Page 7 of Wicked Arrangement

It’s at this point that I realize Amelia’s gift is likely strewn all over the street, destroyed by now. All that effort. I’ll have to come up with an incredible gift and fast if I stand any chance of her forgiving me. I mentally tell myself not to be so silly, Amelia and I had years of friendship behind us, while it’s only been a month since we reconnected, she knows I’m a good person.

As I curl up in bed, I’m surprised that the events of the day—the crash, the explosion, Gran not remembering me, the worry that my best friend won’t forgive me—all slowly melt away. But for some reason, as I’m falling asleep, the only person I’m thinking about is the handsome stranger, Yaroslav.

Chapter 5

Yaroslav

There’s no rest for the wicked, and I’m about as bad as they come. I’m late for my meeting with Thomas Gillihan, head of the Gillihan Mob who reigns over the southern territories of North America. Gillihan is not the kind of man you want to piss off. Even with my power and connections, I’d think twice about going head-to-head with him. That’s why he’s an ally, not an enemy. Or at least I hope he still is.

Having briefly stopped at home to shower and change into a new suit—–I wasn’t about to show up underdressed, that would be a worse insult to Gillihan than showing up a little late—Vova and I rock up some twenty minutes late. The rendezvous is in an unassuming, back ally, trendy Chinese restaurant.

As we enter the brightly lit restaurant, several patrons are dining already. An attractive young waitress dressed in a red silk cheongsam dress approaches us.

“Table for two?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at me.

Vova flashes her a small gold token and her eyes light up knowingly.

“Right this way gentlemen,” she says with a bow before sashaying toward a door at the back of a restaurant.

The VIP section is dimly lit and almost silent compared to the hustle and bustle of the front area. At the one table with two beautiful waitresses on either side of him and two henchmenbehind sits Thomas Gillihan. A rotund gentleman with a bald head so shiny it’s practically reflective. As usual, he’s wearing a pinstripe suit that does nothing for his considerable frame.

“My apologies for our lateness, as I’m sure you’ve heard, I got held up,” I state calmly, approaching Gillihan and leaning across the table to shake his hand.

Gillihan nods knowingly. “Fortunate that you escaped. Were you unscathed?”

“More or less,” I reply with a shrug that causes the wounds on my back to stretch painfully. I have to force my face to remain neutral, showing pain would be a weakness, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of men like Gillihan.

“I’ve heard of cats having nine lives, it would seem that wolves have more than one too,” he says with a smile that borders on contempt.

The Volkov family is known as the Wolves Bratva and Gillihan has an apparent disdain for that moniker. Probably because if his family was to be compared to an animal it would be pigs.

“Please, sit, join me,” Gillihan declares, gesturing broadly across the table.

I nod and sit as instructed, accepting a glass of rice wine from one of the hostesses. Vova does the same. I notice Gillihan’s eyebrow twitch at that. He likes to think he’s above his men, forcing them to behave like bodyguards at best or servants at worst. I on the other hand treat my men like family, which is what they are to me. Loyalty is better earned with respect thanintimidation in my opinion, though my men know better than to get on my bad side. Wolf by name, wolf by nature.

“So, how exactly did you survive an explosion?” Gillihan asks curiously, picking up a boiled dumpling with his chopsticks and shoving it into his mouth whole.

“Some chick rear-ended my car just before. I was standing discussing insurance while Ivan moved my car out of the way when it happened,” I explain.

I know that Gillihan takes it as an insult if his dining companions don’t eat so I follow suit and tuck into the array of foods laid out on the table, opting for a bite of kung pao chicken.

Gillihan shakes his head lightly, “Shame, to lose a man like that, such a waste,” his tone is light, as though I misplaced a sock, not lost a dear friend and good man.

I hide my anger, I’m not sure how I feel about Gillihan yet. Most of what I know of the man is by reputation only. I’m hoping that our business meeting will bring our organizations together. I am aware that others say I am ruthless and unfeeling, so I will reserve my judgment, what I do know is he’s a very useful contact and a ruthless bastard when you piss him off—something which is all too easy to do.

“Do you think the broad knew what was about to go down?” he asks in his thick southern drawl.

“It’s a question I asked myself, but I’m convinced there’s no way she was involved. Besides, she’d be the world’s worst hitman, since she’s the only reason I survived,” I reply.

I quickly change the subject, since meeting her I can’t get Kimberly Walsh out of my head. The last thing I need is more reminders of her. “Enough about me, how’s the family?”

Gillihan keeps his family well away from his business. From my intel I know he has twin daughters.

“Ah they’re great, the girls keep my wife busy, but now they’re at school, Grace can focus on her work again” he says with a smile. I detect a look of pride in his eyes, and I start to readjust my mental opinion of the man.

We continue to make small talk while we eat. After a reasonable amount of time, I feel happy to broach the subject of business. Having Gillihan’s powerful mafia as an ally would ensure that the Volkov Bratva’s position in Atlanta is secured, while we have done business before, our ongoing venture, should it go smoothly, will cement that alliance.

“So, how’s the porcelain delivery, will it be on time?” he asks, using the code we had agreed on. You never know who can be listening in or might have loose lips, so it pays to always be discreet.

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