Chapter Twenty Eight, Siblings
The door creaked open a few hours after our shower, the sound grating against the silence of the room. Danika stepped inside. Her presence sucked the air out of the space like a sudden drop in pressure, her sharp gaze darting between Gio and me as if she was already ten moves ahead of us.
“Get up,” she said flatly, her voice cold and measured. “Both of you. Let’s go.”
Gio pushed himself up off the bed first, his movements stiff, his posture bristling with defiance.
He was trying to hold on to the scraps of control he didn’t have, the tension in his jaw and shoulders giving him away.
I stayed seated for a moment longer, watching Danika as she stood near the door, one hand on her hip, the other resting loosely by her side.
Her stance was relaxed, but there was an edge to it, a kind of coiled energy that promised violence if we stepped out of line.
Something had pissed her off, and I wondered what.
I stood slowly, keeping my movements casual. There was no point in making her think I was going to try anything—not yet, anyway. Her inky eyes flicked to me, lingering for half a second too long, like she was daring me to test her patience.
I didn’t.
Danika turned on her heel, her boots clicking softly against the floor as she strode down the dimly lit hallway. The wood-paneled walls creaked faintly with every shift of weight, and the faint smell of stale coffee lingered in the air.
Gio followed her without a word, and I fell into step behind him, my eyes scanning the hall as we moved.
When we reached the lounge, Danika stepped aside and gestured for us to enter.
“Sit,” she said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument as she waved at the set of couches and not the ridiculous podiums she’d set up.
Danika sank onto the couch, sprawling back with ease. With her legs crossed at the knee, her arms rested lazily along the back of the couch. But there was nothing casual about the way she watched us, her dark gaze sharp and calculating, like she was dissecting us piece by piece.
She gestured to the chairs across from her. “I said, sit.”
Gio hesitated for half a beat, then moved to the seat on the left. He sank into it stiffly, his body still radiating tension. I took the chair beside him, lowering myself slowly and leaning back just enough to appear relaxed without letting my guard down.
She let the silence stretch, her eyes flicking between us as if she was enjoying the weight of our unease. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, and clasped her hands together.
“Here’s the deal,” she said, her voice low but cutting. “I no longer have time for my grand finale. So we’re going to do this rapid-fire style.”
“What does that entail?” I asked.
“You’re going to answer one question and do one task. That’s it.”
“And if we do?” Gio asked, his tone edged with suspicion.
She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. “I’ll consider letting you go.”
He let out a short, sharp laugh, though there was no humor in it. “And what would you tell my father when he turns up here later for proof of my death? Or what happens when you grow bored ten minutes after we leave and decide to follow?”
Her smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not your problem.”
I glanced at Gio, noting the way his jaw tightened, his fists curling against his thighs as he leaned forward slightly, ready to argue.
But she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her attention shifted to me, her gaze locking onto mine like a predator sizing up its prey.
“What about you?” she asked, her voice soft but dangerous. “Do you agree?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Her grin widened just slightly, and she leaned back again, letting the silence stretch until it felt like it would snap.
“Good,” she paused, letting the tension stretch unbearably, like she was savoring the moment until she looked at me and asked her question.
“Here’s your final question. And you better answer it honestly.
” She pulled the switch out of her leather jacket.
“Why did you fake your death? I know the official story. I know all the other evidence I found.” Her jaw ticked.
“I know it had something to do with Silver. But I want the whole story. From you.”
There was no hesitation inside of me as I took in a deep breath, remembering the night in perfect detail as I recounted the story to her as bluntly as I could…
The docks stretched into the quiet night like the edge of a forgotten world.
The air was heavy with the scent of salt, oil, and rotting wood, the faint sound of water lapping at the boats breaking through the silence.
A yacht loomed ahead, its pristine white decks gleaming faintly under the moonlight, an absurd monument to wealth in a place that stank of rust and grime.
Rich people pissed me off.
Sure, it was fine to have a few million. Enough to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, and leave a legacy behind for any children or people they cared about. But this? This was just hoarding. And money hoarders were a hideous thing.
