Chapter 19 THE CATACOMBS’ MASK
Ren’s words hammer through my mind as I descend the spiral stairs leading into the underground labyrinth beneath Saint Michael the Redeemer three days after I caught the vixen snooping around my office.
Looking too delectable and at home—my home—in her oversized T-shirt and leggings.
“She’s been asking to go to the Hollow Gardens. Something about a special tree. I told her the place was closed for reno.”
Our words were carved into the tree two decades ago. She’s thinking about Kian.
Ever since last week when I almost succumbed to my basest impulses to kiss her pouty lips in the office, I’ve kept myself busy, avoiding Lana as much as I can. I don’t entertain the idea of sleeping in the same room as her.
I’m afraid if I touch that lithe body of hers, I won’t be able to stop myself.
But I’ve seen the security footage. My princess is restless.
She continues her amateur detective hour—checking locked doors, drawers, anything forbidden. When I checked my feed this morning, she was digging through the recycling bin in the kitchen. As if I’d ever throw out anything important that way.
That devious streak of hers hasn’t dimmed.
I should be pissed that she’s actively disobeying me. If she were anyone else, she’d be buried six feet under.
But fury doesn’t ignite in my gut.
It’s because I expected this from her, of course. That has to be it. Nothing more. I want to see how far she’ll take her investigation.
And she’s spending a lot of time with the damn cat. The feline follows her everywhere like she’s decided she’s a dog. Lana saves all her smiles and snuggles for her.
Damn cat. Why did I rescue it again?
You know why, you sick psycho. She liked—
I don’t let myself finish the thought.
I only allow myself twenty-eight minutes a day to let my impulses run free. And most of those twenty-eight minutes are spent watching Lana.
At seven on the dot, Hannah drags her to the dining room. One stubborn vixen versus a five-foot tall Italian tornado. Hannah sets out a feast—minestrone soup, grilled chicken pesto, breadsticks, and tiramisu.
But my zemer barely eats.
Three bites, maybe four, before she pushes the plates away, a hand on her stomach.
Then she stares at the camera, the arrogant tilt of her chin daring me to find her.
A hunger strike.
I have half a mind to drag her into the kitchen, hold her on my lap and feed her myself. See the pink return to her cheeks. My groin twitches thinking about her curvy ass on my thighs.
Hannah’s worried, and I ignore the twist in my gut. While Lana’s personality has remained the same, she’s getting too frail.
The stubborn woman. Maybe I need to give her some freedom.
I tell myself it’s only for appearances. A sickly looking wife won’t impress The Association. I didn’t marry her so she’d slowly kill herself under my watch.
If I can’t control a woman, how will they ever trust me with their kill ledgers?
Obsession is a disease that’s easily fed.
But fuck, having her in my home, sleeping three doors away from me, tests limits I didn’t know existed.
So, I’ve buried myself in work.
Meetings. Blackmails. Bartering secrets on behalf of the Berishas.
Folks have come out of the woodwork to congratulate me on my marriage. The Berishas have even sent over a bottle of their best Raki.
The fucking bastards. Like they didn’t force me into this move.
And now it’s time to meet with the rest of The Antihero Syndicate.
The air grows colder as I pass through the Hall of Saints, the marble statues of the twelve disciples frozen in prayer. The scent of wax and incense follows me as I turn into The Syndicate chamber.
Three men sit around an oval obsidian table inlaid with gold chess pieces.
Aleksei grins beneath his LED mask. “Well, well, well. Our fearless leader has joined us.” He yanks the mask off and ruffles his shorn brown hair, his neck tattoos twisting like ghosts.
The masks are necessary—keeping identities secret in public or when we exit our cars to meet here.
We can’t have The Association knowing we have members of the Bratva, the Irish mob, the Italian Mafia, and the Chinese Triads conspiring against them.
After all, these gangs are their foot soldiers.
It doesn’t hurt that there’s a prominent theater group in the building next door, so no one bats an eye at costumes and masks.
“Marriage. How antiquated,” Sebastian drawls, immaculate in his navy pinstripe suit, styled dirty-blond hair, silver mask set aside.
“You’re supposed to congratulate the man.” Aleksei grins. “I’m far from normal, but even I know that. We need to prep you better. Hide your psychopath. Give us a smile. Say, ‘Congratulations, I’m so happy for—’”
He chokes. “I can’t. Even I can’t do this. Elias looks like he’ll kill me. We’ll prep you better next time, Sebastian.”
