His office?
His desk was neat as a pin.
No papers anywhere.
Not because he was worried about me reading anything, but because he dealt with everything as it came, even if he’d been doing something else. The man was a machine. I’d seen him work while I cooked, and had come to see how he shifted gears when he received a call before going back to his original task.
The man fascinated me.
Was it any wonder I was in his thrall?
I bit my lip, wanting to say that to him, tell him how I was feeling, but I wasn’t sure if it was wise. Sure, we’d be getting married ridiculously soon, but I wasn’t ready to tell him anything earth-shattering.
I guess, deep down, I wanted him to know what he meant to me, but the only way I could do that was by sounding sappy. I knew he appreciated the way I worked.
It seemed like I constantly surprised him. Whenever he asked me anything, or stated it as an order like with the postponement of the bakery, he was always hesitant, almost like he knew I’d argue. I liked that he was wary, though. I’d never raised my voice at him, hadn’t had to so far, but he knew I’d fight if necessary.
It pleased me that he knew that without us having had a fight yet. It told me that I’d comported myself well around him. That he knew, just because I’d roll over at his command when I was in his bed, didn’t mean I’d do the same in life.
He was a Points man. He’d gotten me into his bed the first time because I’d had no other choice but to do as he wanted, not if I hadn’t wanted to ruin my father’s career, and yet, somehow, he’d seen beneath that veneer to the real me.
I didn’t reply to him in the end. Instead, I texted Jenny.
Me: Hey you. Fancy a coffee later on?
Jenny: Hey!! OMG, you’ve been ghosting me. Bitch!
I had to laugh.
Me: Nope. Just really busy. It’s been crazy on this end.
She put the frowning emoji, mostly because she knew that I was never busy unless I was in the kitchen at the tea room. Which, ya know, didn’t exist anymore.
Me: I’ll explain another time. Coffee?
Jenny: No can do, girl. Had to get some shifts at Al’s. Just to tide me over until you get the bakery up and running.
That had me wincing. Shit. I felt so bad considering the tea room had closed down with no notice, and though I’d paid her and my other two staff members a few weeks’ wages to help them out, it was nothing in comparison to a steady income.
Getting rid of them had sucked, and I’d done so with the promise that I’d be setting up a new business ASAP.
Which, cue sigh, wasn’t going to happen with someone gunning for the Five Points.
Me: You tell me when and we’ll meet up, okay?
Jenny: Great stuff. Gotta go. You caught me on a break. Love you. xoxo
Me: Love you, too. xoxo.
Putting my phone down, because one of my contacts had made me feel guilty and the other had made me horny, I decided it was safer just to stare at the walls until my dad came.
There was a boring picture of a horse standing outside a stable, and I studied it like I hadn’t seen it before until there was a knock at the door, then it opened.
Turning back to see my father stride in, I got to my feet with a smile. His arms were open as soon as he closed the door and turned back to face me, and I rushed at him, loving the way he hugged me.
No, we didn’t have a regular daddy-daughter relationship, but in our way, we were close.
He embraced me tightly then pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
“New perfume?”
My eyes widened at that, and I pulled back to look up at him. “Huh?”
“You smell different.”
I had his eyes, but that was it. His face was patrician and mine was anything but. He was tall and lean like the All American he’d been as a kid. He’d met Mom during summer break when he’d been home from West Point. A one-night stand had far reaching consequences that he’d never really known about until his campaign manager had found me. A big, black secret that marred his reputation.
“I do?” I cleared my throat and pulled away from him, returning to my seat on the sofa. As he followed, taking the opposite side, I told him, “I guess it’s because I used my boyfriend’s soap this morning.”
He stiffened, his eyes widening in surprise at my announcement. “You have a boyfriend? Since when?”
I decided it was best to lie. “Quite a while.” I smiled at him. “It only just got serious. Nothing worth mentioning until now.”
He grimaced. “I don’t want to know what it was before you ‘got serious.’”
Smirking at him, I joked, “Be grateful you only have one daughter.”
“I am,” he teased. “Sons are far easier to corral than girls.”
“I’ll bet.” I pursed my lips in amusement then, as was our way, I served us both tea, and we settled back to talk. Considering the way we’d started off, I decided to take a deep dive into troubling waters. “I’m getting married to him, Dad.”
Alan half-choked on his tea. “What?”
“You heard me,” I jibed. I stared down at the murky brown liquid in my cup—I took it with just a dash of milk to take the bitterness away, but it certainly didn’t look palatable. “He asked where I went every Tuesday.”
That had him stiffening. “What did you tell him?”
“That I had a standing appointment with my father.” I looked him square in the eye. “Nothing more, nothing less.”
It wasn’t really a lie.
Finn knew what was happening here from his own intel, not from anything I’d shared with him.
Alan grimaced. “I’m sorry, Aoife.”
“It’s okay, Dad. It is what it is.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, tipping the cup in his hands as he stared down at his feet. “I hate that you have to lie for me.”
“It’s worth it.” I licked my lips. “I-I know you won’t be able to meet him, and I also know you won’t be able to come to the wedding. It’s okay, Dad.”
