45. Chapter 45
45
Luca
“I’ve also got this.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a black external hard drive which is no bigger than my phone.
I hold up a newspaper clipping.
“Whose writing is this?” I ask, my fists barely able to stop clenching the paper in my hand, my body jittery as I desperately try to remain calm.
“My grandfather’s. My parents were government agents, Luca. Did you see the writing.”
Yes, I saw the fucking writing, the scribbles, the names.
The fucking pictures.
“Have you seen what’s on the hard drive?” I ask, wondering why the fuck there’s a picture of my mother with Layla’s parents in the folder along with a newspaper outlining her death in gruesome detail. I’ve never seen the article before. “Do you know this woman?”
I push the photo across the desk and watch carefully as Layla picks it up and looks at it. She shakes her head.
“I recognise that man though. He approached me at the gala dinner, his name’s—”
“Terry fucking Peyton.” I sneer.
“You know him!”
“He’s my uncle’s government contact.” Jesus fucking Christ. “Come on.” I hand her the folder.
“What? Where are we going?”
“Back to the penthouse.” I message everyone to meet me at mine then dial Kara Snow from Apex security.
“Snow.” I say as the phone connects, no hello, no greeting, but I know she’s there. “I’m calling in the favour.”
“I’m listening.” Her voice is deep and raspy, I can imagine her feet tipped up on a table, her outfit black as she waits for the next call with her next target.
“Any new contracts through in the last few days?”
“Any name I should be looking for in particular?”
“Layla Johnson.”
“Hold.” The phone goes dead, and I put it back in my pocket rubbing at my temples.
“What the hell is going on?” Layla asks, arms folded.
“I’m not entirely sure. But I’m going to find out.”
I can’t stop staring at the picture of my mother and Layla’s parents, the undrunk glass of whiskey tight in my hand.
The door to my study opens. “They’ve found Alexander Lebedev,” Roman says, closing the door behind him. “They’re bringing him here.”
“Good.” I lean back in my office chair the thing that usually makes me feel settled and in control, doing the exact opposite this evening. “Make sure they use the back entrance. The women are not to see.”
“Understood.” He walks towards me, taking in my dishevelled appearance, the picture I grip furiously, “What’s going on?”
“Where’s Henry?”
“Where he’s supposed to be.” He tilts his head; I meet his penetrating stare and swallow down the amber liquor in one gulp.
“Get him here, I need him.”
“Luca.”
I throw the picture on the desk and lean back on an exhalation. “Look.”
He sits down in the chair opposite, leaning forward to retrieve it. His eyes fall on my mother’s face, and he frowns.
“The people she’s with are Layla’s parents.”
His head whips up. “This is what she found?”
I lean forward on my elbows, my chin resting on my steepled fingers. “I always knew there was more to my mother’s death than John let on. Now that picture pretty much cements it. She was killed.”
“By John?”
“Whatever Layla’s parents were investigating involved the Covenant, maybe they had something. It’s the only reasonable explanation.”
I pull out my phone.
“Who are you calling?” Roman asks, pulling more of the papers from the case file towards him.
Levi answers.
“All good on your side?” I ask.
“If you’re asking whether there have been any more surprises, no, but I would say nothing about this is good. Duchess is about ready to declare war on the Russians.”
“Calm her, we can’t afford to make rash decisions, patience is needed.” And I need fucking answers.
“I’m trying, but you saw her, she hacked that poor bastard to fucking shreds. She wants revenge.”
“She’s got quite the temper,” I muse, rubbing my top lip, my mind going a million miles an hour. “Some things have come to light this evening. If you can leave her, I need to see you.”
If John did kill my mother and Layla’s parents then I want to confront him, confront them.
Levi may have only been a child when she died, and likely oblivious, but that doesn’t stop him having been told since. The only way to know for sure, is to confront them both, together.
“I’ll call you in ten,” Levi replies and hangs up.
Roman looks at me. “The fuck?” he says, but I hold up my finger as I dial another number.
“Luca, my boy.” John's deep baritone voice comes over the receiver.
“We’ve got a problem. Levi and I need to see you.” There’s shuffling in the background. “Are you at the house?” I ask.
“No, the clubhouse.” Of course, the clubhouse with all the other Covenant members. “I’ll be back by nine tonight.”
“See you at nine at the house then.”
I hang up, throwing the phone onto the large, dark oak table. My study is the complete opposite to the rest of the apartment. With antique furnishings, and large floor to ceiling bookcases, with books encased in traditional leather fill it. The type you would find in grand old, listed houses. But it’s all a facade, behind the walls sits another room.
A room no one else knows about.
A second entrance to my place, along with a soundproof room which will soon house a Russian.
