“They’re upstairs,” he argued, but he did as I wanted—shut his trap.
Loose lips and all that.
My den of inequity had once been a haulage warehouse before Da had gotten his paws on it, but Uncle Paddy, his brother, had reno-ed it to the hilt before he got shot by an Albanian back when I was thirteen. Now, it looked like an eighties’ bordello, but I wasn’t interested enough in the building to change anything.
Bright red walls with intricate brocade detailing in black, brassy gold light fittings, and a rich crimson carpet that had worn down over time—a hooker would more than feel at home in this shitpile.
I walked up the stairs to my office, the only room I’d adjusted thanks to the invention of the Internet, and as I opened the door, murmured, “Send Dunbar in first. Tell Isaac to go to Da.”
“I thought you were joking,” Tink muttered.
“No. I’m not dealing with Customs Enforcement or who the fuck ever over a bunch of goddamn snakes. Da’s got more time on his hands than I do.”
“Yeah, but you’re not the one who’ll have to handle Senior when he blows up over Isaac calling him.”
My lips curved into a gleeful smile. “That’s what happens when you forget to get Mary-Joseph an anniversary present.”
His eyes narrowed upon me. “You’re fucking with me. She got you involved?”
“I’m a friend of the family, ain’t I?” My grin widened. “Serves you right.”
A storm cloud crossed over his face before he grumbled, “Motherfucker,” under his breath and hurried over to the unofficial waiting room.
With Baggy at my back, I slipped into the office and walked directly to my desk. As I took a seat, I saw Baggy was laughing too.
“Brennan, the savior of Pointer’s womenfolk.”
I mockingly wafted my hand, waving like a royal would. “Just send my info to the Vatican. I’m sure they’ll be ready to canonize me.”
“I’ll bet.” Baggy snickered, then his tone dropped. “You noticed Tink’s been quiet?”
Shrugging, I admitted, “Wasn’t altogether surprised to get that call from Mary-Joseph, no.”
“Think they’re having marriage troubles?” Baggy rubbed his chin. “She’s a cunt, but he ain’t much better. Love the man like a brother, but wouldn’t want to be married to him.”
I snorted. “Me either. But, whatever it is, ain’t like they can divorce. Just got to put up and shut up.”
“That’s what I don’t get, man. You’re fucking free to do what you want. Your dad ain’t tugging on you to get married, so why are you tying the knot when you don’t have to? We’re all stuck with our women until death do us part, and let’s face it, they’re going to be the ones who survive us so they’re the ones who get to dance on our graves even if they make us fucking miserable.”
I knew he was right.
I did.
But...
“It’s time.”
That was as much as I’d give him, and it was just enough because a knock sounded at the door a few seconds later.
Baggy opened it, and in the hall, the corrupt bitch who’d almost cost my nephew his life stood there, both scowling at me and hovering like she was too afraid to do anything about it.
She was a Fed, which technically gave her power, but the O’Donnellys existed in a parallel universe of technicalities.
One pissant Federal agent meant jack shit to us, what with Da having the Director on speed dial. And yeah, that was the kind of phone the old man had. God forbid we trusted him with a smartphone.
Rocking back in my desk chair, I nudged the mouse to wake up my computer as I called out, “This had better be good, Dunbar. I thought Declan made it very clear that you weren’t to get in touch without good reason.”
Her jaw tensed. “Trust me, I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
Curious now, I arched a brow. “Do tell.”
Just because Nyx doesn’t love me, doesn’t mean I’m unlovable.
Twelve
Cammie
It happened in a flash.
One second Father had his hand on mine, his fingers digging into my wrist like he could shatter the bones with his hold alone, and the next, his head was a bloodied mass and Svetlana was screaming like she was a banshee on Red Bull.
It was her screams that brought me back to life. That robbed me of the daze that had seen me slam a glass ornament into my father’s skull so many times that—
I peered down at myself, saw the blood and matter, tiny pieces of brain and God knew what else, coating my Chanel dress. My mouth widened in a scream, I could feel the noise building up in my lungs, just waiting for me to erupt, only, I never did.