He gritted his teeth. “It’s anything but okay, Aoife. Dammit to hell.”
“You have goals.” I didn’t say it to piss him off or to hurt him. If anything, I told him to reaffirm the fact I was okay with it. “The White House needs you, Dad. I’m not about to get in the way of that.”
His jaw flexed. “What kind of father am I where I can’t even walk you down the aisle?”
I shrugged. “It’s only going to be a small affair.”
“You’re Catholic,” he countered. “Catholics don’t do small. Is the groom Catholic, too?”
There was a hoarseness to his tone that told me my words were hitting home—his daughter was going to get married, and he couldn’t have anything to do with it. To be honest, I was touched. I hadn’t been sure what his reaction would be, and it warmed me that he was disappointed he couldn’t be there.
“He’s more devout than I am,” I told him honestly. “But we’re getting married too quickly for it to be too big of a deal.”
He frowned. “Are you pregnant?”
I snorted. “Nope.”
“Then what’s the rush?”
“The time’s right.” I shrugged. “I want to be with him, Dad. I moved in with him this week, and–”
“You moved in with him?” Unsure why that was what had him shouting, I watched as he ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even know his name, Aoife.”
“Finn, Dad. His name’s Finn.” As far as I was aware, a quick Google of his name would reap only legitimate results.
Until he’d announced his affiliation, I hadn’t heard of Finn O’Grady for years. Not since Fiona had died.
Considering the neighborhood’s size, it was a wonder the news hadn’t spread, but then, if the Five Points didn’t want someone to know something, they would be ruthless in keeping it quiet. . . .
I just wondered what the hell had happened to make Finn disa
ppear, and what would prompt Aidan to help him cover it up.
Still, that was a worry for another time.
“Finn. God, he’s Irish, too?”
“That surprises you with my circle?” I grinned at him. “Everyone’s Irish in my neighborhood.”
He grunted. “True. What does he do?”
“Flips properties.”
“There’s money to be had in that. Does he expect you to quit your work?”
I cleared my throat. “No, but you remember I told you about that company that was looking to knock down my building? They came in with a better deal for me a few weeks ago. I accepted.”
I hadn’t told him any of this the last time we met. My head had been in the clouds and I hadn’t wanted to focus on what Finn had done to me—professionally and personally—which meant this was the first time he was hearing any of this.
“You did?” His eyes widened. “Christ, is it only three weeks since we last met?”
“Yep. Things are happening quickly, I guess. I sold up and am going to put in an offer on another building a few streets away. It’s bigger, and I’m not going to do the teashop side of things. Just focus on baking.”
He nodded. “That makes sense. You never liked that part of the business anyway. Your heart was in the kitchen.”
I smiled, touched that he knew that. “Yeah. So, it was a wrench to sign it away, but I knew it was a good move.”
“When are you opening the bakery? Do you need any extra capital?”
There was the Dad in him. Always generous.
I shook my head. “Thanks, Dad, but no. You’ve done enough for me. The investment in the tea room means I can start the bakery up without needing a loan.”
Though he frowned, he just grumbled, “Good. I don’t want you to be in debt, and . . .” He swallowed. “I can’t be there, and I hate it, but I want to pay for the wedding.”
I sighed. “That isn’t necessary. Like I said, it’s only going to be a small affair.”
“A meal, then? Afterward. The wedding brunch?”
Because I could see how much it meant to him, I leaned forward and grabbed his hand. “Okay, Dad. Thank you. That means a lot.”
He squeezed my fingers. “I wish I could do more.”
“Honestly, it’s fine.”
“Stop saying that,” he grumbled. “It makes me think you don’t want me there.”
Snorting at his sulky tone, I told him, “If you stick your bottom lip out, don’t think I’ll cave in if you pout.”
That had him grinning. “My temper never works on you, does it? I can have all my staff flustered and flared with a single bark, but not you.”
I shrugged. “You never shout at me, nor have you given me a reason to get flustered.”
“That’s not the truth,” he stated, and I knew we were both thinking back to that time when we’d first met. When he’d grated out his terms in the back of his limo, and had expected me to comply.
I’d told him to fuck off and never darken my door again.
He hadn’t listened.
I sighed. “No point in thinking about that. We’re here now.”
“I want to meet him,” he said, his gaze catching mine.
“How would we arrange that?”
Alan reached up and tugged at his bottom lip. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out. I can’t let my daughter marry a man I’ll never meet. Christ, Aoife, just the thought kills me.”
Because I understood, I murmured, “Finn probably goes to charity events—he’s doing well for himself, Dad.” I cleared my throat. “We could maybe arrange to go to one you’re attending?”
“Do you trust him with who I am to you?”
It said a lot about my faith in the man, especially considering how we’d met, that I felt no compunction in telling my father, the Senator, the presidential hopeful, “Absolutely.”
Chapter Thirteen
Finn
After the Shestyorka, the Bratva equivalent of a runner, patted me, Aidan, Jr., and Eoghan down, the guy guided us along the dimly lit hall of the warehouse.
