Acquainted, page 18
No one spoke to him or even acknowledged his presence beyond a furtive glance in his direction. The police officers and detectives might have been the ones supposed to hold all the power in this building, but not while he was here.
He stood as Vera approached, though his gaze lingered on the men trailing behind her.
"We're going to find out what happened to Camden Stevens, Miss Markovic. Count on that. Your family won't be able to stand in the way of that."
"Good luck, detectives," she said in return, not even bothering to look in their direction.
Maybe they would.
Maybe they wouldn't.
The only thing she knew for sure was that, in the end, they wouldn't touch anyone she cared about.
Alfie would make sure of that.
Lachlan had told him without ever saying a word.
The day he had come into his office out of the blue, carrying that black bag that should have been familiar, though he hadn’t processed that thought at the time.
On his way to the police station, Alfie had pulled out his phone, his heart thumping heavily in his chest as he dialed Percival.
It rang twice before the other man answered. “Yeah?”
“Go in my office. There’s a black bag sitting on the floor. Tell me what’s inside it.”
“Uh … okay?”
The world passed in a blur as he waited, hearing the voices fade in the background as Percival entered his office. He could even hear the sound of his office door slamming shut.
“You said a … found it. Whatever it is, it fucking reeks, I’ll tell you that. It’s—Jesus, fuck!”
Alfie slammed his fist against the seat in front of him, then did it again and again until he felt better, which wasn’t very much at all.
“Whose fucking head is this?”
Alfie blew out a breath, trying to contain himself. “Get fucking rid of it, however you can. Make sure you’re not fucking seen and call me when it’s done.”
He hung up without waiting for a response, tossing the phone, not caring if it broke.
Too far.
Lachlan had gone too far, and now he had another mess to clean up.
But this time … this time he wouldn’t do it quietly.
"We promised no secrets."
Alfie knew from the moment the detectives arrived at the cemetery why they were there. It wasn't a gangster's intuition, but the memory of Lachlan walking into the warehouse with Camden's head tucked inside a black bag.
A part of him had suspected—hoped—that the man would have at least done a better job of hiding the body, wherever it had been found, but he also knew that when Lachlan reacted on impulse, he wasn't thinking rationally.
Now, here was another mess for him to clean up, and unlike in London, he didn't have as much pull with the local inspectors. This would be a fucking shitshow.
Taking his hat off, Alfie ran his hand over his hair, trying to think of a plausible answer before looking at Vera. He had promised not to keep anything from her, but he also hadn't known how to explain to her that Camden's death had been just as much of a surprise to him as it was to her.
"If you're asking whether I did it," he said carefully, "I didn't."
"But you know who did," she guessed, her voice low as if the detectives were still around to hear their conversation, though they were well away from the precinct now and away from listening ears.
"I'll take care of it." He didn't know how, just yet, but he knew to protect her from any scrutiny, he would have to. "For now, I don't want you to worry about it. It'll get sorted."
Vera was quiet for a long while before she reached over and clutched his hand. "Be careful, Alfie. I won't forgive you if you go to prison."
That got a smile out of him. "Once was enough, luv."
Big Al drove them to his townhouse, parking out front and leaving the car idling.
"I'll be back soon," he promised, before leaning over to kiss her cheek. "Don't worry yourself."
"I'll always worry about you, Alfie," she whispered before slipping out of the car and closing the door behind her.
Once she was safely inside the house, Big Al glanced back at him through the rearview mirror. "Where to, boss?"
"The warehouse," he said, barely seeing the man's nod before they pulled off, and he pulled out his phone.
There was only one way for him to handle this and not just the problem at hand.
Lachlan was too unstable, had been for as long as he'd known the man, though it had only gotten worse the older they got.
And now ... now he didn't know what to make of him. Much less what to do.
No, he knew what he needed to do. He just wasn't happy about it.
The warehouse came into view with familiar cars parked along the side.
It was of no surprise to him that the moment he walked through the doors, Percival was waiting for him, undoubtedly having already heard about what had happened at the funeral.
"You have to fucking sort this," Percival said the moment Alfie cleared the door. "He's causing too many fucking problems."
Even if they didn't have the new problem with the police, Percival would have wanted Lachlan gone. Though his nose was healing, he still sported the bruises from Lachlan's fist a week after their incident.
"Bad for business," Draco tacked on, falling into step behind them.
All of which Alfie already knew.
But this wasn't just another bloke they were talking about. Someone he could just send up the river and be done with.
This was Lachlan.
His oldest friend.
The closest thing he had to a brother.
And beyond all of that, Lachlan wasn't an idiot, though he made idiotic choices. He might not have done the best in cleaning up behind himself, but he would have at least ensured that he couldn't be tied to the murder in any way.
Five years in prison would have rectified any mistake like that.
Not to mention that to the detectives investigating the case, there was no reason behind it. No obvious motives.