None of us spoke as we made our way toward it, sticking to the shadows, our boots silent against the creaking planks of the dock.
Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of the mission pressing down on my chest like an anchor.
It wasn’t the first time we’d been sent to kill someone—hell; it wasn’t even the first time I’d been sent to kill a kid.
But something about tonight felt different. Wrong.
We’d been told the target was the son of Viktor Mancini, head of the New York mob. His child, no older than ten, who sleeping peacefully in his overpriced cabin while his family slept in theirs down the hall. Easy enough to reach. Easy enough to kill.
And yet, as I followed Silver and Declan onto the yacht, something about it twisted in my gut. Silver had been quiet the whole way here, quieter than usual. Even Declan, who usually made some kind of comment to fill the silence, had kept his mouth shut, his focus on the job.
The minute we were on the yacht, Honey and Kenji hung back to watch the halls, leaving Silver and Declan to handle the room.
Sharpe was in the getaway car, far away from all the mess.
I stayed close to Silver, keeping my distance, but ready to step in if needed.
That was the plan. The one we could execute flawlessly.
But as Silver and Declan slipped into the cabin, something shifted. The silence stretched too long, unnatural and suffocating, like the air itself was holding its breath far more than any victim ever did.
I moved closer to the door, every nerve in my body on edge. “Silver?” I whispered, but there was no response.
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Something was wrong. I could feel it. Taste it. Choke on it.
Without hesitation, I stepped inside, keeping my movements quiet in case they were fine and didn’t need me.
The cabin was small, filled with the kinds of things rich kids took for granted—a plush bed that looked like a spaceship, shelves lined with books and expensive toys, a globe that lit up faintly in the dark. The air smelled faintly of fresh linens and something sweeter, like candy.
But my eyes didn’t go to the bed.
They went to Silver.
She was standing in the middle of the room, her hood pushed back, her dark curls catching the moonlight that spilled through the window. Her knife was in her hand, dripping with blood, her fingers trembling as she stared at Declan’s body slumped on the floor.
My breath caught in my throat.
“Silver?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
She turned to look at me, her eyes wide and glassy with tears. Her tawny face was pale, her jaw tight like she was trying to hold herself together.
“I’m not doing this,” she said, her voice cracking.
My heart stuttered, confusion washing over me. I stepped closer, my eyes darting between her and Declan’s body. His throat had been slit, the blood pooling thick and dark beneath him. I didn’t need to look a second more to know that she had been the one to do it.
“What do you mean?” I asked quietly, my voice low but firm.
Her breathing hitched as she looked back at Declan, then at the bed.
“I told him I wouldn’t do it. I told him.
But he wouldn’t listen. He said it was the mission, that we didn’t have a choice.
” She waved a trembling hand toward Declan’s lifeless form, her knife clattering to the floor. “I had to stop him, Atlas.”
I followed her gaze to the bed, my stomach twisting into knots. The boy was still asleep, his dark hair a messy halo against the pillow. His face was soft, innocent, and painfully familiar.
There was a photo of him and his parents on the wall by his bed. His eyes the same shade as the crying girl opposite me.
And then it clicked.
He wasn’t just some random target. He was the little boy she’d been watching in the shadows since his birth.
He was her brother. The one she’d spent years tracking from a distance, adopted into the Mancini family as a baby and kept hidden from the world.
He was someone she would never harm.
“Atlas,” Silver whispered, her voice breaking. “Please don’t make me hurt you. But I won’t do this. I can’t.” I looked up at her, seeing the knife now back in her grip. “I love you, and I don’t want to hurt you. But if you try to hurt my brother, I will kill you.”
I looked back at her, at the tears streaming silently down her face, at the knife trembling in her hands, at the boy who had no idea how close he’d come to dying tonight.
Despite the dangers, despite knowing the rules, I knew what my choice would be.
What my choice would always be when it came to my sister.
I nodded slowly, stepping closer until I could reach her hand.
“Come on,” I whispered. “Let’s get out of here. We won’t hurt him. I promise.”