Chapter Twenty-One
“Okay, so first question—who in the fuck are the Escondido ?” Dionysus growls out from over the opposite shoulder of a very perplexed-looking Zeus. Our team lead is still scrolling back and forth through the Herald’s roster announcement as if the answer is right there, waiting to jump out of the screen.
“I’ve never heard of them,” he mutters without looking up. “They must have formally registered their Southern affiliation with the Red Court sometime between the Arbiter’s announcement and the deadline for nominations.”
I lean in, scanning the whole message for myself, before zeroing in on the line with the unknown nominees.
FACTION: ESCONDIDO CARTEL // De León, Diego; De León, Javier; De León, Luis;
My forehead wrinkles as I parse through what was certainly one of the more stand-out observations of the night for me. The shock of encountering a group of Underworld denizens that I had never seen nor heard of before— at a Symposium, no less —is hard to forget.
A group of six, dark-haired men. Unknown faction. Unidentifiable tattoos. Lead candidate standing in second position from left. Particular interest shown toward Chiron.
“I think I may have seen them there,” I finally say, with a quick look at Knox. “You said you’d never seen cartel markings like that before.”
Our deputy Enforcer nods, shoulders curling forward in thought. His shaggy locks are pulled back in a low bun, while his massive biceps and broad torso are fighting to stay contained within a forest-green Henley.
“The Hidden Cartel— cute , by the way. But yeah, I guess their ink would fit with an outfit from that region,” he replies, jaw working in thought.
“Regardless, they’ve got three guys in the ring. All sharing the same name. Could be sons, but could also be younger brothers, nephews, or cousins,” I say, as I continue to mull over the bizarre roster entry out loud. “And, side note—it looks like I was right about the O’Sullivan and Reilly mobs joining forces. Aiden and Benjamin are the nephews of the Mobs’ two Skippers. And then Trick’s nomination is his eldest son.”
Zeus glances up at me from his phone. “They’re in your report?”
“They’re at the top of the list now, for sure.”
“What report?” Apollo cuts in sharply.
I watch Zeus’s profile, amused at the jump of his pulse point as he works to iron out the scowl that wants to take over his face. Apparently, he doesn’t like his younger brother’s demanding tone of voice.
A little too close to home, Capitano?
“Sabine is expected to prepare a report, listing each identifiable patron in attendance Sunday night,” he explains evenly.
Four sets of eyes instantly swivel back to me.
“Librarian, remember? That’s why I was there in Themis. To take all the data that we’ve ever compiled about the Underworld—physical descriptions, identifying markers, faction signets, et cetera—and use it to identify each guest. I then report that list back to the Grey Men, along with any particularly significant interactions or conversations.”
“But no one was allowed phones or recording devices,” Ares insists. His expression is particularly dubious.
“I know,” I say with a pained smile .
“Then how would you even remember all of that?”
With a sigh, I push the hair back from my left temple. “I know you’ve all seen my scar.”
It’s hard to miss. Even after almost seven years, the scar there is still prominent.
“I was in a car accident when I was twelve. Traumatic brain injury—only it left me with what is basically a supercharged photographic memory.”
Apollo leans forward then, the look on his face oddly expectant. He probably has a million questions to test me with. Most people do.
But all he asks quietly is, “When you were twelve?”
I drop my hand back to my lap and offer him a half-hearted shrug. “So I’m told. I have no memories of anything before the accident.”
There’s an eerie moment of silence while each of the Rox Boys stares at me in mute shock.
Before Apollo can open his mouth again, Hermes whispers brokenly, “You don’t remember…anything?”
“Uh—” I start before Ares leans forward to grab the couch behind Apollo.
“Nothing?” he grits and the vicious scowl he shoots me has confusion pinching my own brows together.
My eyes dart over to Hades. My lips roll in when I see the hollow expression on his bladed features. “Nope.”
“But—” Hermes tries before his words seem to fail him. His head drops forward, shielding the rest of his face from me.
Was that a…bottom lip wobble?