Lachlan didn't have any ties to Camden Stevens, nor was there any reason he would have wanted the man dead. The obvious conclusion would be to look at Vera, considering her family ties, and if not them, the next place they would look would be at Alfie himself.
It wouldn't be long before they came sniffing around him, especially since he had made it all too clear that he and Vera were a thing by sending one of the best defense attorneys to end their interview before it could really get started.
Alfie rubbed the back of his neck, already hankering for a drink after the day he'd had, wishing the right answer would come to him, but at the moment, he had nothing.
He didn't even know where to fucking start.
Inside his office, Alfie shook out a cigarette from the pack he kept in his desk, lighting it up and dragging in a deep lungful before exhaling again. No one spoke, allowing him this moment of silence as he gathered his thoughts.
His mother had always taught him the way to solve a problem was to stop and take a moment to breathe and think. Start at the very beginning and work his way through it until he found a solution.
To do that, he needed to rectify the first mistake.
"Draco."
Mad-eye ran a hand over his blue hair, settling into his chair with his legs splayed. "Yeah, boss?"
“I need you to do something for me.”
“Yeah, all right. What do you need?”
Alfie passed him an envelope stuffed with money and an airline ticket. Once he had a chance to look inside, one brow arched high, and Alfie didn’t wait to explain.
“You’re on the first flight to Heathrow.”
“Something I need to pick up?”
“Lachlan’s been out for seven months. Figure out what he’s been doing before he showed his face here.”
He might have looked as if he only courted madness, but there was usually some plan to his chaos—one only he could see.
“And when I find something?” he asked, not doubting his ability to do his job for a second.
Draco was good that way.
“Bring me whatever you find and tell no one, yeah? This is strictly my business.”
Not just because he didn’t know what the answer would be, but because there was no guarantee what Lachlan would do if he knew someone was digging into his life.
He didn’t take very kindly to invasions of privacy.
"Understood."
"Call me when you have something."
Draco didn't wait for an official dismissal before he was exiting his office.
"Why the hell would you go into business with someone like that anyway?"
There wasn't nearly enough time in the day for him to explain that.
Figuring there was no better time for that drink than now, he walked over to the bar cart and poured a couple of fingers.
“The Firm wouldn’t be what it is without him,” he found himself saying, not sure why he was bothering to defend a man causing him so much grief.
“Times change,” Percival said with a quirk of his brow.
The kid wasn’t wrong.
Time did change. So did people.
Lachlan was still trying to live in the past at a time when they could do what they wanted without consequence or fear.
Alfie still did what he wanted, but he had to be more cautious.
As he finished off a glass of scotch, Percival made a low sound in the back of his throat, drawing his attention to him. He knew, even before he checked the monitors, what he would find there. From the moment that he had walked into the hospital room and made it clear, without words, that he had an interest in Vera, it was only a matter of time before the Markovic brothers paid him a visit.
He could count on exactly two fingers the number of men who had been bold enough to confront him face to face about his interest in their sister. Jennifer Blakely, a girl he'd liked well enough to keep her around for a couple of years back when he was first starting out.
She was the sister of one of the men he ran with, someone who had been easy on the eyes and didn't ask unnecessary questions. He had always suspected that she was more interested in him because of what he did rather than the man he was, but so long as his dick was getting wet, he hadn't cared.
Her brother was a surly sort, very much like Ruslan Markovic, but with not nearly the same size of bullocks on him. Alfie wasn't the sort to hide anything, and had he not disliked Roderick as much as he did, he might have given the bloke a heads-up about him banging his sister, but considering he couldn't stand the sight of his ugly mug, he'd never bothered to say a word.
At least until the day Roderick had thought it was time to stand up for his sister when she’d given him some sob story about Alfie breaking it off with her—though she hadn't been completely wrong. He hadn't heard much of what the man said, only knew that he was far too close for his comfort, and Alfie had just reacted.
One punch and it knocked him flat.
That had been the end of that.
This time was different.
Not only because he actually respected Kazimir, but because he fully intended to keep Vera to himself, and it probably wouldn't earn him any favors with her if he knocked out her favorite sibling.
"Give me the room, Percival," he said, reclining back in his chair as he waited for the inevitable.
"You sure about that, boss?"
"S'alright, mate. He's only little. Won't be a problem, at all."
Though he still looked as if he didn't think it was a good idea for Alfie to be meeting with the Russians alone, he left the room, but not before the two Markovic brothers entered his office.
"I don't usually like pop-ups, Kazimir," he said by way of greeting, gesturing for the two to sit if they wanted, "but you've caught me at a good time. What can I do for you?"
He had been doing business with Kazimir and the Bratva for two years, and in all that time, he couldn't think of the last time the man's expression was so serious.
For his little Italian, Violet, maybe.
