Page 101 of Unveiled

My stomach lurches.

"Who have we identified?” Rafail asks, his eyes sharp and focused on Matvei.

"They call him The Undertaker," Matvei says. "The son of Keenan McCarthy."

"Son of a bitch," Rafail whispers. "He’s a deadly shot. Infamous.”

I get the distinct feeling there are a lot of things they’re not saying out loud—things that may or may not involve me.

My face feels hot, and something roils in my belly. I think of Eli.

The Undertaker?

"Why would he just show up and pull that shit?" Rodion mutters, shaking his head.

"The Irish want us to know they’re present but not prepared for full-on war," Matvei says. "Not yet, anyway."

"Of course they aren’t," Semyon replies. "We have more allies here than they do."

Rodion drums his fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Which brings me to something I’ve been thinking about. In America, I had drinks with one of the cleaners for the West Coast cartel. He mentioned meeting with the don from the Boston Italian mafia and a few others."

Rafail nods slowly. “Vadka was just telling me about this. The Brotherhood."

"The Brotherhood?" I ask.

"It’s a group of the six most powerful underworld leaders in America," Matvei says. "It’s unofficial, but when they join forces, they become unstoppable."

"Do you have something like that?" I ask.

"Not yet," Rafail replies, his voice thick with meaning. “But it’s time.”

Interesting.

"How do you begin something like that?" I ask, curious. It’s mind-boggling to think of all of those powerful people in one group.

"First, we get your brother," Matvei says. "Then, we question him."

Semyon’s hand tightens on my knee.Question him.

What does that involve? Torture?

My head is spinning. I blink, trying to clear my brain, but it isn’t very effective. Semyon’s too intent on the conversation with his family to notice. His grip on my knee tightens.

"Are you okay?" he asks. I shake my head.

"I'm fine," I lie.

The thought of Eli being in the grip of somebody called The Undertaker? Excuse me if I need a minute.

"We're gonna take care of this, Anya. You have my word," Semyon says. But when I look at him, his face is unnaturally pale. He's still recovering from a gunshot wound, I tell myself, but…

What have I gotten myself into?

I reach for a glass of water and, to my horror, my hand shakes, and I knock it over, just like my little brother did.

"So sorry!" I stammer, flustered. I jump up from the table, and the chair clatters to the floor. I’m dizzy. The room spins.

What's the matter with me? I feel like I’m going to be sick.

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