CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
GAGE
“W e lead with a deepfake,” Liam proposes.
I hum, knowing where he’s going because the guys and I can practically read each other’s minds. So much of fieldwork boils down to moving fluidly with your team, thinking as one mind, and of course anticipating what the enemy’s next move is. We fucking nail all of the above. And Ivy is impressive in her own right, not always thinking like us, but reading everything we don’t say.
We’re all currently in Wells’s office on an encrypted conference call with KORT, piecing together a plan to draw out the motherfuckers messing with Ainsley, who is also present for the strategy session. It’s been a few days since our meeting, and the guys and I have talked through some scenarios on our own, but this detail wasn’t part of them. Our best ideas often come on the fly.
Jared Austen just asked how we’d like to send the Morellis and Vittoris a message, which is what Liam was addressing. A flashing billboard isn’t an option this time.
Jared is a brilliant man. He runs The Order, which is a massive organization of high-level professionals throughout the world. But he can’t get inside our heads. We may be on the same side, but that’s still how we prefer it. For this discussion, it’s slowing us the fuck down though.
“A deepfake of Ainsley?” Jared reiterates. “How does that send a message?”
“It doesn’t,” I reply. “It offers a first point of contact.”
“Exactly.” Wells leans back in his chair, swirling his scotch. “It’s indirect, but targeted since it uses their chosen method of communication. They won’t know the sighting of her is fake, but even if they suspect it is, they’ll follow up.”
“And they’ll receive the meeting location once they do?” Payne asks. This is not his area of expertise. As KORT’s financial institution guru, when we have money laundering issues, he’s our man. But he doesn’t have his own nefarious organization of professionals or a Mafia family behind him. He’s got the keys to our financial kingdom to protect himself, but other than KORT trials or weighing in on joint ventures, he’s a bit green in this arena.
“That depends on how smooth it goes,” Ty answers, his face lined with anxiety because he is adamantly against throwing Ainsley to the wolves and enraged that we’ve been backed into this corner. “This will allow us to gauge their initial intentions before we give them any specifics.”
“Due to their tactics,” Axel clarifies. He’s not necessarily well-versed in these types of jobs, but he’s been privy to countless takedown discourses at La Lune Noire. The man has a wealth of white-collar-criminal secrets, so he’s got no issue with keeping pace here.
“Right.” Ivy finally jumps in from her chair next to Wells. She’s been allowing us to lead the strategy session up to this point. “If they want something from her, they’ll approach anyone they believe to be her carefully, intent on bringing her in unharmed. If they come guns blazing, we know they’re only seeking retribution. Not only does the first point of contact afford her an extra layer of protection, but it will help us strategize better to obtain the media intel we want.”
Looping the media prize into that exposition was Ivy strengthening our sales pitch and shielding my girl. As much as we can.
I steal a glance at Ainsley to see how she’s faring through this. She instructed me not to fuss because there’s nothing she can’t handle. And she’s certainly projecting that demeanor. She’s curled up on the couch beside me, her hands hidden inside the sleeves of her hoodie, bare legs tucked up tight to her chest so her shorts practically vanish. Cozy, as though she were settling in for a movie. I’ve been keeping a hand on her—massaging her neck, scratching her back, stringing my fingers through her hair—so she remembers she isn’t alone.
She doesn’t say anything, just soaks the conversation in. She’s the bravest person I’ve ever known, which is astounding, considering my line of work. I knew it the first time I laid eyes on her. There was a fierceness she couldn’t hide. In that way, she was very much her father’s daughter. Destined to face the harshest criminals but expect them to cower, no matter how outnumbered she was.
She may have been trapped with those abusive bastards all these years, but she only showed them mercy so she could find our son. Seconds after discovering he was gone, she killed her captors. No qualms about diving into a fire to extinguish monsters. I’m not sure if she even grasps how rare that level of courage is. But it’s glaringly obvious now, as we all talk about leading the people who are hunting her right to us, and she poses no objections. Most grown men would fucking weep.
