Page 57 of Precious Legacy

“I know,” he snaps, gaze drifting past me. “Not really been in the mood to talk since I found out my sister is a traitor.”

I wince at his words, trying to ignore the sting of them. While they’re somewhat true, it still hurts to hear them coming from my twin. “That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” he retorts and I hate the look he gives me.

“What are you doing here?” I repeat his question, trying to ignore the fact he probably hates me right now.

“None of your business,” he grits out. The anger lighting his dark eyes is enough to deter me, but as long as Varo is my brother, his safety is as much my business as mine is his. If he told me to stay away from the Russians, he’s as much in dangeras I am right now, but it’s no use in pointing that out to him. Especially with the notable mood he’s in.

Despite the look of indifference he casts my way, I rest my hand on his, offering him a pleading look. Haven’s words ring in my ears, and since now is as good a time as any, I take a deep breath and set my mind on clearing the air with my brother.

“Can we talk please?”

He turns and gestures to one of the bartenders, his expression blank and bored. “We’re talking,” he mutters.

“Vee,” I plead, but I don’t get very far before someone interrupts us, their presence looming over us like a dark cloud filled with suppressed danger.

“Is there a problem, Bonannos?” Milo asks.

“Nope,” Varo replies swiftly, sending me a warning glare. In that single look, I know he’s telling me to shut up and leave. We might not share some conspiratorial twin telepathy, but even I can sense how desperately he wants me to leave. This isn’t about me right now. It’s something else, something he doesn’t want me to be a part of.

A wave of recognition and acceptance floats between us. If I was to protest right now, I’d be an idiot. So instead, I nod and push away from the bar in the direction of the dance floor to search for Haven. Whatever is about to go down tonight, I need to steer clear.

TWENTY-TWO

Haldon slices his hands through his hair, resting his elbows on his desk. I’ve never seen the guy look so out of place. He’s the joker, the one to lighten the mood in any situation, yet right now he’s irritated, fuming in fact.

“What’s happened?” I ask, walking towards him.

Varo is already here, leaning against the wall-to-ceiling window that lines Haldon’s office, looking a little perturbed.

“They’re fucking retaliating,” Haldon grumbles exhaustedly. “Deliveries were due yesterday and they didn’t come.”

I look at Varo in the hopes he might have something to say about the situation, but he keeps his mouth shut, shaking his head at me.

“Maybe it’s a misunderstanding,” I suggest, but even I know I’m clutching at straws.

Since the Russians are still waiting on an answer from us about the docks, I’m assuming this is their way of pushing boundaries, forcing our hand perhaps. I’m smart enough to recognize that this act is them sending a message, but that only worries me more at what else they might have up their sleeve.A simple misdelivery can be handled, but how far will this go before blood is being shed?

“I won’t fucking stand for this!” Haldon bellows, unable to keep his cool. He slams his fist onto the desk so hard that his whiskey tumbler flips on its side, rolling towards the edge of the wooden surface. I catch it before it smashes to the ground, placing it as far out of his reach as possible, which just so happens to be the liquor cart. If there’s one thing I know about Haldon, it’s that nobody messes with his clubs, and this might be the start of a war if we’re not careful.

Haldon has always been great at keeping his emotions in check. He knows how to take care of most situations, and in turn, it makes him reliable. He thinks things through. He’s logical, but not cold. I trust him with my life, and as one of my best friends, I know how to calm him down when he can’t calm himself. All he needs is a solution; something for him to focus on.

“We’ll smooth it over,” I tell him confidently, because we will.

We’ve held off on giving the Russians what they want because we’ve been confirming our mole was in place. Since my uncle reached out today, we’re confident we can get intel on what the enemy is up to, so it was decided we would set up a meeting with the Russians this week.

One day. That’s how long they had to wait, but instead, they wanted to test our patience like we’re just kids playing games. It crossed my mind that’s exactly what it looks like from their perspective, but I sense one of the Bratva brothers might have had a part to play in this latest attempt to piss us off.

From what I know of the brothers, Konstantin seems a little more approachable and reasonable. I wish I could say the same about Vadim, but his demeanor at the docks the other week was off. He’s not only testing our limits, but his brother’s, too.

“We need to,” Haldon grumbles. “Otherwise, I’ll need to pay off my suppliers again.”

Grabbing a bottle of whiskey, I pour a heavy measure into Haldon’s glass. I offer one to Varo, but he shakes his head, moving towards the couches. “Milo is our best bet,” I suggest. “We’ll speak to him, and he can relay our message without causing too much mess.”

Varo kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, linking his hands behind his head. “Oh yeah,” he huffs. “And who’s going to do that?”

I lift a brow in his direction.Like he doesn’t already know the answer to that question.

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