Sebastian’s pen ticks against a stack of papers. The mob lawyer looks wholly uninterested in everything around him.
Ren snorts and twirls his gun, his leather jacket creaking when he props his feet up on the table.
“Off,” Sebastian snaps.
Ren sighs. “You said—”
He stops signing when Sebastian arches his brow. With a growl, Ren pulls out his cell phone and starts typing.
Ren
It’d be more efficient if you stopped being so stubborn. Everyone here knows sign language. You’ve had more than a decade to learn.
Sebastian scoffs. “I’m not learning a new language just for you. That’s inefficient. And get your damn feet off the table.”
The assassin swings his feet off and shakes his head.
Ren
You were working on your obsessions.
“The key word is ‘obsessions,’ plural. This isn’t one. Cleanliness and hygiene are common sense.”
A low growl ripples from Ren’s throat.
Ren
Mob lawyers. I hate mob lawyers. Twisting words. This is why I don’t talk. Bullets are more efficient.
“Gentlemen,” I say. I’m one second away from emptying my clip into these idiots. “Shall we begin?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Rafe murmurs, stepping out from a hidden panel, his black clerical shirt and white collar the only things that make sense in this place of holy worship.
The church was built after the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Tunnels were dug to store valuables and bodies, and later, during Prohibition, bootleggers expanded them for smuggling between major drop points in the city.
It’s perfect for us now—a gang of miscreants aside from Father Rafael Mancini, or Rafe as we call him—out of sight of prying eyes, deep underground where surveillance is difficult.
“Come on, let’s see that pretty face,” Aleksei says gleefully.
He reaches for Ren’s mask.
A gun barrel answers him.
“One more move and I’ll drop you,” Ren signs.
Ren doesn’t like to be touched, and he has an unhealthy attachment to his mask.
Aleksei laughs. “Foreplay. Too bad I don’t swing that way.”
I sigh. In New York, I have the bickering Anderson brothers. In Chicago, I have these lunatics.
Had. I correct myself, a dull ache flaring in my chest. I’ve sacrificed my friendship with the Andersons.
“Pray more. That may calm your bloodlust,” Rafe murmurs, his lips twitching. He clearly senses I’m at my wit’s end. “May even improve your relationship with your wife.”
Despite his marrying us, he disapproves of the forced arrangement.
“Starting without me?” a soft, smoky voice interjects.
Sofia.
She peels off her black domino mask, her black hair falling loose. Her perfume today is incense, which means she’s in a foul mood.
“You okay?” I ask.
Sofia’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. There’s a shadow in them, the same darkness haunting her since our parents’ deaths.
Guilt punches my solar plexus.
I was the eldest. I should’ve protected her and little Beatrice. But I didn’t. Instead, I chased a beautiful princess—someone I had no business being with.
“You’re thinking too much,” Sofia says.
My teeth score my lower lip.
We take our places. Sofia in the corner, where the queen sits; Sebastian, the bishop, next to her; Ren, who faces the door as the knight; Rafe, the silent king to my right; and me, in the center as the rook.
It’s all a game of chess.
“For the vow,” I say.
They answer in unison, “No mercy. Our ruin for their fall.”
All of us have vendettas against The Association.
“What’s your next move?” Sebastian says, his stare glacial as usual, but there’s a flicker of something resembling concern.
“Grunt work. Trading favors. Port deals. Putting out fires at their clubs.”
“They’re testing you.”
I nod. The Berishas aren’t stupid. I’ve spent years with the Andersons, thwarting The Association’s attempts at luring them in. This sudden change of heart? They aren’t buying it yet.
“Too slow,” Aleksei complains. “Bots would take over the world before you get in.”
“And what do you suggest? Go boom?” Ren arches his brow.
“You know it. If it explodes, it’s working.” Aleksei grins. “I know you love me.”
“Why did you rescue him again?” Ren glares at me and winces, rubbing his chest.
The smile slips off Aleksei’s lips. A shadow crosses his eyes.
I clench my hands into fists.
Aleksei was an innocent casualty in my quest for revenge. His family aided the Albanians in finding my parents.
I killed them ten years ago without hesitation, but I couldn’t bring myself to harm the broody teenager.
“A life for a life,” Aleksei answers Ren, his sad eyes aimed at me. “I bet he regrets it now.”
“I don’t enjoy having the pace of the game controlled by them.” Sebastian steers our conversation back to the main topic while fiddling with his silver pen.
