Chapter 32
DANTE
Rain continues tapping against the windshield while I sit behind the wheel watching the entrance of the bar through streaked glass.
Every instinct I have is telling me that this is a terrible fucking idea.
Leigh’s been inside almost fifteen minutes now.
I take another drag from my cigarette before movement inside the bar catches my attention.
Finnic’s standing in front of her booth now.
My jaw tightens immediately.
From here, I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I can see enough to know Leigh’s doing what she does best.
Manipulating.
She’s leaning back against the booth with one hand around a wine glass while Finnic watches her like she somehow interrupted his entire night just by existing.
I hate how good she is at this shit.
Even from across the street, I can tell she’s pretending to be someone else.
The posture’s different and her smile is entirely too soft.
It almost reminds me of the version of her from years ago.
Before Gabriel hardened every piece of her.
Finnic sits down in front of her and says something else, and Leigh laughs.
My teeth grit together so hard my jaw starts to ache.
Watching another man make her laugh while I sit helplessly in a car outside feels like swallowing glass.
A few minutes later, Leigh finally stands from the booth and Finnic’s eyes follow her immediately.
The guy looks completely fucking dazed.
Leigh says something else before sliding past him toward the exit.
He sits there staring after her.
The passenger door opens a few seconds later before she slides back into the SUV smelling heavily like cigarette smoke, and wine.
I immediately look toward her. “What happened?”
She shuts the door before exhaling softly and leaning back into the seat.
“I lied,” she mutters while brushing damp hair away from her face. “Told him I forgot my father has some political event tomorrow and I needed to leave.”
I stare at her for a second. “What about before you were leaving? What did you talk about?”
She shrugs one shoulder slightly while staring out toward the bar again. “We barely even talked.”
I start the SUV again slowly. “Did he say anything about Marco?”
Her expression shifts slightly afterward. “I didn’t ask.”
“Leigh.”
She exhales quietly through her nose before finally looking toward me again. “He’s grieving,” she says simply. “Like genuinely grieving.”
“He looked destroyed,” she continues more quietly now while rain slides down the windows around us. “The Sidorovs found somebody emotional enough to manipulate and pointed him directly at Marco.”
Leigh crosses her arms tightly over her chest afterward, eyes lingering on the bar while I pull away from the curb and ease the SUV back onto the street.
“For now,” she says quietly, “we’ll leave him alone.”
I glance toward her briefly. “That’s not what you wanted twenty minutes ago.”
“No,” she admits softly. “But now I think we have more important issues to deal with than a boy who has coping problems.”
I exhale quietly through my nose before deciding to leave the subject alone for now.
Through the rearview mirror, I catch one last glimpse of Finnic Lawson standing on the sidewalk outside of the bar, watching as we drive away.
The drive back to Manhattan is quiet.
Leigh stays turned toward the passenger window the whole ride back.
She’s thinking too hard or too much about something.
I know that look all too well.
Once we pull into the garage beneath her building, she immediately reaches for the door handle.
“Leigh.”
She pauses slightly but doesn’t look at me.
“If anything changes with Finnic,” she murmurs, “you call me first.”
I stare at the side of her face for a second.
The concern in her voice catches me slightly off guard.
“You’re worried about him now?” I ask.
Leigh finally glances toward me then, eyes still heavy with thought. “I think he’s grieving and being manipulated at the same time.” She exhales softly through her nose before looking away again. “That combination makes people dangerous.”
I lean back slightly against the seat while watching her. “If he becomes a problem, I’ll handle it.”
“The Sidorovs handed him the idea,” she says immediately. “They need to be handled.”
Silence settles inside the SUV for a moment, then finally she reaches for the handle again.
“Wait.”
She pauses once more.
This time when she looks back at me, the irritation’s mostly gone from her face. Now she just looks tired.
“Catch up on some rest tonight, I’ll keep you updated,” I mutter.
A faint humorless smile pulls at the corner of her mouth and then she pushes the door open afterward, stepping out into the garage.
I roll down the electric-powered window. Her heels echo softly against the concrete while she heads toward the elevators.
Halfway there, she stops suddenly and turns slightly back toward me.
“Don’t do anything stupid tonight.”
I lean my head back against the headrest slightly. “You know me better than that.”
The look she gives me says she absolutely does not believe that.
Seconds later, she steps into the elevator and the doors slide shut behind her.
I stare at the closed elevator doors for a moment before finally grabbing my phone and calling Viktor.
He answers immediately. “You done playing chauffeur?”
“I just dropped her off if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Good.” I hear muffled music on his end. “Because we’re outside the Sidorov bar already.”
I exhale a breath and shift the SUV back into drive.
“I’m on my way.”
Three black SUVs are already parked nearby when I pull up.
Viktor’s leaning against one while four of our guys stand nearby beneath the alley lights.
Everybody’s already armed.
I step out into the cool air and slam the door shut behind me.
Viktor glances toward me while pulling his ski mask down over his face. “You finally done playing house, or should we give you another minute?”
“Fuck you.”
A smirk pulls faintly at the corner of his mouth. “Relax. I’m just saying, you basically are fucking the female version of me. Angry, emotionally unavailable, and violent.”
“She’s not emotionally unavailable. And she’s not violent,” I mutter while walking towards the back of Viktor’s truck.
“Whatever you say,” Viktor mutters, a low chuckle leaving him.
I drop the tailgate and pull one of the black duffel bags closer.
The zipper tears open loudly before revealing ski masks and extra magazines, enough magazines to turn the entire block into a war-zone.
I grab one of the black masks and pull it over my head before checking the magazine in my handgun. It’s loaded and good to go.
Beside me, Viktor chambers a round into his own weapon before glancing toward the sign that’s glowing gold across the street.
