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Chapter Nineteen

Finn

B efore I’m fully awake, I sense something is wrong. The room is too still, the spot beside me too cold. Her flowery scent lingers, but not in the way it does when she’s present.

I sit up and rub my eyes. A hint of light peeks between the curtains. I don’t remember the last time I slept so soundly. Rare for me to tune out noises in the background, even in sleep. Alert is alive.

Her stuff, strewn across the floor last night, is gone. I slept through her packing. Throwing off the covers, I check the bathroom to be sure, but I realize what’s happened. She went to Ireland without me. On the dresser is a mound of bills.

Jesus. She paid me like I’m a fucking prostitute.

Snatching my jeans off the floor, I tamp down the spurt of rage threatening to escape—at myself, at her. My room key is in my back pocket. Will my passport and other forged documents still be there?

I dress in hurried movements. The money sits on the dresser. Not taking what she’d left is stupid, even if having the neat stack pisses me off. Grabbing the bills off the wooden surface, I stuff them into my pocket. I check the room to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. Gun . I stride over to the minibar and shove it into the waistband of my jeans. My brain ticks through my options, but they’re limited, almost nonexistent, with little money.

No vehicle to get around the city, no contacts, no fucking phone. I don’t even have a goddamned internet connection.

I slip out of her room and into mine. With no problems, I locate my passport and the other forged documents. At least she didn’t go that far to keep me away.

While I pack, I take stock. I have three phone numbers memorized. My other contacts live in a phone I no longer have or on the internet I can’t access. The first is Carys, and I’m not giving her a heads-up I’m building a plan. The second is Lorcan. I can’t fucking call him. Even if his number still exists, he’ll likely have Kimi or the FBI screening his calls. Fucking pussy.

The third is Hagen Volkov. A call to him makes my blood boil, but I need cash. Even if he doesn’t realize it, he sold me out to the FBI. He owes me.

First, a phone.

Then a plan. Or rather the plan can formulate after I have funds.

I head to the front desk and get directions to the closest place to purchase a phone. Thankfully the store is within walking distance of the hotel. I’m banking on Hagen giving me an IOU, but he’s an unpredictable asshole. He may not come through for me. Without cash, I’ll be twiddling my thumbs until Carys graces me with her presence.

The process for the phone is ridiculous—partially because we barely communicate between the sales guy’s mangled English and my nonexistent Russian. How the fuck am I supposed to live here when this is over?

When I get back to the hotel, I wait until I’m in my room to dial Hagen’s number. It rings so many times I wonder if the fucker knows how to set up his voicemail. I hang up and call again. Finally someone answers.

“Who the fuck is this?” His impatient voice snaps me into focus.

“Your favorite Donaghey brother.”

“Ah, you fucker. You survived? I heard Lorcan put a cap in your ass and you died.”

I grit my teeth and wish I was there to put a cap in Hagen’s ass. He’s such a useless, arrogant fool.

“You’re in Russia? Ah, the homeland. Good choice.” His voice is full of mockery. “Where exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter. I need money.” I rub my forehead when silence descends the line.

“Sean Kovatz has taken over your empire. Call him. How are you going to pay me back if you’re not in charge?”

“You think I don’t have cash stashed places? I gotta secure transportation, and then I can get my hands on it.” I also don’t have Sean’s number. The FBI is probably tracing those transactions, waiting for me to reach out.

A car lock beeps in the background, followed by a door slam.

“I can’t get you money. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Whatever went down between you and Lorcan in the warehouse has cops crawling across our organizations. I can’t believe you killed your brother. Never thought the two of you would come to blows like that.”

“Should be a lesson to you, Hagen, or a warning.”

Did Lorcan die? There’s a tightness in my chest at the thought. I don’t let the idea stick. Carys would have told me if Kimi and Lorcan were dead. She didn’t. She asked if I was going after them. It’s more likely the FBI have him hidden somewhere, poised to testify if they ever find me.

“I value my life above all,” I say. “Don’t think I can’t get to you. Someone will give me funding, and when they do, you’re on my shit list.”

“Hold up. Hold up.” The car starts. “I can’t get you money. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. The Kuznetsof family—Russian mafia in Volgograd. Tell them I sent you.”

Kuznetsof. Valeriya’s family. Christ. I hate when the world is too fucking small.

“Address?” I grab the pen and a pad of paper next to the phone in the room.

Hagen scrambles in his car for a minute and then rattles off an address. “Just don’t—”

I hang up before he can get anything else out. The number of fucks I give about what Hagen wants or doesn’t want is at less than zero. Ripping off the top sheet from the pad, I hurry down the stairs back to the front desk.

