Page 59 of City Of Thieves
As her high heels hit the asphalt, I call out to her through the open window.
“Anddolcezza…?” She cocks her chin over her shoulder. “Give your twin a courtesy call. The minute we land, we’re crossing the Hudson. This ends tomorrow—for both of us.Te lo prometto.”
I promise you.
They’re the same three words I whispered over Nero’s casket.
I’ll honor them with my dying breath.
* * *
Killian’s Balhamflat is as contradictory as he is. For a man who trades in bullets and blood, his home is an interior decorator’s wet dream, complete with bright showroom decor and flashy floor to ceiling windows. It’s the complete antithesis of my style, but then again, I’ve always preferred my accommodations to match my mood: dark, closed-off, and unstable.
Killian hands me a glass of Macallan and a sandwich, digesting my recount of the morning’s events before settling in a yellow wingback directly across from me. “Ah, what a tangled web we weave,” he muses.
“I’m not interested in dramatic aphorisms,” I counter dryly. “I want Oleg Belov’s location, along with an explanation for your silence. I asked for this information fucking hours ago.” Holding his gaze, I arch an eyebrow across the coffee table. “After all the blood we’ve spilled across this city, you should know I don’t ask for shit twice.”
Chuckling, he spreads his arms out wide. “Yet, here you are.”
Pompous bastard.
When I slam my drink onto the glass table, he leans forward, exhaling roughly while bracing his forearms on his thighs, his drink still cradled in his hands. “I warned you not to get involved in Bratva dealings, mate.”
“It’s a little too late for warnings,mate,” I hit back. “I became involved the moment one shot my brother, while two more called the play from the sidelines. Now either you’re with me, or you’re against me.” To emphasize how fucking serious I am, I flick the edge of my suit jacket back to reveal the gun still tucked inside its holster. “What’ll it be?”
He doesn’t flinch. “Are you questioning my loyalty?”
“Are you giving me a reason to?”
There are a few tense moments where I steel myself for the possibility I may have to put a bullet in the closest thing I have to a friend before Killian finally lowers his glass.
“Oleg Belov owns an underground fight club in Brixton calledBoynya.”
The irony of the translation isn’t lost on me. “Slaughterhouse, huh? How unimaginative of him.”
Ignoring the quip, Killian continues. “It’s London’s equivalent ofYama. Just like in New York, there’s a gentleman’s club four floors above where all Belov’s dirty money is sent through a rinse and spin cycle. But the basement is where you’ll find him. It’s where he conducts all his business.”
I rise from the leather couch, a countdown clock ticking in my head.
I’m coming for you, motherfucker.
However, as I round the glass table, Killian steps in front of me. “Your father called me after all the motorway shit went down.”
The clock in my head stalls.
“How the fuck does he know about that?” Whiskey soaks the sleeves of my suit as I jerk the glass out of his hand.
“He doesn’t. He knowsyou. The man’s your father, Renzo. Once he realized you’d taken the jet, tracking your coordinates wasn’t that difficult.”
I stiffen.The call was a test.
“So you gave him a trans-continental blowjob and sold me out?”
Killian’s expression darkens. “He knew you were chasing Nero’s killer and that you’d enlist my help. I’ve always had your back, Renzo, but when Gianni Marchesi makes a demand, you don’t backflip down the chain of command.”
“Son of a bitch!” Drawing my arm back, I hurl the glass over his head, watching as it smashes against the wall, sending dark amber whiskey trailing down the white paint.
“He needs your head back in the game, mate. There’s more going on here than you realize.” Blowing out a frustrated breath, he turns back around, his gaze narrowing as I dive my hand inside my jacket. He rushes to react, but it’s too late. I already have my gun pulled, and the muzzle shoved against his forehead.