“We’ll utilize both social media and a tabloid-ish news outlet that does celebrity and America’s Most Wanted sightings,” Liam explains, perusing information on his laptop. “We can have other big names mixed in so it catches wind on socials. We’ll stage it in a non-extraditing country so the FBI is less inclined to follow up. And we should have a bite within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
“Go with the Maldives,” Wells orders. “We’ve got real-estate connections there. We can purchase a safe house away from other properties so no innocents are harmed if they intend to take her out. We’ll station a small team there.”
Liam’s fingers thunder over his keyboard. “I’ll create another pic, too, en route.”
“Make it a transfer city,” Ty advises. “They’ll recognize it as a logical pass through, which will have them believing authenticity may be possible.”
“Okay,” Jared breaks in, eager to move forward. “We’ll let you all handle that. Let’s outline next steps for either scenario.”
“The first scenario is clear-cut. If they try to fucking kill her, the team takes them out, and we consider them too hostile to negotiate with,” I snarl, heat rushing my face. “It ends there.”
“That’s not an option,” Payne retorts, which is unsurprising. “I agree we’ll need to proceed cautiously, but that media conglomerate poses too big of a threat to KORT. We won’t be stopping until the source is uncovered and eliminated.”
“Even if we find them,” Ivy argues, “another one could pop up. I want them as much as anyone. They’ve fucked over several of my politicians. For far too long. From what we’re finding, it was even before I took the seat. So, O’Reilly skin is in this game on all fronts. But if they come for Ainsley, think they killed her, and move on, maybe we should too. And find another avenue to fight the media coverage.”
“We can’t.” Jared’s resolve is unwavering. As the only original member of KORT, his voice carries more weight than the rest. It’s an unspoken authority, but there nonetheless. “Yes, the media is always a threat. There are dozens of these groups trying to gain control, buy their way in. But this one has become too powerful. They’ve infiltrated nearly ninety percent of media sources.”
He groans, the stress he’s carrying radiating into the room through the speaker. “It’s alarming. The messages they’ve scripted are everywhere. And, with the accusations they’ve slung, it’s clear they believe the mess with the Morellis being in the Balzano house, Glines’s and Vargas’s involvement with Ainsley, and her executing their administration all stem from KORT directive. So, they will come after us. The only reason they haven’t is because they suspect we have her or have information about her. She’s the bridge.”
For a split second, Ainsley’s dauntless veneer cracks. It’s probably not discernable to the rest of the family, but I see it. The moment she realizes what she’s up against. That she fled a nightmare, only to fall into the clutches of an organization that needs to ensnare the Morellis as much as she needs to escape them. And while she already knew that to a degree, the probability of those two interests not aligning is hard to ignore after what Jared laid out.
But then my girl dusts herself off, drops her feet to the ground, and straightens her posture. “Understood,” she says. “Why don’t we simply assume I have something they want, and if they ambush the team placed in the Maldives, we’ll deal with that then? The contingency plan for them cooperating is more important right now.”
Wells drags his hand over his mouth, pondering everything she said. He dips his chin to her before piggybacking on her suggestion. “Agreed. Since they suspect we have her, the alternative is war anyway. Not against Ainsley. Against KORT.”
Jared will likely still view Ainsley as both the cause of the war and treaty to end it. He’ll never consider her an innocent seeking protection because she’s splattered in blood. He might hate the Morelli Mafia, but she’s still a traitor. She killed her own family, and her association with two FBI agents paints her as a snitch. All things he’d execute for. We all would. And we had the same impressions in the beginning. So, we can’t even fault him for it.
But Wells backed her up with a strong spin on the situation. Jared and Payne probably expected that since I attempted to claim her. It’s no secret that we view her as part of our family, but at least it’s clear we won’t simply roll over for whatever path they pave.
The only reason I haven’t shut it all fucking down and told Jared exactly where he can shove it is because while Ainsley is bait for KORT, they’re our shiny decoy. The Morellis have always been thirsty for power. A meeting with KORT will surge through them like a drug. I’m assuming the Vittoris are the same. So, I’ll play nice for now because I want the motherfuckers messing with her to show themselves. The thought of their blood actually has me salivating.
Limb from fucking limb.
