I open the door to the cottage, and stepping inside, I look at Murat, the soldier I have guarding the woman I stole from Mazur.
“Has she woken up?” I ask.
He shakes his head, glancing toward the bedroom. “But Dr. Bayram said she’s out of the woods. You just missed him. He’ll be back in a couple of hours to check on her.”
“She’s healing?” I ask. It’s not out of concern. I just hope she’ll have information I can use against Mazur.
Mazur nods. “Everything went well with the surgery. Dr. Bayram has her on an IV for medication.”
Letting out a sigh, I walk to the bedroom, then stare down at the unconscious woman. She’s pale as fuck.
She’s probably in her early twenties, her light brown hair now loose and forming a halo around her face. Even though she’s plain-looking, a small button nose and wide mouth give her an innocent look.
“Why were you at Aqua?” I murmur, the need to find out everything she knows making me want to shake her awake.
A soft gasp escapes her, and as her features tighten with pain, her lashes slowly lift, revealing the striking blue eyes that annoyed the ever-loving shit out of me when she bumped into me outside the restaurant.
Jesus, they’re the clearest blue I’ve ever seen.
A frown deepens on her forehead, and the moment I take a step closer to the bed, her gaze snaps to me. Instantly confusion flutters over her face, then she weakly whispers, “You?”
Tilting my head, my eyes sharpen on her, but before I can demand any answers to my questions, her eyes drift shut, and she slips back into unconsciousness.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “You couldn’t stay awake for one minute?” Not having more time to waste, I stalk out of the room and instruct Murat, “Call me when she’s awake.”
Leaving the mansion, Mirac drives me to the club, where Emre’s already hard at work, receiving a shipment of Glocks fitted with tactical flashlights and suppressors from Luca Cotroni that are destined for Nikolas Stathoulis in Vancouver.
Being a part of the Priesthood, a group formed by the five heads of the respective mafias that rule the world, we help each other out.
Years ago, we formed an alliance. I wouldn’t call any of the men friends, but having fought alongside them has tightened the bond between us.
I make sure Luca’s shipments reach Nikolas, and in return, Luca transports weapons to Turkey for me. Once they reach Eymen, my cousin on my mother’s side, he sells them on the black market.
Over the years, we’ve streamlined the entire operation, rarely getting any trouble from rival criminal organizations. They’ve actually become regular customers.
“Everything in order?” I ask Emre as I glance over a beer barrel. The weapons are all in airtight sealed bags with actual beer filling the barrels to cover them. Whenever there’s an inspection, which doesn’t happen often, the guards at the border only find beer.
“Evet. It’s all here,” Emre answers. “We’re loading the truck. As soon as it’s on the road, I’ll call Nikolas with the estimated time of arrival.”
“Good.”
For the most part, we speak English, having practically grown up in Seattle, but some Turkish words have stuck with us, always slipping through in conversation.
I watch as my men load the barrels into our eighteen-wheeler. To make transport across the borders easier, Nikolas opened a club as well. That way, it doesn’t look suspicious that a shipment of alcohol is en route for him.
As soon as the truck leaves the docking yard, Emre and I head back inside and walk to the gambling section. We check that the cleaning staff did a good job and the tables are ready for tonight.
Finding Justin, the manager in charge of the floor, in his office that overlooks the tables, I say, “Give me an update.”
“Everything is running smoothly. I’ve hired a new dealer. He used to work in Las Vegas and has a good eye to catch any card counters.”
“Good,” I murmur.
“Profits are up by five percent,” Emre adds. “Business has been great.”
I smile at my cousin. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Don’t eat all the food,” he calls after me.
Leaving the office, I go upstairs to check with the other floor managers before heading back home.
Just in time for dinner, I take a seat and offer a smile to my grandmother. “Selam, babaanne.”
“Selam,” She returns my greeting. Her eyes, the same light brown as mine, rest warmly on me.
The table is already loaded with food, and we don’t wait long for Emre to arrive and Nisa to join us.
After Emre greets our grandmother, I pick up a spoon and enjoy the Turkish soup. It’s only because of our grandmother and Nisa that we’ve continued our Turkish traditions in America.
For a couple of minutes, we eat in silence, then my grandmother says, “Nisa tells me there’s a woman in the cottage.”