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CHAPTER SIX

LIAM

ABOUT FIVE MONTHS AGO

“You can’t be serious,” Finn chimes from the back seat of the Suburban. “We aren’t really going to sit down with the Russian assholes?”

We’ve been fighting the Bratva since the night Finn beat the shit out of some accountant nobody at Kiska nearly three years ago. It crests and ebbs like tides in the ocean, but it’s been a constant threat to us all. Especially to the ones we all hold dear—Quinn, Fiona, Layla, Catlin, little Rory, and Kira—the ones least able to protect themselves. We all knew that killing the Pakhan at Our Lady of Grace wouldn’t be the end of the war.

That end was just a new beginning.

It was only a matter of time before the Bratva decided among themselves who would take the Pakhan’s place. Ivan Levedeva. A brigadier who has been serving in the Bratva since he was only a lad . Rumor has it he made his first kill at the age of twelve. He was functioning as a kryshas by the time he was sixteen and earned his thieves’ stars before hitting twenty. The only reason he wasn’t already Pakhan is probably the fact that he spent the past five years in Polar Wolf.

“Seriously? Hello?” Finn chirps when his initial statement doesn’t warrant a response from any of us. “You’re going to make me sit in the back and ignore me?”

“For fuck’s sake, Finn,” Declan huffs from the seat beside me. “We’re literally heading to Tristan’s to talk it out. And you sit in the back because that’s the safest place for children.”

“Quinn definitely didn’t think I was childish when Cat and I visited her this afternoon.” Finn’s snark carries a mischievous smirk in it.

“That’s it!” Declan unfastens his seatbelt and clambers into the backseat with the agility of a man half his age, landing a hard punch on Finn’s face. Conor slips his arms under Declan’s and pulls him from Finnigan before he has a chance to land another fist, and Finn groans, “Fuck, Dec. It was a fucking joke.”

“Everything is a fucking joke with you,” Declan growls, struggling against Conor’s firm hold. “This whole fucking mess started because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Finn huffs.

“Fuck!” I pull to a stop at the curb outside Tristan’s building. “Maybe instead of meeting Tris, we can take the two of you to group therapy. You can talk this shit out.”

“ Póg mo thóin ,” Declan and Finn spit, nearly in unison.

“So we’re better?” I spin in my seat and get my first glimpse at Finn’s bloodied face. “Or do Conor and I need to leave the two of you in the car to beat the piss out of each other again?”

“Each other?” Declan scoffs as he pushes open the door and climbs over Finn to exit the SUV. “I’m not the one with blood dripping down my face.” The three of us follow behind into Tristan’s building, past security, and straight to the waiting cab of the elevator.

Wiping his face, Finn spits a mouthful of blood onto the white-tiled floor of the elevator as it opens at Tristan’s apartment. “Jesus, Finn!” Layla exclaims, reaching out to tenderly touch his bloody lower lip as we all step from the cab. “Did you piss off Catlin? Or make an untimely joke about fucking Quinn again?”

“Untimely joke,” he answers, allowing her to inspect his bloodied face. “I didn’t even get the chance to drop the Viagra one I’ve been holding on to for a week.”

“I’ll get you some ice. But I’ll be honest, Finn, I don’t know how he hasn’t killed you yet.” She gives him a gentle pat on the chest.

“You and the rest of us,” I quip.

By the time Layla returns with a bag of ice for Finn’s lip, the five of us have situated ourselves around the fire pit on the penthouse terrace. Tristan eyes a still-searing Declan and Finn nursing his lip before informing of us about his call with Ivan and a proposed truce between us.

“I don’t trust it,” Declan gives his opinion. “Blood and violence have been Ivan’s life for over two decades, and now he suddenly wants peace.”

“I’m with Dec,” Conor agrees.

“I can’t take back the stupid shit I did,” Finn blurts before addressing Declan’s accusation in the SUV and delving into shit that none of us ever talk about. While he’s still the sarcastic, playful shit we have all grown to love, something about Catlin has changed him for the better. Forced him to grow up. He’s still unhinged and impulsive as fuck, but he now owns how that affects us all. “But don’t for a second think that I don’t blame myself for what happened to Quinn. What could’ve happened to Layla or my peanut. Or how they almost took Cat from me.”

“So, your vote?” Tristan presses.

“I’d do anything to ensure Cat, Layla, Quinn, and those kids are safe,” he promises, and for a moment, even Declan appears to soften a little toward him. “And if that means we sit down with the Pakhan… so be it.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this.” I shake my head and say something I never thought would leave my mouth. “I agree with Finn. This is about doing whatever it takes to keep those you—no, we— all love safe. And if that means meeting our enemy, then we pull up a chair at that table.”

“Agree,” Tristan nods.

“Fine,” Declan huffs. “But I swear to Christ, if I get shot again, I’m blaming Finn.”

“Same,” Conor chimes.

“What the fuck?” Finn mutters through the bag of ice pressed to his now-swollen lip. “Since when are you on his side?”

A coy smile tugs at Conor’s lips as he quips, “I’m still salty about being denied the opportunity to see Cat’s cotton panties.”

“I thought we were clear about that,” Finn barks, his hands gesturing at Conor. “No thinking about my wife’s panties.”

“Apparently, none of you listen,” I gruff, rising from my seat. “Because I’m pretty sure that fat lip is a reminder that you aren’t supposed to be cracking jokes about fucking Quinn.”