Pure fucking bliss.
That is probably the best part of my new reality.
Esme.
Phoenix.
Our family.
Being don wouldn’t be so sweet if I didn’t have the two of them with me.
“The cars are out front, boss,” Adrik says, snapping me out of my idle thoughts.
I nod. “Before we leave, sit down for a moment,” I say, looking towards Vasyl and Alexei. “You two as well.”
The three of them sit down, forming a lose circle around me. I open a fresh bottle of whiskey and pour out four glasses.
It’s the first drink I’ve had in months. These days, my drinking has become sporadic. It’s something I engage in on special occasions.
The last time I was drunk was when I’d been in the mountains. Almost a year ago now, drinking away my losses, drowning my demons.
I don’t need to do that anymore.
“We’ve got our shit together,” I tell my underbosses. I pick up my glass of whiskey. “We’ve solidified control of the West Coast and we’ve eliminated threats to the Bratva. But we’ve got more to accomplish. I have plans for all of us.”
Adrik smiles and raises his glass. “To the future of the Bratva.”
We raise our glasses and I take a sip of the rich, bitter whiskey.
“Our future would not have been possible without the sacrifices of others,” I say. “So I propose another toast. To Stanislav,” I say, raising my glass.
My men murmur and toast to Stanislav.
“To Maxim,” I continue.
“To Maxim!”
“To Cillian.”
“To Cillian!”
“You’re really going to toast to me without me?” comes a familiar voice from the doorway. “Pretty damn rude, I’d say.”
I turn.
And the whiskey glass falls from my hand.
It hits the ground and shatters, but I don’t notice. Don’t give a damn.
Because there’s a ghost in the room.
Or at least, I thought it was a ghost.
But Cillian O’Sullivan looks very, very real.
He’s Flesh and bone. Warm. Living.
He’s got a cane in his hand and he leans on it a bit as he crosses the distance between us.