“My father wants answers first.” He says.
I let out a humorless laugh. “Then they better answer quick.”
One of our guys checks the shotgun in his hands while another slides a knife into the sleeve of his jacket.
“You ready?” Viktor asks.
I rack the slide on my gun. “Lock the doors after we get inside.”
Right after the words come out of my mouth, we’re all moving as one towards the Sidorov establishment.
One guy standing outside barely even has time to react before Viktor grabs him and slams his face into the brick wall hard enough to drop him instantly.
Then I shove the front door open.
The entire place freezes the second our men start pouring through the entrance.
For half a second, nobody inside moves. I don’t think they expected us to actually walk into their territory and start a war inside their own fucking bar.
Then reality hits them and chaos explodes.
One Russian reaches for a gun under the bar, but he’s too slow.
The first shot explodes through the room loud enough to rattle every liquor bottle behind the counter.
Screaming erupts immediately afterward and people automatically dive beneath tables.
One of the Sidorov soldiers barely gets halfway out of his chair before Viktor shoots him straight through the throat and blood sprays across the jukebox behind him.
Another guy bolts toward the back hallway while reaching inside his jacket.
I shoot two bullets directly into his back before he’s able to pull his weapon.
Gunfire tears through the bar while glass explodes everywhere around us. Somebody screams in Russian from the back hallway, probably alerting more of their people of what’s going down.
The music’s somehow still playing underneath all the chaos, but it’s distorted now beneath gunshots and screaming.
One of the tattooed-men tries ducking beneath the counter before Viktor reaches over and violently drags him back up by the collar.
“Where’s your boss?” Viktor snarls.
The guy laughs before spitting blood near Viktor’s feet. “Я тебе ни черта не скажу.”
I don’t know much Russian, but the academy drilled enough of it into my head that I catch the meaning immediately.
I glance toward Viktor. “He said he’s not telling you shit.”
Viktor pistol-whips him hard enough to spray blood across the liquor shelves.
I move deeper into the bar while another Russian suddenly lunges out from one of the booths with a knife.
Not again. Fuck no.
He barely gets close enough to swing before I catch his wrist and slam his head into the table hard enough to crack the wood beneath him.
I follow that with a gunshot straight to his head.
The sound rings violently through the room.
Broken glass crunches beneath my boots while another one of our guys drags somebody screaming out of the back office.
“Found another one!”
I hear footsteps scrambling behind me and glance over my shoulder long enough to see terrified customers rushing toward the exits trying to escape the bloodbath erupting around them.
One of our guys slams the front doors shut again after the last group stumbles into the sidewalk outside.
The lock clicks loudly over the silence in the bar.
I slowly turn back toward the guy that one of our men dragged out from the office hallway.
Blood pours from his nose while he struggles against the grip on his arms, boots scraping uselessly across broken glass scattered all over the floor.
Viktor wipes blood from his lips with the back of his hand before crouching down slightly in front of the guy.
“Now,” he says, “let’s try this again.”
This Russian tries to spit blood on him, but Viktor immediately grabs him by the hair and slams his face down onto the edge of the pool table hard enough to crack one of his teeth against the wood.
The guy screams.
I lean against the nearby booth while reloading my gun slowly.
“You framed the wrong fucking family member,” I mutter.
The Russian laughs weakly through blood anyway. “Your family-” He coughs, sputtering out more blood and then continues, “is already destroying itself.”
Viktor’s expression darkens instantly.
Then he pulls the knife from the back of his waistband and drives it directly through the guy’s hand into the pool table beneath it.
The scream that leaves him after that is loud enough to cut through the music still humming overhead.
“Careful,” Viktor mutters coldly while leaning closer. “You’re starting to irritate me.”
The Russian’s breathing turns ragged while blood spreads across the green felt beneath his pinned hand.
I step closer afterward, crouching slightly in front of him.
“Who told Finnic Lawson that Marco Genovese killed Maya?”
The guy clenches his jaw tightly.
Viktor twists the knife deeper through his hand to prove a point.
The Russian immediately chokes on another scream.
“WHO?” Viktor roars.
“I did!” he gasps desperately. “But he ordered it!”
Viktor’s eyes narrow immediately. “He who?”
The Russian coughs violently, blood spilling down his chin while his hand remains pinned to the pool table beneath Viktor’s knife.
“My boss,” he gasps out desperately.
I step closer, crouching slightly in front of him again while smoke still hangs thick in the air around us.
“Your boss ordered you to frame Marco?” I ask coldly.
The guy shakes his head rapidly. “Yes, but- No, somebody else requested it.”
My jaw tightens slowly beneath the ski mask.
“Fucking who?” I snarl.
“Please,” he chokes out weakly. “I only heard the name one time-”
Viktor twists the knife deeper through his hand once again.
The scream that leaves him echoes violently through the ruined bar.
“Fucking say it!” Viktor roars again.
The guy finally breaks.
“Armani!” he screams desperately. “Some political guy named Armani, that’s all I know, please-”
My entire body goes still.
That.. motherfucker.
Elliot fucking Armani.
Viktor slowly lifts his eyes toward mine from the blood-covered bar floor.
Why the fuck..
Viktor shakes his head.
The Russian starts panicking immediately after saying it like he already knows he fucked up.
“I swear that’s all I know,” he rambles quickly. “Please, please-”
Viktor rips the knife free from the guy’s hand.
Then without hesitation, he drives it straight into the side of his neck.
Blood sprays instantly across the pool table while the Russian chokes violently, hands clawing uselessly at the knife lodged deep in his throat.
Viktor just stares down at him coldly while the guy bleeds out at his feet.
Then finally he looks back toward me.
“Looks like we have a bigger fucking problem than we thought.”