Page 79 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption
I’ve spent years taking out those who’ve sniffed around, looking for her. Squashing any threats, even those which had nothing to do with the Raos.
Fuck. It could be anyone. Weneed to find out.
I type back to Callahan.
Yeah. We will find the fuck out.
In the living room back home, Dec shows off the harness he’s put on poor Clawzilla. He tugs a little, trying to get the cat to move. But he’s not having any of it and has nosed his way under one of Arnold’s front paws. It looks like our dog’s hugging and protecting the cat.
“…don’t you think, Tor?” Seamus asks me as he looks at the new gun in his hand.
I frown and close the door to the study, effectively shutting out the sight of the others. Callahan’s study is opposite the big open-plan living room, and he’s fielding a call in the corner about a shipment of drugs we’re holding until we get our protection payment.
I pick up the gun and turn it over in my hands. I take out the magazine and try out the trigger, lining it up through the window.
Ordinarily I’d want to test it, to see the way it pulls and how good it is, precision wise.
“Where’d you get it from?” I hand it back.
He casts a look at Cal. “Dec knows a guy. I’m not too sure. I like what I like, but maybe some of our customers?—”
“No,” I say. “It’s military grade, new, and unless I know where the fuck his guy got it from, I wouldn’t be seen with it.”
“Military?” Callahan growls out the word, tossing down his phone. “Fuck thatshite. We only mess with that from reliable sources.” He lights a cigarette, storms to the closed door to rip Declan a new one, and Seamus stops him.
Cal gives him a dangerous look. “Let go?—”
“Your wife’s out there, and so is the skittish church mouse.” Seamus shrugs.
“She’s not a fucking mouse.” I ignore Seamus’s smirk. “And she’s not skittish, either.” And while we’re at it, I’m with Callahan on the weapon source.
The gun, the damn rifle in my safe, they don’t speak well of our idiot baby bro.
“And,” Cal says, “my wife, not yours, Seamus.”
“Ah well, forgive me for trying to keep this family out of trouble,” Seamus says overdramatically. “It’s not all bombs and party limos, you know.”
“Look,” I say, going to the liquor cabinet and pouring some Redbreast into a glass. “This is my problem. I’ll handle it.”
“Yours?” Seamus frowns. “Did you go and tell him to barter for fancy guns, Tor?”
I rub my eyes.
“No, you git.” Callahan takes a drag of his cigarette. “He’s worried about his bride.”
“Not like that,” I snap. “We need to work out who’d be stupid and short-sighted enough to take us on.”
“Take us on? That’s ashiteidea made for a moron.” Seamus spins the unloaded gun on a bare spot on his messy desk. “Who’d do that?”
“We don’t know.” Cal blows out smoke rings. “Someone wanting some of our turf or maybe someone who’s after Hazel.”
“Doesn’t the blood wedding mean she’s now one of us completely?” Seamus says, shaking his head. “I’ll ramp up the feelers I have out in bars and the streets. What about the Russians?”
“What about them?” Callahan asks. “That issue was put to rest when we took out Paddy.”
“There are other families. I’ll look into possiblebratva links.” My favorite sex club is discreet, not a haven for bratva, mafia, or the criminal underbelly. But there are some Russians and Poles who have their own fetishes.
Run into them on business or in the street, and it would be like meeting a stranger. But in the club… a conversation about a show, a girl, a new toy or whip has happened, and though I keep to myself on the whole, the kink world is small.