I jolt when Zeus’s warm palm slips over the thin material of my leggings to squeeze my thigh. “Right now, I’m more concerned with the first Labor,” he cuts in smoothly, and I could just about fucking kiss him. “We only have forty-eight hours to both locate and engage the target. So what do we know about Senator Georgiou?”
I can still feel the weight of four sets of questioning eyes fixated on the side of my head where my scar is. I keep my eyes trained on the mole on the back of his left hand instead.
“ Senator Leandros Adrian Georgiou, 43. Multi-term Class III Senator for the State of Washington. Staunchly Republican. Married for eighteen years, with three children,” I recite, drolly.
“And why would Concordia want us to quote, unquote search for bones in the lion’s den ?” Zeus throws out to the room. He’s got the phone unlocked again and is back to staring accusing holes at it.
“No—it said not to go searching in the lion’s den,” I correct, a small crease lining my forehead.
“Okay, not to.” Zeus nods. “But it lists this first Labor as a neutralization task— not a discovery task. Do we think the search would then be figurative instead of literal?”
My finger rubs along my scar as I consider.
It very specifically says neutralization. The word may have multiple connotations in other settings, but in the Underworld, it only means one thing.
If we go by Occam's razor , then there’s a good fucking chance the Red Court has simply sent us a generic kill order wrapped up with a pretty word puzzle bow.
So if that’s the case, we’re better off just concentrating on the target itself.
“The last sweep we ran on the House of Representatives and the Senate showed he was likely to be a swing vote on an upcoming bipartisan bill. If it passes, the new legislation would grant additional surveillance powers for any agencies involved in federal investigations,” I muse out loud.
Dio leans in around the chair and tickles my hip. “Can you translate that into Neanderthal for us, babygirl?”
I shoot him a considering side-eye, knowing he’s prompting for the sake of our newly minted teammates.
“In the most basic terms, it would allow the powers that be to use the claim of an emerging threat to national security to be able to legally hack, wiretap, monitor, spy —you name it—without having to obtain a warrant first,” I explain. “An ask forgiveness kind of deal. Although, they wouldn’t even be expected to provide credibility for the claim, just be able to justify their suspicions .”
Apollo leans forward, steepling his hands. The movement involuntarily pulls my focus. “When you say powers that be, does that extend to the Imperium ?”
“If they have enough pull at the Federal level, yes. Imagine being able to run a carte blanche tap or trace on a competing faction?” I nod, rolling my wrist.
“Or a Sovereign,” Apollo adds, pointedly.
“Or a Sovereign,” Zeus agrees, dragging his fingers down the side of his beard.
I’m still watching the stroke of his hand down his cheek when it suddenly dawns on me that while I might have been correct about concentrating on the target—I had the angles all wrong .
I shouldn’t have been concentrating on who the target was , but who they were targeted by.
“ Or …an organization responsible for governing an entire criminal empire,” I blurt.
“ Fuck, ” comes a chorus of cursing realizations.
“So the Red Court’s just using this as an opportunity to protect its own ass?” Dionysus grimaces.
“Does neutralization mean literally assassinating an actual member of the United States Senate?” Apollo asks, carefully holding my eyes now. “Or do they want us to simply remove him from office?”
There’s a thoughtful look on his face that’s such a mirror to Zeus’s that it’s almost scary. From our recruitment screening, I already knew he was highly intelligent. He speaks at least three languages, plays several sports and instruments, and is on track for a spot in the pre-med program at the University of Roxborough. Nobody will come close to shaking his spot for Valedictorian, either.
But what the file didn’t—or couldn’t —tell me was how analytical and observant he was under pressure. How detail-oriented and forward-thinking he could be.
“That’s still unclear, but my gut feeling says this has to do with the vote,” I hum. “Which points to termination.”
“The guy must have skeletons in his closet,” Ares’s roughened baritone cuts in. “Show me a politician who doesn’t?”
My fingers dig into the armrest of Zeus’s chair. He makes a good point. We could use any leverage to smoke him out.
Before I can voice my agreement, however, a third encrypted chime floats out across the room.
