CHAPTER 6 #2
“Dead serious. Your self-defense program will go through. They’re backing us.”
“Why now?” Celina asked.
“Given the threats we’re facing, they worry their protection alone won’t be enough,” I replied. “It’s not our independence that concerns them, but the risk of us becoming victims when they’re not there to shield us.”
As I said those words, I didn’t realize just how true they were.
ORION
The wipers struggle to keep up with the rain as Emilio drives as fast as he can through the narrow streets of New York. Kai drums his swollen knuckles against the doorframe, Logan plays with his blades, and I stare out into the darkness, stuck on this fucking mess of a problem.
When we dropped Maisy home, her expression was a mix of anger and hurt as she watched us drive away. I hated leaving her like that, but I didn’t have a choice. Not when we’re this close to something—or someone. The man in the gray suit. Milan’s man. Whoever he is, he’s the key to all of this.
“This better not be a dead end,” Kai mutters, breaking the silence.
“It won’t be,” I say, more to myself than to him. “We’ll find him.”
“And then what?” Logan asks as Emilio pulls up outside the funeral home.
“Logan, someone’s gonna fucking die tonight, trust me,” I respond, and step out into the rain as the engine stalls.
The building looms before us, the scent of damp concrete and wet asphalt lingering in the air as Kai and Logan follow me inside.
The funeral director is gone, but the security guard barely glances up when I flash a stack of cash and a pointed glare. “We need to examine your CCTV.”
The guard doesn’t blink at the cash, just takes it, stands, and walks to the back like it’s routine. No nod, no words, just a mechanical twist of the key in the office door.
Money talks. Always.
Inside, the room is small and cramped. The hum of the computer is the only sound as I settle into the chair.
The CCTV footage is easy to pull up, and I fast-forward through hours of blurry, gray-tinted frames until I spot him.
The man in the gray suit with a tattoo of a sun on his right hand.
He’s there, stepping into the room, his face partially obscured but that’s him all right.
Kai leans over my shoulder. “Pause it.”
I do, and we all study the screen in silence. He’s sharp but slightly hunched, and deliberate. I press play again, and we see that he doesn’t linger, doesn’t make eye contact with anyone. He’s in and out in under two minutes.
I switch to the footage from the outside camera.
“Get the plate,” Kai says, his voice tight.
The license plate is clear enough despite the rain, and I scribble it down.
Pulling out my cell, I dial my DMV guy. After Maisy got kidnapped, the information he gave me on the vehicle from the Saudi Arabian Embassy got him into a lot of trouble. But Gerald still owes me, and I’m not in the mood to play nice. We buried a good man today.
“Orion.” Gerald’s voice is wary, cautious. He knows better than to take my calls lightly. “What do you need?”
“A license plate,” I say brusquely. “I need the owner’s details.”
“I-I’m not in the office. You know I can’t just—”
I cut him off. “You can, and you will. Don’t make me remind you why.”
There’s a pause, the kind that speaks volumes. Gerald’s loyalty isn’t borne of respect; it’s borne of fear. It’s effective, if not ideal. Still, I’d like to think that he’s also a buddy of mine.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Give me the plate.”
I rattle it off, and the line goes silent as he types. Kai paces behind me, restless and agitated and Logan stands by the door with his arms crossed.
“Got it,” Gerald says finally. “Registered to a woman named Molly McKenna in Washington DC.”
The words hang in the air like a gunshot. I clench the cell tighter, my mind racing. Ma Molly. The head of the Irish mafia in DC. Ruthless and unpredictable. She looked after Rosey’s children when Milan was still alive. Dammit. If she’s involved, this is bigger than I thought.
“Thanks,” I say flatly. “You’ve been helpful.”
“Wait, you don’t want her address?” Gerard asks, but I have no time to spare.
I hang up and turn to the others. “It’s Ma Molly.”
Logan swears under his breath, and Kai slams his fist into the desk, making the monitor rattle. “If he’s tied to Ma Molly, this could spiral fast. She’s not the type to let us walk away if we make a move on her turf.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Then we make sure it doesn’t spiral. This isn’t about her—not yet. It’s about him.”
Logan holds my gaze for a moment, then nods. “Fine. But we’re not going in blind.”
“We never do,” I snap, though the words feel hollow. Lately, it feels like we’re always reacting, always one step behind. It’s a position I despise.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Kai growls. “Why the hell would Ma Molly send someone to a funeral in New York?”
“Maybe she didn’t,” Logan reasons. “Maybe he’s acting on his own.”
I shake my head. “Not likely. Not without her knowing.”
“So what’s the play?” Kai’s eyes dart between us. “We go to DC and ask her nicely?”
“We go to DC,” I confirm, leaving no room for argument. “But not to talk to her. We’re looking for him.”
Logan frowns. “And if he’s under her protection?”
“He can be under God’s protection as far as I’m concerned, and still nothing would save him. We’re just gonna make sure she doesn’t know we’re there.”
I hate the plan, but it’s the only one we’ve got.
Once we’re back in the car, Logan’s on the phone, calling in backup—one car, five of our top guys, no questions asked. These days, we don’t move without extra muscle. Too many ambushes. Too many close calls.
By the time we get to the penthouse, they’re already in position with the engine running.
The drive to Washington is long, the rain a constant companion as we ride. We’re still in our suits; I’m sure Kai’s uncomfortable by now.
By the time we reach Ma Molly’s neighborhood, the rain has eased, but the air is still thick with moisture. Her house is like a fortress, sprawling and imposing, with high gates and armed guards patrolling the perimeter.
“There,” Kai says, his voice low. He points to a figure lingering near the gate.
The man in the gray suit. He’s talking to one of the guards, his posture hunched.
Logan squints. “Are we sure that’s him?”
The man waves off the guard and crosses the street, heading toward a parked car. The tattoo on his hand clearly visible under the streetlight.
“We grab him now,” I order. “Quietly.”
The others nod, and we slip out of the car, moving like shadows. I gesture to those in the car behind us to be on the lookout but remain where they are, and then we wait for the guard’s attention to be on the house before we pounce.
The man doesn’t see us coming until it’s too late.
I grab him first, my hand clamping over his mouth as Kai steps in front of him and lands a punch in his stomach.
Once he’s on the ground, Logan doesn’t wait; he puts duct tape over the punk’s mouth as he gasps for air. “You’re coming with us,” he whispers.
Between the three of us, he doesn’t stand a chance. We drag him to the car and I shove him into the backseat between Logan and Kai. He shoots us a glare, but it wavers—he didn’t see this coming, and it shows.
Kai chuckles menacingly. “Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
I see the flicker of fear in his eyes as the three of us, for the first time in a while, settle back in quiet confidence. This was enough to remind us that we’re not as helpless as we’ve been made to feel.