Chapter Eighteen

 

Kelly collapsed into bed the second she got home, waiting only until after she’d peeled off her clothes and had the world’s fastest shower.

That had been unexpected.

If someone had told her that morning, hey, you’re going to find out that one of your father’s trusted long-time lieutenant is a traitor and you’re going to sneak into the Murphy docks, and oh, you’re going to have mind-blowing sex with Ivan Sokolov and then he’s actually going to be nice to you afterwards, she would’ve told them exactly where they could shove such an insane idea.

And yet that was exactly what had happened.

She stared up at the ceiling. Her skin was still tingling slightly and if she concentrated, she could feel the ghost of his touch on her skin.

Fuck.

The thing that most disoriented her was afterwards. Ivan had seemed… awkward, almost. She wouldn’t have expected that from him. Surely he’d dealt with the afterwards of a one night stand before.

Okay, to be fair, that had been far from a typical one night stand. It was practically an audition. And boy, had he passed with flying colors, at least where the sexual compatibility was concerned.

The way he’d been silent afterwards though, like he was unsure of what to say and how to treat her. She’d been silent herself, unwilling to break this strange equilibrium they’d found for themselves. She’d known that if she said something she’d fuck it all up, so she’d just kept quiet. She had no idea why Ivan was finally finding a reason to keep his mouth shut, and she didn’t even know why she was complaining about it when that was all she’d wanted him to do since she’d met him, but… there it was.

And then he’d gone and been sweet to her.

Not just nice, but kind. Sweet.

She knew what an effort it must have been to admit that his father had fucked up. They were loyal, all of them, it was the mob way. Drummed into you from the moment you were born was the idea of loyalty. Morality, the law, other people, none of it mattered before the ties of family. Family could be non-blood related. Plenty of members were people taken in, orphans, street kids brought up and all but adopted into the fold. But blood ties carried an extra layer of it. You didn’t betray people who’d taken you in and made you own of their own, but to turn against the people related to you by blood—it was an old-fashioned notion, maybe, but it was a strong one, the idea that to turn against one’s blood was to turn against one’s self.

Especially the Russians. The Italians had a special kind of viciousness, and her own Irish roots cried out for defiance, rebellion, not to mention a certain morbid fascination with death, but nobody could do stubborn pride like the Russians.

But he’d reached out to her, volunteered that information. Let her know that she wasn’t alone in being upset with a father—and that it was okay for her father to be wrong.

Was her father wrong, not to promote her? To pass over her as heir?

She’d never cared so much about being heir as she’d cared about being heard. Being listened to. Sometimes it felt like it would kill her brothers and her father to just consider her ideas. She’d fought with them, often and bitterly. She regretted those fights now, fights full of things she’d never be able to take back, never be able to apologize for to Connor—things she was still in danger of never being able to say to Shane.

But that hadn’t been because she wanted to run things or at least, she hadn’t thought of it that way. She just wanted her good ideas acknowledged, damn it. She wanted people to listen to her because she knew what the hell she was doing.

Maybe all this time, she had been feeling resentment at being passed over, and she just hadn’t realized it. But Ivan had seen it, and called her out on it, and then comforted her about it.

It was… nice.

He had finally treated her like an equal, someone he could understand and support rather than just fight with. She didn’t know if it was just post-sex haze and he’d be back to being a dick when they next saw one another, but she appreciated it.

It made her consider that maybe, if he was like this all the time—and if she found a way to not just snap at him automatically, to take a breath and to not take her frustrations out on him—maybe they’d actually work, as a team.

Kelly snorted to herself. What was she thinking? He was a Sokolov. Russians didn’t share power. If she was his wife he’d never treat her as a real partner. She’d be stuck the same way she was now, with Father not listening to her and not giving her the same respect and free reign that he gave Shane and Connor.

She couldn’t live like that. She needed to be with someone she could be a true partner to. Call her stubborn or ridiculous for it, but it was the goddamn 21st Century, she could at least hold out for that in her spouse if she was resigning herself to a political marriage.

But she didn’t have a choice. She’d already said yes—and she had to. Ivan was right, his aid would help them be able to hold their own against the Murphys. The O’Gills would never survive on their own. Even if their leadership had been at full strength, they were in no shape, with either manpower or weapon-wise, to fight in an all-out war.

At least with Ivan’s help they knew what was being planned and there wouldn’t be any in-fighting between the lieutenants as to who the traitor was. That would have absolutely gutted them if their leadership had been that divided when the Murphys attacked.

She was going to track down Bates and she was going to rip his throat out.

He’d helped to raise Shane and Connor. He’d been there for them for years, had watched them grow up. And he’d sided with the enemy, arranged for Shane and Connor’s deaths without a second thought.

Oh, she was going to make him pay for it all right. She was going to make him suffer and make him know what it meant to cross an O’Gill. She might not be a scary six-foot Russian or a psycho Caparelli but damn it, she was a mobster’s daughter. Her people had fought off the damn Roman Empire back in the day, naked and covered in blue paint, screaming wild and scaring the Romans shitless. She could take down one rat bastard traitor.

As for Ivan… well, she’d find a way to make it work, wouldn’t she? It would be fine. It could certainly be worse.

Her thoughts kept drifting to how he’d held her afterwards, when it had just been the two of them in the darkness. The way that she’d lain on his chest, his fingers trailing lightly up and down her spine, his other hand gently tangled in her hair.

She’d felt stupidly safe in that moment, which was especially ironic given that they were literally in enemy territory in a goddamn shipping crate surrounded by illegally smuggled materials. But all she’d cared about, then, was his hands on her, the way he was holding her, the rise and fall of his chest against her cheek.

In that moment she’d wanted nothing more than to stay there. She hadn’t wanted to pull away, hadn’t wanted it to end.

She felt like a stupid young schoolgirl, feeling that way. This wasn’t—she was supposed to be past all that ridiculous romantic stuff. She wasn’t the kind of person who got swept off her feet.

But he’d just felt so safe and warm. Protective. In that moment she hadn’t been irritated with him, hadn’t wanted to fight him. She’d realized that she actually felt comfortable around him. Comfortable enough to snap and snarl but not really wanting to bite. She’d wanted more of this. Wanted it to be normal. Wanted it every night. Had found herself wondering if maybe, they could turn their banter into just a way to challenge one another without actually wounding, a kind of lead-in to tearing each other’s clothes off at night. What if that teasing glint in his eyes was one that she knew would lead to his tongue in her mouth, what if her calling him out on his bullshit would lead to his head between her legs, what if—

Kelly sat straight up in bed. She could feel her chest heaving and she was probably gaping like an idiot.

Fucking fuck.

She had a goddamn crush on Ivan Sokolov.