Page 31 of Winds of War

“You mean besides saving me and Aidan and reuniting us with our dad? He saved Alasdair from a life on the streets, raised and educated him like he was his little brother, took Ezra in when he had no one and helped him get back on track, brought Gideon and Gemma home...” Evan stopped a little to catch his breath, then continued. “All these people I've told you about are our adoptive cousins.”

“Sure, Leon is everyone's hero now. He's young and strong unlike this old man who is ancient history.” A deep, pleasant masculine voice speaking with a thick Russian accent made all the teens turn around, bright smiles on their faces.

“Why are you saying this, Dyadya. How can we ever forget how you carried us on your shoulders when we were little or all the stories about brave warriors, beautiful princesses, Baba Yaga, and evil curses?” Emery threw himself at the man's chest, wrapping his arms around his neck.

“Mister Bedrossian, this is Aristarh Mikhailovich Golovkin, a dear friend of our fathers and the greatest uncle or grandfather a little child can have.” Lochlin gestured to the mountain of a man, his voice thick with emotion.

Arman stared at the man, the dam that held his childhood memories at bay finally crashing and letting them flood his mind. Papa, is that you? Those evil men told me lies. You never stopped searching for me, didn't you?”

“Branko? Is that you, my little shining star, my moon, my valiant, beautiful prince? The God of our ancestors finally showed this old man mercy, guiding your steps home. Oh, how many tears did my eyes cry for you, moy syn!”

Arman, or Branko, how Aristarh called him, closed his eyes and let himself be enveloped by his father's warm, strong arms. Images from his childhood with a young, broad-chested, well-built man picking him up and covering his face with kisses or tickling him appeared before the Chicago gang leader's eyes, happiness flooding every cell of his body.

Darkness surrounded him, and he welcomed it because it brought a healing, peaceful sleep. For a while, Arman heard in the distance his father's voice, a mix of tenderness, concern, and authority, then everything went quiet. Strong arms carried him to the bedroom Aristarh reserved for him nine years earlier when he bought the house and the tea house. Like a ship that was finally anchoring in the harbor after wandering the stormy seas, Arman was home.

************

The news that Aristarh Golovkin's only son, Branko, miraculously appeared after almost three decades since he’d been kidnapped at the age of five spread like wildfire through New York City's underworld. All the gang and Mafia family leaders, reputable or not, started to wonder what the former Bratva ataman would do next.

Although he had officially retired, rumors were Golovkin still retained a lot of power inside the organization, influencing the de facto leaders' decisions, at least in New York, Chicago, and Detroit. That, and the fact that he was close friends with Cesare-Eugenio Brentano-Fenelli and Ardan MacNamara, made many of Montemayor's partisans jump off the street war's boat.

“Goddamn traitor. After everything I did for him and his lousy gang!” The Mexican threw his phone across the room, and it landed on the soft carpet an inch away from Seamus's feet. “This coward hasn't seen or heard the last of me. I won't show him any mercy when...”

“What in gods' name did the unfortunate device do to you to deserve this rough treatment? Better punch one of your guards. They’re brainless beasts. But this, my friend, is a very intelligent thing.” Seamus carefully picked the phone up, handing it to Montemayor.

“Thanks,” the Mexican mumbled, putting the device on the coffee table next to his armchair. “One of the cowards I took under my wing shit his pants, afraid that Golovkin would tilt the balance in MacNamara's favor and messaged me that he’s not thrilled about the street war anymore.”

“Here, a little present from our very powerful and influential friend.” Seamus gave Montemayor a long, flat jewelry box. “Just some diamonds from the mines you and I will help him to get his hands on.” He took a seat on the large couch facing the Mexican's armchair. “Who's this Golovkin guy? Excuse my ignorance; I spent the last two years in a maximum-security prison.”

“The former Bratva leader. Can’t believe you never heard of him.” Montemayor shook his head in disbelief. “The old bastard is back in the game now that his long-lost son Branko came back, and some whining bitches are afraid he’s going to help that crazy fucker MacNamara win the war against us.”

Seamus waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “You said the man’s Bratva’s former leader, so he’s ancient history. Anyway, even if he still has a word to say, it shouldn’t affect us. This war is stupid. I’ve told you the first time we met, but you didn’t listen to me, and now...”

“How dare you talk like that about something I’ve put so much money, time, and effort into?” His eyes burning with rage, the Mexican pulled the gun he always carried with him from its holster, pointing it at the other man. “Whose side are you, you bastard?”

“I’m on my side, like always,” Seamus answered nonchalantly, ignoring the gun pointed on him. “I don’t remember insulting you, so I’d like to receive the same treatment. And now, if you’ve cooled down, I suggest you put that back where it came from and listen to me. Very carefully, if possible.”

CHAPTER 25

“That’s more like it.” Seamus nodded in approval when the Mexican shoved the gun in the holster. “Now you are acting rationally. I want you to keep one thing in mind: I’m the only person in this house who decides who dies and who stays alive, understood?”

“This is my fucking home, and I have the life and death right over everyone else, so don’t ever piss me by saying nasty things about the street war. My street war.” Montemayor gave the other man a hateful look. “Because if you do, I may end up putting a bullet in that thick head of yours after all.”

Seamus let out a loud, contemptuous huff. “You don’t get it, do you? People like my friend, the one who helped me get out of jail and started a war in an African country so he can get his hands on the diamond mines from there—they are the ones who decide who lives and who doesn’t. When you no longer serve the purpose they need you for...”

“And what’s your purpose?” Montemayor gave the other man a skeptical look, then his eyes narrowed to two slits, darkening dangerously. “Are you going to sell me down the river?”

“Someone, I don’t know if it’s this guy I call my friend or another equally powerful and influential party, decided I was a very valuable pawn in their never ending game of chess against their enemies, whoever they are. I have total freedom when it comes to choosing my associates, and I chose you. Of course, if I’m ordered to, I’ll betray you in the blink of an eye.”

Seamus’s relaxed attitude, smooth voice, and charming smile were getting on Montemayor’s last nerve, but somehow, he managed to keep his temper in control. “What made you choose me in the first place? I only made a name in the organized crime world about a year and a half ago when you were in jail.”

“As soon as I got out, I did my homework. The way you advanced on the ladder from a wannabe gangster in a poverty-stricken village at the Mexican border to the drug cartel boss you are today earned my respect and admiration. I'd still sell you down the river if I'd have orders in this direction.” Seamus grinned.

“Enough of that. I got the idea,” Montemayor growled. “Can you stop chasing your tail and tell me how are we going to take MacNamara down if the street war seems such a bad idea? Please,” he added, after seeing the warning glare the other man cast in his direction.

“You are a fast learner.” Seamus smirked. Before I proceed, there is something you need to know. The guy who got me out of jail is also the one who put Nigel Warthon there, and he decided the youngCahal must step up as his wretched father's successor, so we must keep the kid happy. I'm sorry, but your cock won't go anywhere near his little boyfriend's small ass.”

“The hell it won't,” Montemayor burst out in frustration, but Seamus's stern look calmed him down. “I better get something very good in return,” he mumbled, cursing under his breath.

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