Page 12 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Maxim

T he night of my wedding, Dad gave Elijah and me a task. Set up a meeting between the Zimins and the mercenary calling himself the Ghost.

Easier said than done. Especially considering there’s only one person who could set it up for us. And she hates our fucking guts.

“Here we go.” Elijah smooths his hair back.

We’re standing outside a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. I’m not saying it’s the most sacred place in the city, but it’s sort of the most sacred place in the city.

There’s no place like Fujimori’s.

Meetings which end in shootouts aren’t uncommon in our line of work. But only when said meeting doesn’t occur at Fujimori’s.

For seventy-five years, since Abe Fujimori stepped foot in this city, it’s acted as the backdrop for countless meetings.

Squabbles get resolved at Fujimori’s. Admittedly, sometimes they begin here too.

But no matter what, the neutrality of the territory is upheld by every criminal organization in the city. No matter what .

There’s one person who works almost exclusively out of Fujimori’s. Ren Callahan. She’s an intermediary of sorts. Mostly she organizes hits on people. Luckily for us, not personal ones, or else Roma would be top of her list. Rather she’s a negotiator for her clients, fulfilling their requests.

She took over the business from her Aunt Macy. Aunt Macy remains as much of a legend as Abe Fujimori’s due to her expertise on certain criminal matters.

For three years, Ren has followed in Aunt Macy’s footsteps, her authority growing at an equal rate. When she calls and requests a meeting, you take it.

But when you’re a Zimin and you ask her for a meeting? She takes her sweet time getting back to you.

A wind chime above the door notifies everyone of our arrival.

There’s a small hostess stand directly to the right and rows of booths with high backs giving enough privacy for delicate matters to be handled.

A rectangle cut out gives a clear view of the kitchen where I see Abe’s namesake and grandson, bickering with an older man—his father.

The short woman behind the hostess stand barely looks up. If we were customers looking for a meal, she’d usher us in. But we know the place well enough that we continue to stride forward.

She’s at her preferred booth, near the kitchen, with only her table made out of a bench and two chairs on the other side. A cigarette dangles from her mouth, her suit jacket impeccably tailored.

“Ren,” Elijah greets.

She looks up and blinks, almost like she’s lost track of time. Then she bends her head back down over her paperwork.

Elijah pulls out a chair, plopping down. My brother and I take after our father in preferring slacks and button-downs. Three years ago, when we first met Ren, she didn’t know where to buy one.

“It’s good to see you again,” Elijah charms. I slide into a seat, wary. If I had it my way he wouldn’t be here, but that’s because his charade as a nosy motherfucker is my least favorite.

She grabs the cigarette and runs a hand through her styled hair. “Shut the fuck up and state your business.”

“We want a meeting with the Ghost,” I say without preamble. I like her no-nonsense straight-to-the-point attitude. There’s never any need for idle chatter.

Her brows lift slightly, but she otherwise keeps her thoughts to herself. “Yeah, all right.”

Elijah and I glance at one another and then back at her.

She shrugs, taking a drag of her cigarette. “I can ask but no guarantees he comes to the table.”

“People say he’s so far off the grid it might be hard to find him.”

“Well, his number sure as shit isn’t in the phonebook, but I’ll figure it out,” she replies.

Elijah leans back in his chair, spreading out. “Any gossip on him?”

Ren places her elbows on the table, the cigarette dangling from her lips again. “Yeah, I heard he’s a fan of the Real Housewives and prefers Christmas over Thanksgiving.”

“90 percent of his hits are legitimate,” I say. It’s why no one cared when he first appeared in town—he was here on business. It was Uncle Dima who first realized something else might be going on. “You ever hire him?”

I don’t think she’ll answer, but she shrugs, her favorite form of expression. “No, he works direct. Started with the O’Connell’s until the Akatov’s ran them off.”

“That happened three years ago,” Elijah says. “He been laying low all this time?”

“In this city, yeah, but other’s. . . no. ”

“Anything else you want to share?” I ask.

“I’ll ask him for a meeting,” she replies, all business. “But I can already tell you he’ll probably decline.”

“You made the offer before?”

Her smile is sarcastic. Mocking. Like she knows something I don’t. It’s all part of the new persona she took on. The person she became after Roma fucked her over.

“Gloria came in five days ago wanting to set up a meeting.”

“Marissa’s second?” I sit up straighter.

“What Uncle Dima hasn’t put it together, yet?” She mockingly pouts and it pisses me off how she knows so much about our family. “Marissa is number one on his shit list.”

And this is why we come to Ren. Fujimori’s is a revolving door of gossip, but she hardly gives it out. Normally, what’s spoken at the table, stays at the table. She’s not loyal to the Ghost, but there’s no annoyance, which makes me believe she likes the kid so far.

Marissa on the other hand, not so much. Our mutual hatred of the woman is the only reason she’s sharing the tidbit.

“Why?” I ask.

She stubs out the cigarette in an ashtray. Aunt Macy and Ren are the only people who’ve ever been allowed to smoke in here. If I tried to light up, the woman behind the hostess stand would tug me by the ear and throw my ass out onto the street.

“You’re going to give yourself cancer,” Elijah notes when she lights a new one.

