15. Maxim
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
maxim
The wheels of my black SUV crunched over loose gravel as Lev pulled us into the abandoned warehouse lot. The place was a relic of some bygone industry—crumbling walls streaked with graffiti and broken windows. A few rusting steel drums sat haphazardly near a pile of debris, and the faint smell of oil and decay lingered in the cold air.
“Charming,” Lev muttered from the driver’s seat, his tone dry as he shifted into park.
I smirked. “What, not up to your standards?”
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t put this place on the sightseeing tour.” He cut the engine and turned to me. “You want me to stick around?”
I shook my head. “Stay close but out of sight. If things go sideways, I’ll let you know.”
Lev nodded, his expression sharpening into something more serious, and I stepped out of the car. The air hit my face, crisp and biting, the faint hum of the city far in the background. Conall’s SUV was already parked near the building, its dark bulk blending into the shadows.
As I approached, I saw him leaning against the hood, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. His expression was as relaxed as always, but a tightness in his shoulders gave him away.
“Maxim,” Conall greeted me, flicking ash onto the ground. “Thought you might be late.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not the one who’s so old they need an extra half hour to get out of bed.”
He smirked, taking a long drag. “Touché.”
Behind him, Angelo stepped out of his car, smoothing down the lapels of his coat like he was about to attend a gala, not inspect an abandoned car.
“Gentlemen,” Angelo said, his voice soft but sharp as a blade. “I see we’re slumming it today. Nobody thought to give me a text message. Had to hear through the grapevine. What the fuck?”
“Your invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail,” Conall replied with a grin.“Although I’m not sure why you eejits all decided to show up for this. Not like we all needed to be here — or any of us. Could have sent one of the boys.” He frowned.
“Some things should be done in person,” I growled.
I wasn’t delegating shit when it came to some fucker shooting at Cora. If there were evidence to find, I would do it in person, not delegate it to one of my soldiers or one of Conall’s.
“Like we wouldn’t come in person. Dick,” Angelo said, shooting him a look of equal parts amusement and irritation before turning his attention to the old sedan parked near the warehouse.
The car was unremarkable at first glance—an old, battered model with mud caked along the sides and a crack in the rear windshield. But the partial plate matched the one we’d been looking for, making it worth our time.
“You find anything?” I asked Conall as we approached the car.
“Not much yet,” he admitted, gesturing toward the vehicle. “I was waiting for the experts to arrive.” He rolled his eyes at us.
I crouched near the driver’s side door, running my gloved hand along the frame. Then, I opened the door to lean in and opened the glove box.
“Amateur?” Angelo muttered. “Or do you think this was professional?”
“This is an interesting choice of a vehicle,” I commented.“Either because it was convenient or because it wasn’t traceable.
“All the information is still in the glove,” Conall said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the car. “They ditched it. So that tells me that they didn’t want to get caught. We know it wasn’t some random shite. It was targeted. We just don’t know why.”
Before we could speculate further, another car pulled up, its sleek, dark profile unmistakable.
Ilias stepped out with his usual air of calm authority, his coat flaring slightly in the breeze. He was the only one of us who never seemed to rush, but a weight to his presence commanded attention.
“Late to the party, I see,” Conall called out, his grin widening.
Ilias raised an eyebrow. “Some of us have real work to do. At least I’m at the party.”
“Real work or more secrets?” Angelo quipped, his tone sharp but not unkind.
Ilias ignored him, striding over to the car. “The plates are a match,” he said without preamble. “But more importantly, I know who it belongs to—or who it did.”
We all fell silent, waiting for him to continue.
“The car was reported stolen two days ago,” Ilias explained. “The owner is clean, and the theft was reported. Print was from the owner.”
“You don’t think the owner had anything to do with the shooting?” I asked.
Ilias shook his head. “I don’t actually. The owner is just over eighty years old. He had the car in a garage. He hasn’t driven for years.”
Angelo frowned, tilting his head. “Do we have fucking anything?”
Ilias reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a printed still image. “I pulled surveillance footage from the garage where the car was stolen.”
He handed me the photo. It showed a young, scruffy man with a lean frame caught mid-motion near the stolen vehicle. My stomach tightened as I studied the image.Who the fuck was this asshole?
I glanced at Conall. “We need to get back to your building. I want to talk to Finn. See if he has anything to add.”
“Agreed,” Conall said. “Let’s move.”
Angelo folded his arms. “Think we’ll get more than we did here?”
“If we don’t, it’s your turn to pay for drinks,” Conall quipped, already walking back to his car.
I wanted the ‘who’ … and the ‘why.’ I’d be calling my cousin Ronnie in Arizona. Maybe she could work some magic and turn some dirt up on this fucker.