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Rixon sighed. “No, not our first. Things have been quiet with them lately. No hits. No retaliation.”
“What about the New York Italians or the Boston Hispanics?”
“The Mafia?” Maverick asked, wrapping his knuckles soundlessly against the tabletop in thought. The platinum ring on his middle finger glinted with each rise and fall of his hand.
My eyes shifted around the table. “It’s not an impossibility, right?”
“No, it’s not,” Rixon supplied. “But starting a turf war with us wouldn’t be in their best interest.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been working with Vasily Markov. He’s our new supplier of AK-47s. If the Italians or Hispanics fucked with us, they’d be fucking over the Russians, too, and they don’t have the sort of manpower in the US to take on the Bratva.”
Jesus, fuck.
I looked at Rixon. “The Hunt run guns now?”
Kaash spoke before the president could. “A lot’s changed since you went away. Allegiances have changed, too.”
I frowned. “No shit.” It was my own fault. I hadn’t wanted to know—plausible deniability and all—but the guns were a shock. Before I went away, Rixon was adamant that we wouldn’t get involved.
Rixon glared at Kaash before saying, “Markov provides us with the product that we run into Canada.”
“And sell them to who?”
“The Arcaro Crime Family.”
Shit. The Calabrians. “I thought they were at war with the Russians.”
Kaash said, “As long as nobody tells the Canadians about it, it’s fair game.”
I shifted my attention from my VP to my president, holding Rixon’s gaze. “We haven’t gotten back into drugs, too, have we?”
“No. Our legit businesses are tiding us over. The strip club, Muse, is our biggest earner. We’re making good money there?—”
“But we could be making more,” Kaash interjected.
Prez turned to him, and that same tension I felt when I walked into the clubhouse suddenly filled the room—suffocating in its animosity. “I’ve already told you this is something we’d discuss in private.”
“Why should it be in private?” Kaash replied with a sneer. “This affects the whole club. Thedecisionshould involve every goddamned member of this club.”
Nash shifted in his seat, his eyes flickering between Rixon and his VP. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Rixon said, silencing Kaash with a dark glare. “It’s nothing that needs to be discussed now. What’s on the table right now is getting revenge for Nick.” Sweeping his gaze across the men, he asked, “What other possibilities are there?”
Ryker rubbed a hand along his jaw. “It could be a complete freak fucking accident. Wrong time, wrong place kind of thing?”
“I find that hard to believe,” Vox replied. “Too fucking much of a coincidence.”
“Why would you say that?” Jaxon asked from across the other side of the table.
“Nick was getting released from prison the week after. I think it was strategic.”
“You’re fucking talking out of your ass,” Kaash snapped, leaning back in his chair. “I fuckingknowwho it was.”
My fingers gripped the edge of the table in front of me, and a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I glanced over at Maverick.
“Kaashthinkshe knows who it is,” Rixon said, his tone hard. “But what he really has is a fucking hunch without any evidence.”