It’s not really a pen. It’s a poisonous knife I gifted him last Christmas. And if I knew he were capable of emotion, I’d say he was eternally grateful.
What I got from him was a receipt. Lana’s receipt from her last trip to Paris with her little note: You have the best smile. Thank you for your wonderful service. I wanted to strangle him. He grinned, the rare sight completely disturbing.
“They moved up the Benefaction Ball,” Sofia cuts in. “September first.”
“How do you know?” Aleksei asks, apparently distressed he didn’t get the intel first. “It’s not in any of their comms.”
My sister takes out a deep-red lipstick and starts applying it. “I have my ways. I smile. Burn things. Men are easy to manipulate.” She doles out a dark smile.
For a moment, I remember the little girl who’d follow me around in a cramped apartment, asking me to be part of her tea party.
That girl is long gone. I click my lighter, staring at the flame that appears.
Something so small, capable of inflicting such devastating destruction.
The Association will burn in hell for this.
“You two and your cloak and dagger shit,” Aleksei grumbles, fishes out his phone, and madly types on it.
Probably engineering some virus for his bosses in the Bratva.
“The Carusos will be there this year,” Sofia adds. “They never attend.”
Something big is happening. The Carusos, while holding the controlling power of The Six, are famous for hiding in the shadows. If they are making a public appearance, we need to be there. I might find more info about the kill ledger, or anything I can use to root out the killer.
“We need to get you in,” Sebastian says, obviously thinking the same thing.
Rafe stares at the crucifix on the wall. “If you make a move now, they’ll be suspicious.”
“Don’t worry,” Aleksei chirps. “We aren’t suggesting murder…yet.”
Rafe pinches his nose and sighs. “I swear—”
“Why are you here, Rafe? A holy man with the most unholy people,” Sebastian asks, a sudden interest in his gaze. Nothing like a conundrum to perk the unfeeling bastard up. “There has to be a reason.”
“Even the damned need to see the light.” Rafe plays with the cross around his neck.
“I think it’s too late for us.” Ren points to the ceiling. “We’ve reserved seats in hell.”
“Finally, common sense,” Sebastian comments.
Ren bolts up and arches a brow, a sly smile curving his lips.
The mob lawyer blinks and clears his throat. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Ren. I was making an educated guess, not like I know sign language.”
“I never agree with Ren, but I agree with him this time,” Aleksei comments, his attention still on his phone. “I reserve one of the first five circles of hell.”
“Uniting us sinners already, maybe there is a God,” Sofia drawls.
“No one is beyond saving.” Rafe smiles sadly.
He means it.
In an ironic twist, it was Rafe who formed The Antihero Syndicate.
Not officially, but each of us stumbled into his path for various reasons.
He found me delirious with fever after I escaped my family’s massacre.
I brought Aleksei in years later. He offered Sofia sanctuary at the church after I rescued her from her handler.
He was the first person she’d talked to, even though he refused to tell me what she told him.
While he hasn’t taken his final vows to become an ordained priest yet—he’s technically a transitional deacon—he follows the confessional rules, and in this case, the private “counsel” since he’s not allowed to take confessions.
A technicality no one here or in this community cares about. There’s a priest shortage in the church, and the parishioners are more than happy to call him Father Rafe.
“Boom!” Aleksei announces, a wild grin on his face. He slams his phone onto the table. “A present to solve your problems.”
My phone buzzes.
Edon
Call me. All our shipments got frozen. Unacceptable.
Aleksei plops his feet on the table, earning him a glare from Sebastian. “Genius. I’m a genius. Why doesn’t anyone know that?”
“What did you do?” Ren jabs him with the barrel of his gun.
“Might have caused a war between our country and five others in Eastern Europe,” Aleksei says. “They really should fortify their firewalls. It wasn’t hard feeding them info about imminent assassinations.”
Sebastian glances up from his phone and offers a chilling smile. “A day of miracles.”
The other phones start pinging as the rest of us stare at our screens.
“But doesn’t The Association control these governments?” Rafe asks.
“They do. But the powerful are always paranoid.” Sebastian twirls his pen.
“And you get to save the day.” Ren shakes his head, an admiring glint in his eyes. He chucks his mask onto the table.
Aleksei mock gasps. “The lethal assassin is gifting me with the honor of his face.”
“Fuck you,” Ren signs.
I stare at Edon’s message and type back.
Elias
I was waiting for your call. I’ll take care of it, but on my terms.