A soft popping sound caught my attention, and I knew what it was. Even though I was only a daughter of the Bratva, not a soldier, I knew that sound.
We all did.
When I stared over at Maxim, I almost expected the gun to be aimed at me. But it wasn’t. Smoke curled about the gun’s muzzle, and as I watched, his hand lowered, before the gun returned to the inside pocket of his expensive suit. Within seconds, a cellphone was in his hand, and dazedly, I let my glance drift from him to Svetlana.
To a sight I prepared myself to behold.
Her face was, quite frankly, gone.
Vomit bubbled up my gullet and the need to puke was a strong one. To let it out. To let everything out. But I didn’t.
Couldn’t.
I’d just killed my father.
And Maxim, his loyal soldier, had killed my stepmother.
Not me.
I’d been raised in a violent world, one where I knew that my death would be the prayer on someone’s lips, where my end could be abrupt and painful and out of the blue.
But Mama had been left like a broken doll, and these two weren’t.
They’d been butchered in violence.
A violence spawned by me.
I raised my hand to my mouth to stem the flood of tears that longed to break through, but as I did, the scent of iron on my lips had me juddering in reaction, my hands dropping to my sides, fingers trembling as I evaded their slickness. A slickness that had nothing to do with the cuts on my palms, but my father’s.
I’d killed him.
I’d fucking killed him.
My knees caved in, any starch in them disappearing as my brain tried to come to terms with what my hands, my body, my heart had done.
As I stared at the grim pitting on his skull, as I stared at the mush of flesh that was the remainder of a man I’d loved at one point in my life, I knew this was it.
The day I’d die too.
“He’s dead.”
Maxim’s voice was clear, loud, even, in the room.
I flinched with both words, especially as they were spoken in English and not Russian.
As I watched droplets of blood course over my father’s face, like some kind of carved fruit decoration to celebrate Halloween, I heard him rumble, “I’ll get her out of here. You’ll have to be fast. I’m going to have to spin this.” Then: “No, she’s dead too.” He grunted. “I’ll expect more than just a favor when it comes down to it. Alliances were forged, but they can be forgotten over time, O’Donnelly.”
That was all it took.
Just the mention of the last name that would be mine tomorrow for me to feel like I was splintering into a million pieces.
The relief was insane. The O’Donnellys, the Irish, were no safe haven. They were, if anything, a den of vipers that could bite me and poison me the first chance they got, but they’d protected Inessa. They’d welcomed her into their fold.
I had to pray that they’d do the same for me.
Even if they couldn’t forgive me for not being the virginal bride they might have wanted for their son, their bitter dislike of me was better than the toxic shelter of this house.
“She’ll have access to a car. You can make your own arrangements where you want to pick her up.”
Maxim moved toward me, and I tensed up, unsure if h
e was going to stick to his words—a backstabber could never be trusted, even if that backstabbing was in my favor—and I watched as he arched a brow, a sneer on his lips as our eyes clashed and held before he strode past me and moved toward the wall.
At first, I wondered what he was doing, then, I watched as he tucked the cellphone into his throat, clutching at it with his shoulder as he drew a pen from his pocket and began digging through the drywall to snag the bullet.
He was lucky that Svetlana’s taste was worse than my mother’s. This room had been painted a pale wintry peach, one that was barely ripened, in her time. Now? It was a sea of busy floral patterns. The one that held the bullet was a mass of black with vibrant pink roses that, oddly enough, matched the godawful Barbie furniture, but hid the bullet hole.
“Victoria is at a friend’s house. It was pre-arranged. I can bring her tomorrow.” He shrugged. “Well, whatever. I can give you the directions. I’ll expect you to uphold your promise where that’s concerned as well.”
What promise?
Where what was concerned?
