Page 69 of Brutal Promise

I sit in one of the club chairs where I can watch Izzy sleep and work on my laptop at the same time. I search the dark web for any unpublished information about James Murphy. My computer has redundant firewalls and super secure servers, so it’s untraceable and un-hackable. Still, it makes me nervous.

Social media is used to wag the dog, and instinct tells me James Murphy wouldn’t steal from his own family. Maybe the investigation is a ruse by the government to extract information about his family. The feds might be trying to build a RICO case. But if that were true, we would’ve already heard about it because we all have a man on the inside.

Would Izzy’s mother have trusted the Irish with her secret? Or did she take her secret to the grave? Nothing is adding up. I’m getting frustrated. I’d rather have this behind us before the wedding, but the plan I devised with my brothers will have to go into play. I pray we’ll be able to handle the fallout. My gut tells me the men who want Izzy will come to the wedding, so we’re making a long list of suspects and plan to flush them out.

Wedding, my wedding, the very concept seems strange. I never pictured myself married, but I am picturing her naked on our wedding day. My cock twitches at the prospect of getting her pregnant. I’m an insatiable, thoughtless bastard, but a bastard, nonetheless.

All I need is time to make Izzy fall in love with me so she never wants to leave her cage. I can’t imagine going back to my life before her. That life was all about fighting and surviving. I served in the army, fought in a war, and by some miracle, made it home in one piece, then nearly got killed in a car accident. From now on, I will only fight my own wars, and this one is for us.

My brothers are setting up contingency plans and vetting men to work security for the wedding. It will be an extravagant and very public affair. Behind the scenes, we will be running a risky game plan.

This problem needs to be solved. I can’t just shoot it like I would an idiot who fucks up in our organization.

I decide to do another search on Llea Sidova, the Russian don, Alexsei’s wife. If she’s worried about her son getting passed over when Alexsei dies, she will do whatever it takes to prevent that. At twenty, her son is too young to be a don. No one will take him seriously. Unless he is some sort of loose-cannon psycho that everyone fears or some genius at making alliances whom everyone respects, he’ll be killed in no time. I don’t see his mother putting him in that position, but you never know. There is always the chance that her desire for power is stronger than her maternal instincts. Now there’s a viper you don’t wanna turn your back on.

I pull up a picture of Llea Sidova again. There is something reptilian about her features. She strikes me as brutal and manipulative. I read some articles about her inner-city reading program, and she’s very adept at orchestrating the narrative and the optics. Her sound bites are rehearsed and spot-on. It’s all just too perfect. She’s up to something. I need to keep my eye on her and those kids. Her husband is elusive, which is another reason to invite them to the wedding. Kirill will ensure they use the private jet and bring Alena and her parents.

Alena needs to be at the wedding as Izzy’s maid of honor. Kirill will also attend. I’ve asked Nikolay to be my best man. Roman understands it has to be this way. If anything were to happen to Nikolay, I’d have to take over.

I don’t know how one person does it all. It takes three of us, and even at that, we still have partners trying to fuck us over. One has to have balls but not be stupid. Short-term gains can result in long-term enemies. That’s how, in this business, greed will get you killed.

I open another search window and bring up the documents on Maria’s death. Just as before, the dates on the documents align with the death of Moretti’s daughter, Mariana. The names aren’t that much different.

I run my hand over my jaw and yawn. My eyes are heavy, and my mind is exhausted. I drift off to sleep, content for the first time in my life.

I wake when the engines whine, indicating we must be getting closer to our destination and descending. There’s a bit of turbulence, and Izzy stirs.

She opens her eyes. Seeing me, she asks, “What time is it?”

“Time to get changed. We’ll be landing soon.”

“Oh.” She yawns and pushes the throw off her lap. She stands and stretches before following me to the bedroom.

I pack my laptop feeling fairly confident I’ve prepared everyone in advance. I slip into a suit and dress shoes. It’s time to resume the formal version of myself. The vacation is over.

Izzy is dressed in jeans and a Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt layered with a pullover sweater. I can picture her singing and dancing to the music at the concert. She won’t be doing much of that anymore. Like it or not, she will go to the opera, the ballet, and the orchestra.

Izzy’s in the bathroom packing up and comes out to brush her hair.

“Did you sleep?”

“A little bit.”

I don’t bother telling her I’m an insomniac. Or maybe I’m cured because when I’m next to her, I sleep just fine.

She dips back into the bathroom, grabs her toiletry bag, and tosses it into her luggage.

“Just leave the luggage on the bed. It will be handled. I made us a snack while you were in the bathroom.”

She follows me to the table and helps herself to roast chicken, brie cheese, and sliced apples.

“What’s the plan when we land?”

I like how she uses the wordwe.

“Well, you will assume the role of my fiancé, and I’ll get back to work.” It’s better to leave out the other details for now.

25

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