Page 80 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)
And Phoenix has money aplenty.
I don’t like it. But sometimes you have to do unpleasant things to survive. I know that better than anyone.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “I’ll ask him.”
Charity smiles with relief. “I know this isn’t easy for you.”
I look at her and then at Theo. I can see only the chubby outline of his little cherub cheek. The rapid rise and fall of his chest.
“If it means we can get by—thathecan get by—I’ll do whatever I have to do.”
Charity looks at me for a moment. Then she allows one single tear to fall.
It’s the sincerest thanks I’ve ever received.
18
Phoenix
Phoenix’s Office
I’m staring at the wall in my office, but strangely enough, I can’t seem to concentrate on it.
That’s new. Usually, when I’m here, I’m focused. I’m in the fucking zone. And when I’m not here, I’m thinking about it. Constantly.
I make another attempt at delving in, looking between the picture of Murray and then towards the center where I’ve taped up images of Sakamoto and Ozol.
I can feel the answers dancing on the fringes of my expansive investigation. But there are still too many question marks. Still too many loose ends.
And the smell tickling my nostrils keeps pulling me out of my thoughts.
What is that? Baby powder and lavender?
…Elyssa.
She’d asked me point blank who Vitya was. And I’d barked at her and dismissed her instead of answering.
I can claim that I don’t want her knowing my business. But that’s not the truth. The truth is I don’t want her knowing about Aurora or Yuri.
Because for some insane fucking reason, I care what she thinks of me.
“Fuck,” I growl to the empty room. “Fuck!”
My thoughts are going a million miles an hour. I just want to fucking make it stop. I need some clarity. So I pick up the phone without ever really making a conscious decision to do it.
My fingers move automatically, picking out the second name on speed dial. It rings so long that I’m on the brink of hanging up when he finally answers.
“Well, hello, boy.” Almost thirty years in America and his voice still carries the faint edge of an Irish accent. Given that he’s the don of the New York branch of the O’Sullivan Clan mafia, however, it’s appropriate.
“Uncle Kian.”
“This is the first call I’ve gotten in months. Has someone died? Do you need money? Blink twice if you’re in trouble.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re starting to sound like my mother.”
“Your ma would never let you get away with that kind of radio silence.”
“That’s why she’s number one on speed dial.”