"You want to explain to me why police are bringing my sister in for questioning in a murder?" he asked as he took a seat, far more comfortable in Alfie’s chair than he should have been.
But that was what happened when a shift in power occurred.
He was no longer just a captain answering to another man's whims and doing what was expected of him. He was the Pakhan, as his people called it. The boss.
"If you wanted an explanation, mate, you could ask the two who took her, couldn't you?"
"We're not fucking playing games here, Alfie," Ruslan cut in, thick arms folded across his chest.
"Watch yourself there, Russian. I might care for your sister, but I couldn't give a shit about you."
He knew he was goading the man, curious to see just how far he would take this—just how far he would go to protect his sister—but besides a brief tightening of his jaw and a flex of his fists, he stood his ground.
If Alfie had to guess, he and Kazimir had had a long conversation before they ever arrived here on his doorstep.
"I like you, Alfie," Kazimir said, still calm and collected, "but I don't like you that fucking much. Answer the question."
His gaze shifted back to him. "I'm sorting it, yeah? Don't need any help from you lot."
"So you're saying you weren't the one to take off Camden's head?"
"If I were, you wouldn't have found the body," he returned easily.
Pointedly.
Kazimir would know that all too well.
"But that's not what you're really here about, is it?" He fought a smile and failed. "Go on and ask what my intentions are."
“Chertovski ublyudok,” Ruslan muttered with a shake of his head.
"That's fucking English bastard to you, mate. Just so we're clear."
"Answer the goddamn question."
Another day, perhaps, Alfie might have taken the remark in stride. He wasn't one to get into his feelings—and he never got upset easily—but after today, and all that he needed to get done, he was in no mood for this shit.
"I don't think there was a question anywhere in there, mate, but even if there were, let me make something clear to you, yeah? Whatever it is I do or don't do with Vera is none of your fucking business. The fact that I haven't shot you right in the fucking face already for barging in here as if I owe you a fucking thing should be testament enough to how I feel about her."
Alfie blinked, not having realized that his hands were pressed against the top of his desk and he'd moved to his feet, staring across at the pair of them. He was on edge and far too wired to deal with blokes years younger than him thinking they could come into his place of business as if they owned it.
The Russians might have owned a fair bit in this city, and probably would have far more by the time Kazimir was done making his presence known to the Italians, but that meant fuck all to Alfie. Because the way he saw it, they still didn't hold a candle to him.
Calming himself, Alfie reclaimed his seat. "Now, to answer the fucking question. Vera is mine—d'you get me? If that wasn't crystal clear to you before, hear me now. She's mine, and if you or he or any of those other fucking Russians have a problem with that, I'll end this war between you and the Italians myself."
Kazimir stared across his desk at him with eyes that were far too familiar. "Don't you fucking sit there and threaten me, Alfie. If you were anyone else, this conversation wouldn't even be happening."
"If you were anyone else, mate, you'd already be dead."
"What the hell does she even see in you?" Ruslan asked, though, judging by the expression on his face, he wasn't actually expecting an answer.
Alfie gave him one anyway. "Same thing his little Italian sees in him," he said with a nod at Kazimir, "and I imagine the same thing your bloke and bit see in you. Oh, was I not supposed to know about that?" he asked when he saw the shift in his expression.
Vera saw the best in him. She saw what no one else did.
The man they had come here to confront wasn't the man she climbed into bed with at night. Never had been. Maybe that might have been the case had they met here, through the acquaintances or something of the sort, but that wasn't what it was.
"I'd never hurt her," he said, voice softer this time. An admission he hadn't expected to make when the two walked into his office. "Not on purpose."
That managed to silence the two for longer than a few seconds.
Kazimir was the first to break the silence. "Good. I'd hate to have to kill you."
"I'd hate to see you try," Alfie returned with a shrug, utterly confident.
"Guess we're fucking stuck with you," Ruslan said as he finally dropped down into the other empty chair. "Welcome to the fucking family."
Chapter 17
The world didn't stop just because her father was dead.
The sun still rose. She still woke up every morning tucked into Alfie's side, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her cheek.
This was her new normal, and she couldn't say she minded very much.
"I'll be late tonight," Alfie had told her before he disappeared out the door early this morning.
While she was getting back into the swing of things, returning to the same life she had before the funeral, Alfie had become closed off and more secretive than usual. He wasn't ready to discuss whatever was bothering him.
The few times she had tried to broach the topic with him, he changed the subject to something else or distracted her until she couldn't remember why she was worried in the first place.
But she also knew that when he was ready to discuss it, he would. So for now, she would give him time.
There was, however, one change she hadn't expected, and that was the new shadow Alfie insisted she have at all times when he wasn't around.
Big Al.
No matter how she protested about not needing a personal security guard—especially one with such a prominent presence as Big Al—Alfie insisted. But considering the two detectives still looking into Camden's murder, she also knew he wouldn't bend on this.