Unfortunately, the route to get to them is harrowing. One step at a time.
Scorch. Stack. Salt.
“We should finalize the message we’re presenting them,” Ivy submits. She rarely helps herself to a cocktail during work meetings, but she reaches over, snags Wells’s finger’s worth of scotch, and finishes it off in a single gulp.
It’s safe to say we’re all feeling the weight of this.
“Let’s hold it at La Lune Noire,” Axel offers. “There has been nothing leaked regarding my KORT involvement. It will appear to be neutral territory. And I think you’re all aware that many of the high-stakes poker games we host in our private club have nothing to do with cards. It won’t be questioned. And we can control it.”
Christ, I love that man. Other than the people in this house, the Noires are as close as we get to family. Axel has been the one soul we’ve trusted since we were first erased. We needed someone then, a contact who wasn’t from the government and could give us insider tips for our cases. He never fails us.
“That’s the way to go,” Jared responds, which feels like a small win. “Let’s wrap this up and connect via the chat once the deepfake is set to post. Axel, compose meeting arrangements like you would for any other negotiation and pass those details to Wells.”
The call ends, and Wells strokes his forehead, glancing at Ainsley. “It’s a decent plan to start. We’ll see if they come friendly or firing, and then we’ll respond.”
Her lips tick up into a blasé smile, but her Arctic blues are glossy. “Sounds solid to me.”
He rips out his bag of candy, mining his treasures, still intent on reassuring her. “La Lune Noire offers us a massive advantage.”
“That’s what I figured.” She squeezes my thigh, alerting me that she’s about to excuse herself.
“It’s okay to be pissed and scared with us,” Ivy tells her.
That effectively pins Ainsley to her seat.
She blows out an unsteady breath. “I know.” Her focus drifts down to the floor as she slides her hands beneath her thighs, likely to conceal a tremble. “You’ve all been so kind, and I am so grateful for how you backed me up on that call. That’s already … a lot. More than I could’ve ever asked of you. It’s just easier for me to focus on the battle, not the stakes of the war.”
And that sums it up. She’s not afraid to be in the line of fire. She’s terrified to be loved.
To accept it, trust it, lose it.
“We can’t let you do that,” Ty insists, and despite how closed off Ainsley is, he wedges himself between her and the armrest of the couch like he would with any of the other girls, causing Ivy to giggle as he wraps his arm around Ainsley’s stiff shoulders. “You have to remember what the stakes are. That’s what sets us apart.”
I resist the urge to snatch her away and plaster myself to her like a protective shield—not from Ty, of course. Simply because I want to be her everything. But I want her to have everything even more. And they’re it.
She laughs, though it’s shaky. “And what’s that? World domination? Media control?”
“That’s what KORT is fighting for.” Ty holds up his hand to Wells, who understands the gesture, grinning and tossing him his rolled-up candy bag. “KORT is only our work. We fight for each other, Skittles.”
Ty pulls her palm out from beneath her leg and pours some orange Sour Skittles into it.
Her chest deflates like she’s been punched. Thirty years of being used, manipulated, berated, and abused takes its toll. It makes the good hurt and the truth sound like lies. She’s so strong, but so broken.
Maybe I recognize it because I’ve been broken myself, but watching this scene unfold reinforces how all my suffering was worth it. If it got me here, to her, my missing piece, to be able to give her them—even within this godforsaken fucked-up situation—I’d endure it all again.
I keep rubbing Ainsley’s back while she attempts to collect herself, closing her fingers over the treat that we all know represents far more than candy. Ty told me about Rena screaming that Ainsley’s love of orange meant she belonged with us, and as ludicrous as that would sound to an outsider, it makes perfect sense for who we are.
The simple pleasures and lasting scars bind us. When life is one fire after another, that’s all you carry with you.
“Jesus Christ. Nothing is safe in this house. Fucking Goldilocks strikes again,” Liam jeers, and Ainsley dissolves into a fit of laughter.
“Skittles, Goldilocks—nicknames,” Ivy squeals. “There’s no turning back now. They only nickname you when they’re determined to keep you.”