest had dumped a lot of black bags—my stuff. All jumbled together like it was trash.
To Maxim or whichever boyevik he’d had gather my things, it probably was.
Still, I was grateful that I wouldn’t have to wear the same dress tomorrow for church, so that was something.
Before I bothered sorting everything out, I decided that I preferred to explore the place without Brennan around. I wasn’t at ease with him—only natural as I didn’t know him, even if relying on him for my security and safety meant a part of me had to be at ease with him—so it would be more comfortable to discover my new home alone.
I liked the open plan kitchen/living area. It was a space I would spend a lot of time in. With the kitchen separated by the dining table, there were a few squashy armchairs that were centered around the windows. Not only so you could look at the view, but also because there was a TV on a bracket on the wall between them.
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 23