I wasn’t exactly happy to be here, and I sure as hell didn’t like being unarmed right in the middle of Bratva territory, but we needed help if we were going to stop a war, and the Pakhan, the head of the Bratva in this area, owed us a favor.
The Bratva had a different way of working than most Irish Families; there was a lot of ‘eye for an eye’ shit that the Irish didn’t go for so much. But with the Five Points, things were different. Aidan Sr. made the Old Testament look softcore, and that meant our core values were aligned with the Russian brotherhood.
That didn’t mean I liked them, or even wanted to deal with them. But neither did I want a war.
War was good for no one.
It stopped free trade because people stopped going out, and it got the police involved if too many people were killed. No one wanted the pigs sniffing around us.
The Bratva included.
The warehouse was grim, old, and dank when we made it into an office which wasn’t much better. The wall was painted white, but it was peeling, and the desk looked like it belonged in another era—I noticed a few marks where it had been kicked a few times—and there were several bullet holes in the paintwork that caught my attention.
On either side of the door, there were two men I recognized, with several more unfamiliar faces in the room. Antoni Vasov, the Pakhan, and his two spies. His bookkeeper, the Sovietnik Denis Abramovicz, and the head of his security, the Obschak Basil Lukov. That they were here boded well. They knew what our purpose was, and their presence meant shit could get real sooner rather than later.
Though the office was a dump, the suits the three men wore cost over ten grand. The Bratva were wealthy fuckers, but their money came from less legitimate revenue streams. We had our vices, drugs and girls, but they were dirty. Hardcore. They trafficked girls, something I loathed, and shipped guns from the Motherland to America.
Vasov didn’t stand when we all strode in, and I knew Aidan Sr. would take that as an insult. Aidan Jr. elbowed him, though, and Sr. took the hint and seated himself in the only chair in front of the desk.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Antoni,” Aidan started, his tone cool but polite.
Vasov dipped his chin. “I know why you’re here,” he replied, his accent thick with his homeland. “I’m not sure I can help.”
That had me inwardly groaning. Fuck. I’d thought they weren’t going to bullshit. Because Aidan’s temper ran on a short fuse, I stated, “Cut the crap, Vasov. One good turn deserves another, and it’s time to pay up.”
Vasov cut me a look. “Your errand boy talks for you now, Aidan?”
Rather than being pissed, Aidan laughed. “More like my Sovietnik, Antoni.” He grinned good-naturedly. “I’m certain Abramovicz would try to cut out my tongue if I’d slurred his name that way, so maybe you should be grateful that Finn isn’t armed.”
Vasov sneered, but he ducked his head in apology—that was about as much of a sorry as I was going to get. I wasn’t pissed, though. Rank meant shit to me. The money was what mattered, and I had millions under my control.
“Last year, when we learned our little rat had DEA ties and we saved that shipment of coke from being transported straight into the government’s hands, I estimate we saved you a loss of over two hundred million.”
Abramovicz barked something at Vasov, who narrowed his eyes. “I remember,” was all the Pakhan said, though.
“Well, my little problem will cost far less to resolve,” Aidan replied, his tone bizarrely cheerful—only Aidan could find something funny within these walls.
“You pissed the Colombians off. Word is, you made it look like they’d killed Suarez.”
“I neither confirm nor deny that,” Aidan retorted, “but they’re making moves on my patch and none of us want to come to the attention of the cops, do we? Only the Colombians are stupid enough to try to bring shit to my territory and think there won’t be consequence
s, but I understand they’re pissed and want to bitch at me. They’ve done that now. I’ve had enough.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
“We know you have their ear. They’re your main supplier of coke, after all. You have a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“Why would I risk my supply for you?” Vasov retorted, sitting forward so he could rest his elbows on the table.
“Because you owe us,” I retorted easily, and before he could sneer that it was in the past, I smoothly continued, “Plus, a little piggy may have told me something interesting about your movements in the Baltics.”
Vasov’s eyes flared. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
The Sovietnik and Obschak began hurling Russian at Vasov, and from the way we could see the whites of the Pakhan’s eyes, I knew my tip off was good.
“I think you know, Antoni,” I told him softly. “I think it’s time you stopped bullshitting us and we figure out how we’re going to make peace in these troubled times.”
“You know nothing about the Baltics.”
“I know you’ve been supplying the Ukraine with guns. I don’t think your President would appreciate that. Do you, Aidan?”
“No, Finn, I really fucking don’t.”
“And let me see, funneling weapons to them is an international war crime and wouldn’t you know it, I have someone in the press who likes me and who’s willing to break the news on this scandal on my behalf.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Vasov barked.
“I really fucking would.”
Aidan sat straighter in his seat. “Now that we have your attention, gentleman, let’s get down to the details. The Colombians are becoming meddlesome. I want you to talk to them, make them see sense, and if they don’t, I want you to threaten to cut ties with them.”
Vasov’s jaw twitched. “That’s ridiculous—”
“Is it? Fancy being tried at the Hague, do you? Or how about landing in a Siberian gulag? I’m sure the cells there are real comfortable,” I sneered.
Screw You: A Screwed Duet (Five Points, Hell's Kitchen Book 1) Page 17