After he pried out the bullet, I watched him toss it on his palm a second. Tiny dust particles bobbed and swayed here and there with it, hovering in mid-flight before cascading down, thanks to gravity.
It felt like time had been freeze-framed as the bullet danced in the air, and then it restarted with a screech as he finally put the phone down and murmured, “We have to get you out of here.”
My mouth felt thick as I rasped, “You’re working for the Irish?”
Maxim’s brow puckered. “What made you think that?”
Did he think I was stupid? “You just got off the phone with one of the Pointers.”
“I did. But that was different. That was for you.” He pursed his lips.
I had no idea what was happening here, no idea whatsoever but the one thing I did know? He was lying.
But what the hell could I say when he was obviously helping me?
I had no loyalties to the Bratva. The Brotherhood had kept me fed and clothed for the largest chunk of my life but that didn’t mean that I owed it anything.
If the wedding still went ahead tomorrow, I’d switch allegiances in a flash.
Which, I supposed, didn’t make me sound very loyal, but loyalty wasn’t something you could buy or intimidate out of another person. It had to be earned.
But the sheer fact that he was going to protect me, simply because of a promise he’d made my mother, Brennan O’Donnelly had already shown more integrity than my father ever had.
Which meant whatever he wanted from me, whatever he needed, I’d do it.
My heart ceased to race now I knew that, as untrustworthy as he clearly was, Maxim was going to help me escape.
Sharing a fate like Svetlana’s wouldn’t have come as a surprise to me, but Maxim evidently had other plans.
My bottom lip trembled a second before I firmed it, then toughened up.
I wasn’t alone anymore.
I was going to be an O’Donnelly, and between my leaving Brennan and now, he’d obviously concocted some kind of deal with Maxim. A deal that had been enough to turn him, one of my father’s most trusted boyeviks.
Unsure if I wanted to know the details when, from experience, I was well aware that it was better to stay out of things like this, I whispered, “Did you have to kill Svetlana?”
“Of course I did,” he said with a sneer. “You killed the Pakhan. Do you think she’d stay quiet? She’d have run you to the ground as soon as spit on you.”
I thought of the baby brother or sister she’d been carrying, a child who’d put Victoria’s life in danger, who’d triggered the flipping of that switch in my brain and as horrendous as it was, as evil as it probably made me, I couldn’t find it in me to be regretful.
That child, had it been a boy, would have perpetuated the nightmarish Vasov legacy.
As it stood, the only Vasovs still living were the unwanted girl children. But we knew what it was to love thanks to Mama. We could change things. Could alter that legacy, imbue it with love.
I wanted that.
More than I could say.
My gaze flittered over Svetlana. She was sprawled backward on the uncomfortable armchair she was so proud of, her legs splayed, her arms wide, her face just... gone.
My father wasn’t much better.
His head was a pulpy mass that reminded me of ground beef. His brain was—
I snapped a hand up to my mouth again, but the metallic tinge to the air had me gagging once more.
“I need to get cleaned up,” I rasped, staggering upright, uncertain if I could stand to be in here much longer.
“You have five minutes,” he ordered. “I need you to look presentable.” He grabbed my arm and hauled me closer to him. When his hand came to my chin to force me to look into his eyes, I jerked back, but his hold on me tightened. His eyes were dark and stormy as he intoned, “I’m doing you a solid, Camille. I’ll expect your help when the time comes.”
Fear had me flinching in his hold.
Maxim wasn’t a man I knew well, but I’d seen him come up through the ranks, and like most teen soldiers, his life and devotion to the Brotherhood inspired pity in me. Duty to the Bratva wasn’t love from a family, but they acted like it was.
The Bratva wouldn’t hug you at night or congratulate you on a win.
They’d just coat your soul in blood and get you locked away in a cell for a lifetime...
God, was that going to be my fate?
Was he about to blackmail me?
“What kind of help?” I whispered. “How can I help you?”
“When the time comes,” he repeated, “you’ll know.”