Who I hope will give me some more of the pieces of the puzzle.
I wipe my hands with a rag, saturated with blood. “I’m bored of this Alexander.”
“I will tell you nothing, Knight. You’ll pay for this!” the man exclaims, spitting, the mixture of blood and saliva landing on my shoes. His mouth oozes with the damage from the molar I’ve just extracted. He hangs onto consciousness, his face marked by bruises and streaks of blood, head swaying back and forth. Bennett stands to the side, propped against the wall watching as I interrogate this piece of shit.
He came bagged and cable-tied, already beaten. Smelling salts woke him and he’s been wrestling with the binds that dig into his wrists ever since, leaving red angry welts.
“You’re the bastard son to some whore,” Alexander says in a thick Russian accent.
I’m over the room in a flash, landing him with a brutal backhand, and the fucking bastard just laughs, his blood-soaked teeth grinning manically at me.
“Do you know how they train us?” he says, his face contorted in a mad expression. “We are sent to the coldest, darkest places on earth, we are starved and tortured daily. Held in the ultimate stress positions, with the sounds of babes played constantly. We are held in the dark, and then strobe lighting is turned on, we are waterboarded. And you think this, this pathetic attempt at torture will break me?”
I pull his head back, holding a knife to his throat.
“You may not value your life,” I whisper into his ear, “but, do you have ones you care about? Can you imagine me doing to them what I do to you?” I run the knife along his cheek, slicing his skin like it’s nothing more than paper, my eyes narrow and I lean close.
And I see it.
A small flicker of doubt.
“Will your daughter hold out as well as you.”
“You po ebalu poluchish, suka, blyad ! We do not bring family into this. Blood pays with blood, we will go to war!”
“But you changed the rules, Lebedev. The moment you mentioned my mother.” My eyes are wide, the animal that lives beneath the surface fighting against the cage.
“You are blind.” He laughs. “Blind and stupid, just like your father.”
I pause. “Your taunts give you away, Lebedev. Did they not teach you that in your training. What does my father have to do with this?”
He shuts his mouth and looks away. The realisation that he fucked up.
“Luca.” Roman appears in the doorway. “Snow’s here.”
I nod and wipe my hand over my mouth and look down at the piece of shit. “I’ll be back. Maybe use this time to reconsider your daughter’s life. Her death will not be a slow one.”
I land a knockout punch that snaps his head to the right before it lolls forward.
“Bennett, find out where his family is, bring his wife and daughter to me. If the Russians get wind of us having him, they will not be as kind. We need to get to them first.” He turns and walks away. “Unharmed.”
“Okay.”
“He’s all yours, Roman.”
He nods, his mouth in a firm line. I pull my shirt sleeves down over the blood spatters on my forearms and close the door to the room as Roman starts to pick up a set of pliers along with the smelling salts. The Russian may have spent time being tortured, but there’s one thing he has never trained for and that is ten minutes alone with Roman Rook.
I walk into my office and pour myself a large glass of alcohol, knocking it back in one gulp, enjoying the burn.
“Knight.”
I turn.
Kara Snow.
Her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, she’s wearing black leggings, a dark leather jacket and biker boots. She’s holding a motorcycle helmet in her hand, with an envelope tucked under her armpit.
“Snow.” I shake her hand; her grip firm and cold.
She may be beautiful, but this woman, with her ice blue eyes, and pale complexion is probably more deadly than most of my men put together, including Roman.
“You were right.” She pulls open the manila envelope, hooking out a piece of paper and passes it to me. “Layla Johnson, a new hit came through a few weeks ago.”
I look at the assassination order, the date. It was put in right after the gala dinner.
“Contract type?”
She stares at me. “Come on, Knight. I owe you, but I’m not going to tell you who made the request.”
I take a step forward.
“Now, now.” She holds up a hand. “I do owe you, my life, in fact. But I don’t owe Layla Johnson. I’m not going to divulge the client’s name, yours on the other hand…” She pulls out another piece of paper. “It would seem you’ve made some enemies.”
It’s a contract with my name clearly written in black and white with a hefty price attached to it, and I can feel her cold gaze on me.
“Looks like you’re still standing though.”
“For now. Is this active?”
“Yes.” She walks over to my desk and lays the envelope down and runs her finger over the smooth oak. “The reward money was doubled, same day as Layla’s.”
“Interesting. They don’t appear to have been trying too hard, I’m not exactly a hard man to find. Why couldn’t you have told me this on the phone?”
She continues to walk around my office taking everything in, occasionally reaching out to touch things. “I’d be lying if this wasn’t the perfect opportunity.”
Before I even register it, Kara Snow has a gun pointing at my forehead.