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“Elio,” I answer. “How are things in Chicago?”
“Chicago is good. Stable.” His rough voice sounds like he smokes a pack or two a day, even though I’m not sure the Don of the Cosa Nostra has ever smoked a cigarette in his life. The man is fit, his body a temple that, from my research, knows only sex and is deprived everything else. The guy doesn’t even drink. He did, however, get shot in the throat ten years ago. He’s lucky to have walked away with his life, but what he never did regain was a smooth voice.
What he did to the man who shot him—his own father—is how he got his nickname. The Butcher.
“Good.” I don’t ask why he’s calling. He’ll get to it.
“How’s the new house? I hear it’s charming.”
I grin a slow, methodical grin. “Are you checking up on me, Elio?”
“I check up on everyone.”
“And you want me to know it.” I speak the obvious.
“Your wife is a beautiful little thing,” he says. I stiffen. Elio may be an ally, but I’m no fool. He’s a dangerous man, his methodical lunacy on par with Ilya’s. “She is home now, no?”
“What the fuck are you getting at, Elio.”
“You did not tell me she is Ivan Popov’s daughter.” The slow spill of his words tells me he’s not happy about that omission.
“She was his daughter. Popov is dead.”
“Semantics.”
“How do you know she is his daughter?”
“Artyom increased the bounty he put on her, and I thought, why would he do that? Why does he care so much about this little wife you’ve stolen? So, I looked into it, and it didn’t take long to discover her ties to our world. Artyom is her brother, and he wants her. In fact, I hear he has a buyer lined up. An Arabian prince of oil, if I’m not mistaken.”
“We both know you’re not mistaken,” I grit. Elio is never mistaken. “What is the bounty?”
“Two million. The Arabian wants her alive.” Elio sounds bored. I know he’s anything but. “Apparently, Popov crossed him some time back, and he wants vengeance. He came for Artyom, but Artyom promised him the innocent, hidden daughter, of his enemy instead.” He laughs. “I hear Artyom is getting desperate.”
“Fuck.” The curse slips, my fear leeching into the word.
“Do you have security on her?”
“Of course.”
“Do they know how serious this is?”
“They will soon.”
“I am in Oregon. The Yakuza have been spotted at a compound on the outskirts. If you help me, I will help you.”
“Help you, how?”
“I need Ilya and his men,” Elio says flatly. “In exchange, I will give you two of my best men. They will ensure Artyom’s bounty is not collected.”
“Done.”
I hear his smile. “You don’t need to call The Void?”
“He will do it.”
“Tell him it would be nice if I had a number for him,” Elio mutters.
“Ilya doesn’t give his number out.”
