“Ma!” Chance said, running toward his mother ahead of Juliet, who he had brought with him to the hospital. He wasn’t about to leave her by herself, especially after what he had been told over the phone.

His mother was standing outside a hospital room talking to a man in a white coat that Chance assumed was the doctor in charge of his brother’s case. She turned at the sound of his voice and he read her face for clues.

Chip was alive. She had told him that much over the phone. Everything written on her face told him that was where his brother’s luck had run out: the way her lips were pressed together; the eyes that were one minute away from spilling tears; the brows furrowed with worry; the arm crossed tightly over her middle; the other hand curled up in a fist by her mouth.

He reached out to hug her. The way she gripped him, as though she couldn’t bear to lose him as well, made his stomach sink.

“Chance,” she said, hugging him even tighter.

“How is he?”

She pulled away and turned to the doctor. “The doctor was just telling me. This is Chip’s brother.”

The doctor resumed, giving Chance a somber nod. “As I was saying to your mother, Mr. McCoy had lost quite a bit of blood when he first came in. He was unconscious, but we were able to stabilize him. He has four gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen. We were able to remove the bullets that weren’t a through and through. His lung collapsed from one of the injuries, and we had to remove the gallbladder, but otherwise no major organs were affected.

“He didn’t have a phone or wallet on him when he arrived, just the envelope in there next to his bed. That’s why it took us so long to get in touch with you. Essentially, we had to wait until he woke up and was able to communicate with us.”

“Is he up now? Can we talk to him?”

“For a short period of time. The thing Mr. McCoy needs most right now is rest and recovery. I can give you ten minutes tops.”

That was about nine minutes more than Chance needed to find out what happened.

The doctor waited to see if they had any more questions, then left them to it. His mother opened the door and went in to see Chip.

Chance walked over to Juliet. “I’m going to have a talk with Chip and find out what happened. Just wait right here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Chance, I’ll be fine. Go see your brother. He needs you more than me.” She reached out to squeeze his arm reassuringly.

He nodded and went to follow his mother into Chip’s room. The moment he entered, he stopped cold. Chip was normally about the same size as Chance, but the body lying on that bed now looked half his size. That was his baby brother lying there and someone had tried to kill him. He swallowed hard, trying not to focus on the memories that came pouring into his head: wrestling over the remote control; sharing comic books with one another; Chip tailing behind Chance and his friends, trying to act more grown up than he was; teasing him back on Coney Island.

Chip gave them both a weary smile as he opened his eyes to greet them.

“You two look like hell,” he said with a lazy grin.

“Oh, Chip,” their mother sighed and then the tears came.

“Don’t, Ma,” Chip said tiredly, which did nothing to stem the flow.

“What happened?” Chance asked, trying to keep it together for everyone’s sake.

Chip turned his head to look at him. That look was the first sign of vitality Chance had seen since stepping into the room. Chip’s eyes—pure blue like their mother’s, without a hint of green or gray—blazed with such fire Chance actually caught his breath.

“Dad,” was all he managed before sinking back into the pillow with exhaustion.

That put a quick end to their mother’s tears. “What about him?”

Chip turned back to her, hesitating.

“Tell me,” she urged.

“He wasn’t killed by that poker player. It was Peter. Peter Antonov.”

That name made her audibly gasp.

Chance had heard the story a million times growing up. Jackson McCoy had made his way up to Atlantic City to play in a major poker tournament, a legit game for once. Peter Antonov, another avid poker player had been there with his arm candy—and by all accounts, future wife—Katherine Vasiliev. Jackson had deliberately lost in order to woo the poor young girl who had been deserted for the day in favor of poker. By the end of the night she had run off with him, which had caused a pretty big rift among the Russian families of New York.

That had been nothing compared to the wrath of Peter Antonov. There had been threats and even a few beatings. Through it all, Chance’s parents had stuck it out until finally her very influential family and the Sokolov family, the one that Peter was tied to, came to a truce. So long as Katherine had nothing more to do with her family or their “business,” she and Jackson could live in peace. They made their own home and family down in Houston and she left her old life behind, not once looking back.

Chance had heard that Peter had become a powerful player, now taking over the business that Sokolov had controlled, even expanding far beyond what his former boss had held. But what did Peter Antonov have to do with Chip’s current condition?

Chip nodded to the table beside him at a manila envelope that Chance just now noticed. His mother was still reeling, settling down in the chair beside the bed, so he walked over to retrieve it.

When he saw what was inside he almost needed to take a seat himself. He stared up at Chip with blazing eyes and was met with that same fiery look Chip had given him just a moment ago.

“Are you shitting me?”

“It was Leo Petrov,” Chip began, confirming the person Chance had suspected was involved in all of this. “I got the 411 that he was interested in a little game of poker with me. Originally, I wasn’t gonna bite, but then I figured what the hell? Dmitri is gone. Maybe Leo doesn’t give a shit about what happened to Dmitri’s nephew. Maybe this is his way of saying all was forgiven.”

