52

“Shit,” Greg said. “I think I need a drink.”

“I think we all do,” Pops said.

“What happened during that period of time?” my brother asked as the tension mounted. I sensed my father was reliving the experience, the various emotions crossing his face disconcerting.

I knew how to play the waiting game for seeking revenge better than anyone. Often choosing the right time to strike would save lives, even property. However, from what I knew about several Bratva organizations, they weren’t well known for their patience or their humanity.

“The world of organized crime was different back then,” Pops started. “It was brutal, more like the Old West than what you see now with computers and hackers as employees. I was raised on violence and bloodshed, enough that the streets and sidewalks were often painted with the color red from whatever weekend slaughter had occurred. You hear more stories about the New York syndicates, yet their murders were kids playing in a sandbox next to what we faced.” He laughed as if the memories were bittersweet.

He’d rarely told us stories of the old days. Even Grandpops when he’d been alive had said very little, perhaps forbidden to do so by our mother.

“Go on.”

He looked up at me, shaking his head. “All you need to know is that the manner in which he killed Omar’s wife was particularly repulsive, something even I couldn’t condone.”

That was likely the main reason he’d taught us to be completely respectful of women. I was thankful for that as well as many other aspects of his parenthood.

“How was she killed?” I asked.

“In her own bed, the walls splattered with her blood.”

Greg whistled. “Fuck. Me.”

I stared at the sun, something dawning on me. “Omar had Christopher’s mother killed as a single act of revenge, a warning. Didn’t he?”

My father’s exhale was rattled. “I don’t know that for certain.”

“But you suspected as much, which was why you convinced me to embrace my son without question.” As if I would have done otherwise. But the moment my father had heard about my son’s existence, he was on my doorstep. “Isn’t it!” I was shaking from anger and increased concern.

“Yes, son. I knew Omar well enough. He might be almost eighty now, but as he said, time has no expiration date. My instinct is never wrong.”

“You think he’s behind this fucking charade. Don’t you?” I’d rarely raised my voice to my father, but in this instance, I was completely over being respectful, especially since the woman I loved was in the bullseye. Her life was more in danger now than ever before.

“Yes,” he finally snapped.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us this?” Greg challenged.

“Because I hoped that I was wrong. Because there haven’t been any additional overtures.”

I closed my eyes. “He’d need help in doing so. Was there a previous connection with the Clinton family?”

“They weren’t here forty years ago,” my father insisted.

“Then who would go to that extreme?” Greg asked.

“That’s the missing link that must be found.” Hissing, I rubbed my eyes. “You need to tell us everything you know about them, Pops. I’m not leaving until you do. And if I had to guess, I’d say you have information on Omar Baranov tucked away in that monstrosity of a computer you have in your office.”

He lifted his gaze. “If you’re so certain, let’s go find out.”

I waited as my father headed toward the house, his steps slower than usual. Greg flanked my side, shaking his head.

“Why the hell didn’t he tell us?” he asked, his tone full of anger.

“Because that would require him to admit that he was afraid. That’s not our father.”

“No. You’re right about that. What are you going to do?”

I squinted from the bright sun. “If Liam and his merry men aren’t helpful, then we go hunting.”

“I like the sound of that. New Orleans is lovely this time of year.”

“Yes, brother. It certainly is. However, it’s my belief that Shawn is the connection.”

“You believe he’s working with the Bratva?”

“Yeah, I do.” I glanced toward Greg. At this point, eliminating possibilities was the only thing I could do.

“Then let’s pay him a visit.”

“There’s something I want you to do for me,” I told him.

“Anything. What do you need?”

“Find out whatever you can on Jennifer Zimmer. As Selena’s best friend, she was in a position to possibly learn classified information.”

He whistled. “Has Selena figured out she might have been betrayed?”

“I’m not certain.”

“I’ll see what I can find on the downlow.”

“My ears only.”

While I wanted to return home, I had no doubt time was running out.

As I took another deep breath, my mind drifted to Selena. Now that her presence had been detected, she was in more danger than ever. If my instincts were on the money, which they usually were, I’d guess I had forty-eight hours maximum before things got out of control. I’d need to be ready in case Omar planned a bloodbath.

If that was the case, I’d end the man’s reign once and for all.

Just like my father should have done.