Kanyan (Gatti Enforcers #1)

47. Kanyan

47

KANYAN

T he room is heavy with tension, the kind that coils in the air, thick like smoke before a fire. Lucky’s pacing, hands buried in his hair, his breath ragged with frustration. He looks at me like I’ve just asked him to cut his own throat.

"You don’t know what you’re asking me to do," he screeches, his voice cracking under the pressure. "You want me to burn a contact! I’ve known this guy since we were kids!"

I don’t blink. I don’t waver. "I’m not asking you to burn anything," I tell him, my voice low, steady. The kind of calm that unsettles people, that makes them rethink their next move. "I just want you to work him."

Lucky shakes his head, his jaw tightening, his body coiled like a live wire. He’s three degrees away from pulling his head-of-family card. And if he does that, I’ll have to retreat. That’s not the play I want to make. Right now, I’m talking to him as his brother—but I’m also the one handling what’s in the best interests of the city. Not just myself.

I sigh, exasperated. "I don’t think you actually understand what’s at stake here, Lucky. The man tried to kill us all."

Lucky clenches his fists, his breath coming fast. "My contact will round him up eventually. Let him do it. Let him take the credit. Don’t destroy almost a year’s worth of work he’s done."

I step closer, my presence a quiet, looming threat. "I don’t give a fuck about his work, Lucky. Really, I don’t. Get me a meeting with your contact."

His entire body stiffens. His nostrils flare. "The fuck, Kanyan!" he roars, his voice echoing off the walls.

Dante stands by, watching with an amused smile, arms crossed like he’s watching the next round of a boxing match. Scar is nearby too, but he stays out of it. He’s done playing big brother, finally realizing that we all have to shoulder our own responsibilities.

"I’m not asking for the moon," I say, leveling my gaze at Lucky. "I just want a meeting."

Lucky lets out a string of curses under his breath, his body radiating pure frustration. He turns away, walking a tight circle before pulling out his phone. His fingers tighten around it like he wants to crush the damn thing. He paces as he speaks, his words clipped, low. Negotiating. Begrudgingly, but still doing it.

I glance at Attila, who’s flicking a toothpick between his teeth, making something so stupid look effortlessly cool. He smirks. "I think that went rather well, considering."

I scoff but don’t reply. My focus stays on Lucky as he finally lowers his phone, a deep, defeated sigh escaping his lips.

"We need to move," he mutters, his voice strained. "If we’re gonna make the meeting, we need to leave now."

I nod, the fire inside me already burning. It’s time to get this done.

“Didn’t think you’d be needing my services again so soon.”

The school auditorium is a dead place, stripped of students and life, abandoned to time and dust while renovations drag on. The scent of stale air and rotting wood lingers, the quiet pressing down like a weight.

Saxon stands in the center, arms loose at his sides, like he’s ready for a fight. He scans the men at my back, and there’s a flicker in his eyes, quick but telling. He’s impressed. He won’t admit it, but he knows exactly who we are. We’re the necessary evil, the ones who keep worse men—men like Altin Kadri—out of this city. We’re the monsters that stop worse things from creeping in. The good kind of bad.

"Altin Kadri," I say, my voice flat, cold.

Saxon still wears that vagabond getup like he’s playing the part of some street rat informant. But in the dim lighting, his green eyes glow, sharp and calculating.

"I gave you Altin Kadri," he reminds me, his tone laced with mockery. "Not my problem you fucked it up."

He’s got nerve, talking like that when he’s standing in front of Seattle’s finest. Then, like he’s already bored of me, he shifts his gaze to Lucky. There’s something condescending in the way he looks at him, like he’s questioning why we’re even here.

I step forward, closing the space between us. The shift in my stance, the sharp edge to my eyes—it changes something in the room. Saxon notices.

"On a good day, I’m not above begging," I say, my voice a dangerous whisper. "Today is not one of those days."

Give him to me, or I’ll cut you down just as sure as I’ll cut down Kadri.

Saxon flicks his gaze back to Lucky. "Really?"

Lucky meets my eyes, his expression unreadable, but there’s steel in his gaze. "Kanyan," he warns.

I raise a hand, cutting him off. Head of family, my ass. This is going my way, or no way.

I take another step forward, standing nose to nose with the vagabond. "This can go one of two ways," I tell him. "You give me Kadri, and I deal with him my way. Or…" I let the silence stretch, let the anger coil in him like a loaded spring. "Or I throw every possible obstacle in your way and blow your investigation sky high."

His jaw tenses, rage burning in his eyes. He flicks a look toward Lucky, as if searching for some kind of backup, but he finds none. His hands twitch. He wants to hit something, to lash out, but he knows better.

"You wouldn’t," he spits.

I smile, sharp and knowing. "Wouldn’t I? Call. My. Bluff ."

I nod at my men and turn, walking away without looking back. Let him stew in the possibility. Let him weigh his options and realize there’s only one way this ends.

I’m almost at the door when his voice chases me down.

"Stokes Hall!" Saxon calls, desperation curling the edges of his words. "He’s at Stokes Hall."

That’s all I need.

I don’t stop walking.