I’m finishing up my warm-down run when Seamus calls. Snatching my phone from the cradle on the treadmill. I hit the stop button, slowing to a halt as I answer the phone.
“Yeah?”
He sounds tired on the other end of the phone. “We managed to fucking sort everything with the Russians. Yahontov apologized. He said it won’t happen again, and he’ll remove his guests and discipline them outside the club next time.”
Well, thank fuck they defused the situation. I’m sick of all the tension, and fighting clearing out the Romanians brought us. I don’t want more friction fucking up the status quo of my tables.
I snort at Seamus’s update. “Of course he fucking did. Yahontov is at the tables every week. He doesn’t want to be blacklisted.”
“Yahontov’s a good ally to have. He’d have to do much more than that to get blacklisted.”
“I’ll stop by his place today and chat with him.” Stepping off the treadmill, I make my way to my bathroom. “I’ll make sure he knows a table will be reserved for him next week on his usual night.”
“Thanks, Lucky.” Seamus sighs again, and I can hear Tiggy talking to him in the background. “You’ll need to stop by the dealer’s place as well.”
“Yeah.” I rub my eyes. Fucking Jimmy. He’s one of our best dealers. He better not lose it over this. “And Lisa’s.”
“Tell Lisa that if she needs time away from the tables, she’s welcome to some shifts in the VIP room.”
I know that offer will appeal to the woman. She’ll probably get better tips down there. Ringing off, I throw my phone onto my bed, pick out a dark gray suit, and move into the shower.
Niall glowers up at Yahontov’s stately Jamaica Plain home. Sighing, I shoot him a glare.
“What?” he demands, arching an eyebrow.
“I don’t know why Seamus sent you. Ronan or Paddy would have been perfectly suitable. Hell, I’d have taken Liam.”
“Well, ye got me.”
“I’m here for a friendly chat. Walking in with the fucking Reaper isn’t being friendly.”
Niall shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not here to be friendly. I’m here to watch yer back.”
“Well, watch it with less of a sour puss.”
“I’m not sour.”
“Sociopath.”
“I told ye, I’m not.”
Rolling my eyes, I ignore him, striding up to the two-level, red brick home with tall white columns flanking the white door. A Bratok answers my knock, nodding and gesturing for us to enter, his eyes lingering on Niall, who is flanking me.
“I’ll let Yahontov know you’re here.”
“Much obliged.”
I sit on the brown leather sofa in the lounge while Niall stands ominously to the side, his eyes darting everywhere. We don’t have to wait long before a suited man slides into the room. It’s not Yahontov or one of his men. It’s Mikhail fucking Petrov.
“Petrov,” Niall grunts. The Russian’s dark eyes flicker over Niall as he smirks, looking amused.
“Reaper.”
Nial glowers silently, but Petrov turns to me with a nod.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of a meeting with a second Fitzpatrick for the day?"
"I'm just here to see Yahontov. I'm sure you’ve had your fill of Fitzpatricks after spending the night dealing with Seamus.”