Which made no sense to Chance, but he didn’t interrupt his brother to say so.

“In retrospect, it was dumb of me. So, we’re sittin’ there playin’ a game of cards all nice and friendly like, and I’m thinkin’, okay I guess we’re good. Like, maybe I can go back and tell Chance his poker playin’ days are back on again.” Like Chance, Chip’s Texas accent got heavier the more animated he was. Right now, the sad sack that he’d seen upon entering this room was replaced by someone full of vim and vigor. “Then, he starts talking about the night Daddy died, and how it was so coincidental that the man who killed him was also killed. Then he starts hintin’ that maybe it was to cover up the real reason behind Daddy gettin’ killed.”

Chance could feel his temperature rising with every word. He would never lie and say that this very thought hadn’t crossed his mind on more than one occasion.

“Then he goes and pulls that shit on me,” Chip said, nodding toward the envelope that Chance still had in his hands. “As casually as anything, he pulls that outta his pocket and lays it down on the table, sayin’ he bought it off some guy who knows the guy who actually did the deed…on behalf of one Peter Antonov. Apparently the guy had held on to all that as leverage.”

“How does Leo know it was Peter?” Katherine said, finally speaking up. Chance could hear slight traces of her Russian roots sneak into her accent, which happened when she was upset.

Chip’s eyes looked past Chance toward their mother. “Look at the timin’ Ma. Daddy was killed right around the time when Boris Sokolov died and Peter took over up there. He could do whatever he wanted, and what did he want more than anything?”

“But it had been over fifteen years by then,” she said, almost to herself.

“Some grudges just don’t die.”

“Why would Leo tell you all of this now?” Chance asked. “How long has he been holding onto this? What’s he hoping to achieve?”

“Too many people battling him for Dmitri’s seat. Peter is his biggest threat, expanding out of New York. Pretty sure we can all guess why he’s taking advantage of Houston. I think Leo wants us to start a war. So he used his trump card on me…so to speak,” Chip added with a wry grin.

“The McCoys? Against Peter Antonov?” Chance said with an incredulous laugh.

“The Vasilievs against Peter Antonov,” Chip corrected, giving his mother a direct look.

Chance heard her suck in a breath.

“I left,” she said. “I gave my word to stay away. My father…he’d never go back on that. Leo should know this.”

“You’re not the Vasiliev he was thinkin’ about,” Chip replied.

Katherine, now over her shock, stood up from the bed and walked over to confront her son. “You and Chance are not Vasilievs. You are McCoys. I am a McCoy. What was Leo thinking, involving—?”

“Ma, Ma. Let him finish,” Chance said, pulling her in before she could continue her rant. Already he could see Chip succumbing to exhaustion, and he still needed answers.

Katherine was momentarily subdued.

Chip sighed and sank back into his pillows. “Leo’s using every card in his hand. If there’s any chance that he can get rid of the competition, especially Peter, he’ll use it.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you ended up here.”

“He picked the wrong McCoy,” Chip said with a dry chuckle that ended in a wince of pain. “You at least would have kept your cool. I attacked him, calling bullshit. Mostly, I was just in a rage over seeing what’s in that envelope.”

Chance exhaled a short laugh. Of course Chip would lash out. Chance would have played it cool, eventually figuring out what Leo’s bag was. On the other hand, Chance wouldn’t have been dumb enough to fall prey to this “friendly” game of poker in the first place. He thought about Alexi’s final words to him a few weeks ago, that Leo would have a message for him. Chance wondered if that unfortunate interaction was when Leo had decided to move on to the other McCoy brother. The McCoy brother who also happened to be descended from the Vasiliev family.

“I don’t remember anything after he shot me,” Chip continued. “woke up here.”

“I think they tried to make it look like a robbery. Either that or you were in fact robbed. All you had was this envelop.”

Chip just shrugged and fell back on the bed with a sour look on his face.

“Did he say anything about my…” Chance wondered how to refer to Juliet. In the end he picked the most fitting term, “…about my girlfriend Juliet? This morning she had a big pink bear delivered to her.”

His mother pulled away and looked up at him. “The woman in the hallway?”

Chance nodded, then turned back to Chip hoping an answer could be found there.

Chip just shrugged. “What I know is what you now know. Peter Antonov had our dad killed and now Leo, for some reason, wants him dead. I for one am more than happy to oblige based on what’s in that envelope.”

Chance’s mother grabbed the envelope from his hand and looked inside. A sharp cry of something that was half pain, half outrage escaped her lips. With trembling hands she pulled out the contents: his dad’s lucky ring and the photo of the four McCoys at Coney Island, complete with that damn bear.