And I knew then I’d do whatever it took to bring him home.
7
Mack
The problem of Fiona’s brother wasn’t going to solve itself.
So I made a few calls.
When you work as long and as intensely as I have in a city like Philadelphia, you tend to make some contacts. I mainly do kills for the Morozovs, but I’ve loaned out my skills to most of the major families over the years, taking on small targets to keep the peace between my Pakhan and the other leaders.
My gun was a sign of respect. Except for when it was trained on you.
Then it was a death sentence.
“Who’s this guy again?” Fiona sat leaning back in her seat and stared out the window.
“His name’s Juan.”
“Doesn’t sound Italian.”
“He’s not. I think he’s Argentinian.”
She frowned a little, but didn’t look at me. “I thought the Lionettis only took in Italians.”
“They’re equal opportunity employers.”
She laughed and drummed her fingers nervously on her knee. “I don’t like this. If he goes back and tells Renzo, they might hurt Connor.”
“You don’t have to worry about Juan.”
“That’s not really making me feel better.”
“He owes me in the same way I owe Evgeni.”
She glanced over. “You saved his life?”
I nodded and slowed down outside of a coffee place tucked into the corner of a gentrifying neighborhood near Fairmount Avenue. “Worked a job together years back. Things went south and he took a bullet in the leg. I could’ve left him, but instead I killed three men and dragged his ass to a doctor. Now he thinks he owes me some sort of blood debt.”
“I hope that’s enough to keep his mouth shut.”
“Don’t worry, it will be.” I parked and killed the engine. If she knew Juan, she wouldn’t be worried. He was a solid guy, even if he did work for the Lionettis. “Juan joined the Lionettis because they pay well and he had nothing else, but he’s not an Italian and never will be, so he’s an outsider in his own family. You can probably guess how they treat him.”
She chewed on her lip. “Probably not well.”
“No, not well. He doesn’t hate them for it, but there’s some resentment. I take advantage of that anger from time to time. If anyone knows about your brother, it’ll be him.”
“I don’t know,” I said nervously shifting in my seat. “If he’s not important—”
“Just trust me.” I reached out suddenly and touched her hair. It was up in a messy bun with little flyaways floating around her pretty face. “Let this down.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your hair. Let it down for me.” I pulled at the bun gently, fingers probing.
“Why?” She reached up to untangle the hair tie, her mouth hanging open.
“I like your hair. I don’t want you to hide it.”
I stared into her eyes and felt a strange leap in my chest as she obeyed. I watched it tumble around her shoulders and a chill touched my skin as I ran my fingers through it. The girl was beautiful, and I felt a sharp possessiveness roll through me in waves, something I’d never experienced before. In my line of work, life was cheap and woman came and went—but Fiona was different. She made me want to burn the city down to keep her safe.
I worshiped her. I didn’t know why—but I did.
“Come on.” I got out of the car and walked toward the coffee place.
She hurried to follow. Inside, the shop was dim, and quiet acoustic guitar music drifted across the tables. The girl behind the counter smiled and I asked for two coffees. She brought them over, and I carried them to a table in the very back where a small guy sat with his legs sprawled out and a half-eaten blueberry muffin crumbling on a plate in front of him.
He had black hair, dark eyes, light brown skin, and a wide, white smile. I shook his hand and grinned back as I sat down. “Good to see you,” I said.
“You too, Mack.” Juan glanced at Fiona. “This the girl you mentioned?”
“Fiona, this is Juan. He’s good people.”
“Hey,” Juan said, nodding.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
He looked back at me and his smile faltered. I didn’t like the nervous energy I felt rolling off him in waves. “Gotta say, man, you don’t normally call me for a social visit, and you definitely don’t bring some hot Irish chick with you.”
Fiona blushed slightly and I laughed, but my eyes narrowed. “Easy. The girl’s mine.”
“Meant it as a compliment.” Juan held his hands up placatingly.
I leaned toward Juan and took a sip from my hot coffee. I thought of my fingers in Fiona’s hair, my eyes roaming down her body—my possessiveness, my jealousy—and knew that I’d never let another man look at her the way I did. Juan meant well, I knew that much, but this rabid desire to keep the male gaze off Fiona’s creamy skin sent a striking, surging rage through my blood, like fire and thunder.