Maybe I was feeling brave, either that or stupid, but I rasped, “I owe you—”
“Bet your ass you do,” he interrupted.
“—but I will never spy against the O’Donnellys.”
His lips twisted. “The Bratva bitch is capable of loyalty, after all.”
“Like you can judge,” I snarled.
“My loyalty is to the Bratva. Not to an individual.”
I swallowed. “Well, I’m the opposite. I’m loyal to the people who count, and no one besides my sisters ever has under this roof.” I knew that I had to go, that time wasn’t on my side, but… “Why, Maxim? I thought you loved him.”
He hitched a shoulder, his gaze darting over to my father. “He was becoming a liability.”
I frowned—was that his justification for this treachery? For helping me when, by all rights, I should be on my knees, his gun burrowing into my nape as I awaited my punishment?
“In what way?”
His eyes settled on mine. “When we were at the hospital, they did some scans, some bloodwork. We learned he had some cysts in his brain.”
Mouth gaping, I snapped, “Are you being serious?”
“Well, there’s no reason to lie about it now, is there?” he retorted waspishly. “Not when some of those cysts are probably decorating that fancy dress of yours.”
I blanched, feeling as if my entire body was turning pale at his callous words.
“He was dying?”
Maxim shook his head. “No. They were benign. But they were pressing onto certain areas of the brain and it was causing issues.”
My brow furrowed as I thought about how his gaze had drifted around the room as he looked for me earlier. And now I thought about it, he’d been clumsier recently. Dropping things and getting furious about it, like it was someone else’s fault...
I’d thought it was from the pain, or his meds, or maybe his just not being used to using a wheelchair, but this changed my perspective on the matter.
“With his sight?”
“That, and the way he was letting that bitch lead him around by the dick,” was all he said before he shrugged. “He earned my loyalty, but the Bratva is more than just one Pakhan. The Bratva is who we must protect.”
God, he sounded exactly how Moscow wanted their men—indoctrin
ated.
“Not we, you. I’m telling you, Maxim. If you ever call on me to spy, I won’t.”
A gleam of something—I had no idea what, and I had no desire to know either—appeared in his eyes. “Shame your father was so intent on tying you to that old fat fuck.”
I pulled back out of his hold, aware of what he was saying and seriously not wanting his mind to go down that route. Women in the Bratva were vessels.
Against their wills.
The last thing I needed to happen tonight was to get myself raped because Maxim thought I should be grateful to him.
“I-I’d best clean up.”
His eyes darkened, not out of arousal thankfully, but in warning. “Be fast. Dress like you’re heading for a party.”
“Who are you going to blame this on?”
“That’s for me to worry about.” His lips curved down into a grimace. “Go on. Don’t come back here, Camille. Ever.”
I grabbed his hand. “You’ll make sure Victoria gets back to me?”
“You didn’t care before when you ran away.”
“I always cared,” I snapped. “Sometimes self-preservation is the only way you can come back at all.”
He arched a brow, his disbelief evident, but I didn’t bother to defend myself.
If he thought I’d have done Victoria much good as a child bride to a Bratva money man than he could go on thinking that.
“I’ll look after Victoria,” I told him gruffly.
“And that’s where you’ll need to remember the favor I’ve done you tonight.”
It didn’t take much to figure out the path his mind had taken him down.
“You’re too old for her.”
He smirked. “Brennan O’Donnelly is sixteen years older than you. I’m only fourteen years older than Victoria. I’ll wait until she’s of age, but do not turn her against me.”
For myself, I was scared. The ramifications of tonight were immense, but, at that moment, I didn’t care what this bastard had against me. What he thought he could hold over me. Didn’t care that the gun he’d used to murder my stepmother was back in his pocket, and didn’t give a damn that he could easily press that to my temple and whisper, “Night, night, Camille,” faster than I could run out of here...
Filthy Sex: The Five Points’ Mob Collection: Four Page 12