Demid Kuznetsof’s house is on the outskirts of the city. A regular American property transplanted into Russia—two-story, two-car garage, gray brick—but the lot is huge. A brief pang of longing for my mansion in Boston, for the life I led a few short weeks ago, surges through me. Begging at people’s doors isn’t my style. But the money I paid the cab to get here ate into the funds Carys left me. This negotiation needs to work.

My gun is tucked into the back of my pants as I ring the doorbell. One of the burly men from yesterday opens the door a crack, and I realize the front entrance is reinforced. He eyes me up and down.

He says something in Russian.

Here’s hoping he speaks English too. “I’m looking for Demid.”

“He know you’re coming?” His switch to English is effortless and almost without an accent.

“Not unless he’s psychic.” Or Hagen called him. Also possible. But no point in name-dropping to security.

“Wait here.”

I’m not sure where else he thinks I’d fucking wait, but I don’t say anything before he closes the door in my face. I should move to Russia to show Demid and these other two-bit hacks how to run a decent mafia empire. He didn’t even search me.

A minute later, the door swings wider, and the guy is back, but behind him is Demid. “Hagen called me.” When he steps around his security, his smile fades. “I recognize you.”

“Yes.”

“You work with Carys.”

I purse my lips. “Yes.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re coming to me for money?” His eyes narrow.

I had a feeling this might be complicated. “We’ve located Valeriya.”

He stills, and his gaze bores into me. “And you’re here.”

“I am.”

“I can’t help you.”

“Won’t help me.”

He shrugs. “Same—same. Carys didn’t take you wherever she went. You’re a wanted man. Your reputation for brutality precedes you, Mr. Donaghey. I don’t want you near my daughter.”

“Because you know she’s a liar and a traitor to the Van de Bergs.”

“She’s my daughter. Someday, if you have a child, you’ll understand. She could shoot me in the back, and with my dying breath, I’d still love her.”

There are two people who own me in a similar fashion, and neither of them will ever be kids. “I can pay with interest.”

“Do you intend to go after Carys, and by extension, my daughter?”

I shrug and consider drawing my gun, doing this conversation with more force. How many guys does he have in the house? How bloody could a confrontation get? He hasn’t even let me in the door.

“Valeriya would not have done this on her own,” Demid says.

“Something we can agree on.” But our reasoning is different. “Do you have information?”

“She’s been acting oddly for the last ten months to a year. Not herself. Distracted. Trips out of town. Said she had a boyfriend, but never wanted me to meet him.”

I squint, trying to figure out if there’s any relevance to the timeline. The warehouse was cleaned out in the last few weeks. Carys indicated that the packages have only been arriving for a few weeks. Then there’s the murder of the FBI agent, which might be unconnected but can’t be ruled out.

“Her boss?” I say.

The name is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t quite grasp it.

“Ekaterina Petrov,” Demid agrees. “She may know more, yes.”

“If I promise I won’t touch your daughter, will you give me Ekaterina’s contact details and a hundred-thousand-dollar loan?”

“What is your promise worth, Mr. Donaghey?”

My instinct is to smirk and offer a smart-ass reply. My promise is worthless if I get to Ireland and find Valeriya has put Carys in more danger or hurt her. I say nothing.

“Hagen vouched for you,” Demid says.

A smile tugs at my lips. “What’s that mean to you?”

To me, his approval is worth dick-all. Hagen’s a cocky, dumb fuck who rides on his father’s impressive coattails. But if Demid thinks Hagen’s opinion is valuable, I will not argue with him.

“To keep the peace with him, I do as you ask and hope your promise has weight.” He gives me the once-over. “One hundred thousand—American?”

I nod.

“Wait here.”

The door closes in my face once more, and I take a deep breath to rein in my temper. After he’s been gone a while, I sit on the steps of the house and work on figuring out my Russian phone. I’m not sure what time Carys snuck out of the room, but it’s midafternoon. There will be a limited number of flights to Belfast today. There may not be any.

When the door reopens, the guard has a duffel bag, and Demid has vanished.

“No parting words?” I rise and take the sack from his hand.

“Mr. Kuznetsof is busy at the moment.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Too busy to watch this money walk out the door?”

“An employee of Ms. Van de Berg called. They located Valeriya.”

“Ah, I see. Is he working on getting her back here?”

The guard hesitates and then sighs. “In a way.” He frowns. “She’s dead. Bullet to the head.”

An execution. My heart rate jacks up about fifty notches. Valeriya is dead. Did they find her dead, or was there an incident? He said one of Carys’s employees called. Not her. Jay. For fuck’s sake . If anything has happened to her…

This morning I’ve alternated between annoyed, angry, and frustrated, but right now, I’m not any of those.

Carys.

Her name is a drumbeat reverberating through me. Very few things bother me, so this tightening in my chest, borderline panic in my gut, is new and unwelcome.

I stare at Demid’s guard. “I’ll give you ten grand to drive me to the airport immediately.”