Page 16 of Queen's Ransom

Hawes’s eyes flashed—the Prince of Killers among them—and Chris shifted in his seat, instantly in tune to the frosty change in his fiancé’s mood.

“The older brother?” Chris asked.

“August made a better thief than a merc,” Hawes replied. “He struck out on his own, using a nest egg he stole from us.” He stood and moved to Chris’s side, a hand on his shoulder to reassure, but Helena doubted Chris bought the forced smile any more than she did. “Let me see what I can find out,” he said. “Before we go back to Frank.”

Aiming to diffuse the brewing tension, Helena confronted the less than pleasant tension she’d avoided earlier. “And Zima?”

“Bratva,” Holt confirmed.

Chris fully stretched his arm above his head. “Way above Dex’s pay grade. I doubt the idiot even knows who he’s dealing with.”

“If Zima’s low level enough,” Avery said, “no reason Dex would.”

“And certainly not Celia,” Helena added. “Fuck.”

“Make the call,” Hawes said to Holt, then to her, “She was on your list.”

“Remy Pak is always on my shit-could-go-sideways list.” She curled her fingers into fists to keep them from reaching for knives that weren’t at her side. Remy ran guns for the Russian mob, was neck deep in their business, and, after being busted by Chris in an ATF sting, a CI for the feds. And she was their go-between where the Bratva was concerned. “She’s the definition of shit going sideways.”

“Pinged her already,” Holt said. “She’ll be at Club Sterling tonight.”

Fuck, and there went the rest of her day, because she wasn’t going into a meeting with Remy Pak without all her bases covered. She’d hoped to spend some time with Celia, having missed her completely that morning, but it looked like she had an op to plan first.

“We need to talk about tomorrow,” Hawes said.

Tension flowed the opposite direction, a tidal wave named Chris aimed directly at Hawes. “What about it?”

“Should we bring the cake tasting here?”

“It’s a fair question,” Helena added before Chris could drown her brother. “Frank is a loose cannon, and the Bratva are not to be fucked with. Not even by us.”

Chris crossed his arms and slumped in his chair. “You want the family staying here until we have this sorted?”

“Stupid question.”

“Then you gotta let Cee out, at least a little.” Helena opened her mouth to object, and Chris pointed across the room at Avery and Victoria. “Put more operatives on us if you must, but we’re going to AB’s tomorrow.”

“Are there cannoli?” Avery asked.

Chris smirked. “So many cannoli.”

“I’m in.”

“Me too,” Victoria concurred.

“Traitors,” Helena grumbled. “The whole fucking lot of you.”

Hawes failed to contain his laughter. “You better call your cousin,” he said to Chris. “Put a few more names on the list.”

“We’re Italian. We always plan for extras.”

Well, if the traitorous fucker wanted to lay down that kind of gauntlet, she had more than two operatives at her disposal. And all kidding aside, she’d use every fucking one of them to protect her family. “Don’t tempt me, Mr. Hair.”

The asshole grinned. “Do your worst, Blondie.”

Chapter Seven

The front door opened, and a gust of cold air whistled through the mansion’s foyer and into the kitchen, swirling around Celia’s ankles where she sat in the built-in breakfast nook, two padded benches with a hand-carved table in between. She played a mental guessing game with herself: Who would appear around the corner? The house had been a whirlwind of activity all day, despite the stormy weather outside. She was happy to stay indoors, out of the wind and rain, but not the Madigans it seemed.

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