“The cancer’s already here,” she says without looking at him. “Figure it out on your own. In the meantime I’ll ask. If he agrees, it’ll be my normal scheduling fee. If I don’t call let’s just assume he said no.”

My chair scuffs back against the black and white vinyl flooring. I’m not upset about the dismissal. I would, after all, rather be at home fucking my wife .

Elijah stays seated, his grin the same as the Cheshire Cat’s. “Roma’s doing great by the way. Thanks for asking.”

Ren raises one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Not a single one of you is doing great,” she drawls in a bored tone. “Roma barely talks to anyone in his family, you’re your usual psychopath self—”she nods towards me—“and this one married a stranger.”

I frown. Roma might not hang out with his us as much, but he talks to his family. He talks to me. At least, he texts me sometimes.

Elijah isn’t bothered by any of the accusations. Out of his inner-front jacket pocket, he pulls a cache of Cuban cigars and passes them over.

Ren laughs under her breath, before chewing on her bottom lip to stop.

“A trade like old times,” Elijah says. “Tell me about Russet Smith.”

Fucking Elijah.

Ren studies the cigars in her hands, pleased at the treasure, before glancing up at me. “What do you want to know?”

“Nothing.” I suppress the urge to punch my brother. “Drop it.”

She doesn’t because she’s Ren. “You’ll already know the basics.

Which hospital she was born at, who her parents are, what her high school GPA was.

No college, mother dead by the time she turned seventeen.

Had a shitty stepdad that kept her out of the foster system.

” She shrugs, an icy mask sticking to her face for a second.

“Might have been better off in the foster system.”

My father beat it into us to always remain calm. To never show an ounce of emotion. Elijah typically takes on a jovial air and this time he’s gleeful. He’s probably waited since Dad gave us this errand to seek out Ren’s knowledge.

I, on the other hand, don’t want to think about how many people looked into my wife after our marriage. It was the biggest source of amusement for the entire month of January. The moment I removed my bride’s veil, we began a deep dive into the woman I brought home.

I know all about the shitty stepfather. Or rather the four shitty stepfathers since her mother was on a rinse and repeat cycle when it came to marrying men.

Ren continues, “Great work history by all means.”

Hardly. Dive bar after dive bar with a little bit of retail.

“A little bit questionable with the men in her life.” Ren holds her hands up in surrender. “Okay, fine. No need to talk about past dalliances. Whatever.”

“Why did she marry my brother?” Elijah asks. He’s so serious I think he might care about whether or not my new wife might harm me.

“Because otherwise Marissa would have shot her best friend in the back of the head.”

My jaw clenches. “You’re talking about Daisy Montgomery.”

Russet’s never uttered her name before. Marissa cleaned up her phone before sending it over, but it was easy enough to figure out.

There’s a string of silly text messages which annoyingly amount to nothing.

The girls were so close they must’ve met up in person or called when they had a bad day.

Daisy deactivated her social media at the tail end of last year so that hasn’t been any help either.

“Is that her name?” Ren’s question is genuine. “Well, whoever she is, she got tangled into something nasty. Something. . . that even Marissa doesn’t want talked about.”

The only way to keep a secret is to not talk about it. That’s why the trail of gossip is cold.

“And is this Daisy still in the city?” Elijah leans back, crossing his arms .

“I don’t know,” Ren says after a minute and I inwardly curse.

I owed Marissa a debt. That’s all Russet said and annoyingly, no matter how much I fucked her, she never cracked. It’s not surprising she owed it on behalf of someone else. My wife is a surprisingly good girl despite growing up in a crime-riddled neighborhood.

“Find out,” I tell her. She’s not pleased with my tone, so I add, “Please.”

“It’ll cost,” she says.

“Doesn’t it always with you,” I grumble. She’s the reason my brother doesn’t talk to me like he used to.

She smirks. “Could say the same with you Zimins.”

I button my jacket when I stand.

“It must make you really wonder about her,” Ren calls when I’m near the hostess stand. Elijah turns back at the same time. He might be a bastard most days, but he’s always had my back. “What kind of monsters she’s faced before if she doesn’t fear being married to you.”

I pick lint off my jacket, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Nobody forced you to spread your legs open for Roma.”

The door slams behind me.

“Taunting her about Roma won’t do you any favors.” Elijah rubs his hands together as we walk toward two idling SUVs at the curb. It’s still the middle of winter, spring nowhere in sight. It’s only early evening, but dark enough to trick my body into thinking it’s later.

“You started it.” It’s not a childish response, it’s factual. “You brought up Roma in the first place.”

I nod to my driver. “Notify Dad about what happened, will you.”

“Including the part where you’re asking Ren for help.” Elijah never has a sense of disbelief but there’s caution in his tone. “Come on, let’s go get dinner.”

“No, I have class.”

“At night?”

“Yes, those are in fact a thing.” It’s annoying, but one of my professors only teaches at night and I need to take his class.

“Right now?” Elijah asks.

“Yes,” I say, not interested in Elijah’s exasperating ways.

“Interesting,” he replies as I open my car door. “Welp. I’m off then, too.”

He turns on his heel, wandering into the night, ignoring the SUV that brought him this way. He prowls like a cat, mischievous and arrogant, and now I wish I didn’t have class because there’s no telling what chaos he’s about to get into.