My stomach instantly sinks.
That sound can only mean one thing.
“C’mon, man,” D groans, dropping his head back. “I haven’t even cleaned my Rugers yet.”
“What is it?” Apollo demands imperiously.
Zeus doesn't bat a lash this time, too busy frowning down at his phone. There’s a small tremor in his index finger as he slides open a new update from the Herald.
I silently read over his shoulder, confirming my suspicion.
〉〉〉〉 START OF ENCRYPTED MESSAGE
〉〉〉 THE TWELVE LABORS OF SUCCESSION
〉〉 TRIAL I
〉 NOTICE OF LABOR TASK STATUS UPDATE
├ STATUS: NEUTRALIZATION COMPLETE
├ TARGET: SENATOR LEANDROS ADRIAN GEORGIOU, 43
├ LOCATION: Fortunate Islands
├ ACHIEVED: Proof of termination received 21 min from digital receipt of message
├ VICTOR: ESCONDIDO CARTEL
Jesus fuck.
Less than half an hour has elapsed since the first Labor’s task was officially announced.
Twenty minutes for a wholly new and wholly untested third party to waltz into the Southern trenches and place their finger on the Crown.
When nobody answers Apollo, he tries again, “What does it say ? ”
Zeus’s eyes flick up, his expression now grim. “First Labor’s over—the new player already neutralized the target.”
“The fuck?!” Ares bellows after Zeus finishes reading out the message for everyone else. “ Already? How?”
“Yes, the proof of termination was attached. Sabine?” Zeus angles his screen.
The now lifeless brown eyes of Senator Georgiou stare up at me in hi-res, the proof a neat entry wound in the center of his forehead. There are no other signs of trauma, and his olive skin has yet to show signs of lividity, further supporting that the photo was taken immediately after death. Everything about the hit was quick, clean, and professional.
“Clean,” Dio echoes my thoughts aloud, leaning down next to my cheek.
I hum my agreement, and confirm, “It’s definitely him.”
“He was apparently taken down somewhere only referred to as the Fortunate Islands,” Zeus continues. “I’m assuming the Red Court would do their due diligence, but I’d still like to double-check the location.”
Looking up, he pins Hermes with a considering look. I follow his gaze before I can catch myself, wincing when I see the still-morose look on the other end of it. “If I flick this over to you, can you verify the photo’s EXIF data?”
Hermes immediately perks up at that and my chest loosens.
But then I realize there’s a much bigger problem here than just verifying whether or not the Labor took place there.
The problem is with the location itself.
Fortunate Islands.
I thought I knew every single territory in both the South and the North, neutral or otherwise.
Every territory registered before the Symposium, it seems.
“Sabine?” Zeus prompts.
“No, I’ve never seen the name before,” I murmur.
“We’ll need the coordinates as well,” he says to Hermes, just as the blond in question holds up his phone.
“Time stamp lines up, but without an official record of the place, the location data is useless as verification,” he says with something like an apologetic grin. “The GPS does put it off the coast of Virginia, though.”
“There’s no other information in the message?” Knox asks, his deep voice making me glance up.
I shake my head. “Nope, just confirmation that this completely unknown Cartel outfit managed to somehow complete this task in twenty-one minutes.”
“Could’ve just been a lucky break?” he offers as he runs a large hand along his chin. He’s got several days of growth coming in.
“They just happened to have someone on this Island when the text message came, a staff member or guard, who just happened to know who the Senator was on sight?” Apollo scoffs.
“Twenty minutes means the neutralization was always meant to be a kill, not extortion or something more nuanced,” Zeus adds.
Everyone in the room shares their murmured agreement.
“So what does this mean for us?” Ares asks, huge tattooed fingers strangling the life out of the poor couch again. The mood in the room definitely feels deflated in the wake of the Cartel’s decisive start to the Labors.
“As anti-climatic as it was, that was only the first task.” Zeus leans forward then, phone dangling between his fingers as he runs a steady gaze over our makeshift team. “The next one will be announced next Sunday. And we just have to hope to God we’re not walking into a trap.”