Chapter 36 THE HUNT
“That wasn’t very smart.” Sebastian sidles up to me at the refreshments table, where I’m currently drowning my anger in whiskey.
Gabriel, the Caruso heir, converses with his siblings, a bunch of good-looking motherfuckers. He arches a brow at me, flashing a taunting smile. I want to kill the bastard for flirting with my wife.
“You standing next to me isn’t very smart.” I scan the room. “Shouldn’t we pretend not to know each other?”
“That’s illogical. Everyone knows Elias Kent. It’ll be a red flag to pretend otherwise.” He chuckles under his breath. “And I’m anything but—”
“Illogical. Yes, I get it.”
“I told them I was scoping you out. Networking. They want a piece of you.” He clinks his glass against mine and lets out a fake laugh. “Those dirty secrets you hold make you the biggest target in the room.”
I glance at him. His slicked-back hair gleams under the candlelight. The fucking smile actually reaches his eyes, the damn psycho.
“Oh, the Berishas look uncomfortable. Edon might pop his artery. Then we’ll finally get some entertainment in this godforsaken place,” Sebastian quips before he belts out a louder laugh. “Or we can always talk about Sri Lanka. That’ll work.”
The psycho doesn’t need an audience. He’s a one-man comedy act, laugh track included.
I smirk. “You’re a manipulative bastard.”
“Human emotions are boring. Predictable. Now, lean in, whisper something in my ear.”
I restrain myself from rolling my eyes, but I don’t move. I have standards. I’m not whispering shit in anyone’s ear.
Sebastian sighs and twirls his penknife. His voice drops as he leans down and whispers, “Basement and first floor are cleared. Third floor’s under reno. That leaves the second floor. Two guards, no visible weapons. Aleksei’s looping the cameras at your signal. You have ten minutes.”
He downs his drink in one gulp. Someone from the O’Callaghan clan beckons him. “I’m being summoned. Give me a secret. A good one. I need a reaction.”
Sebastian specifically instructed me not to tell him secrets beforehand. Because his family knows about his condition, his usual masking doesn’t work on them. They watch him for cracks, for tells. He needs shock to sell the illusion of genuine emotions.
I flick my lighter and nod at him to lean in. He does.
“Dimitri Ivanov bartered a deal with your Ronan O’Callaghan. Twenty percent of your next month’s weapons imports for him to look the other way. Because Ronan is fucking Yuri Ivanov’s daughter. Opportunistic bastard.” I click my tongue. “All of you led by your dicks.”
Sebastian lets out a slow whistle. “Good one,” he murmurs. I can hear the sadistic glee in his voice. “Didn’t have to fake that reaction. Uncle Ronan, sixty and bedding a co-ed. Who knew?”
He mock-salutes me with his empty glass before facing the crowd.
But before he slips away, he lowers his voice. “The comment about dicks. Watch where yours lead.”
The jab lands, and I don’t respond. Instead, I keep my eyes trained on my wife, who’s chatting up one of the wives or girlfriends of some nobody. She hurls a seething glare my way.
And God help me, because my cock twitches.
“You motherfucker!” Yuri yells.
Chaos breaks out. Fists fly. Glass shatters. Women scream.
The O’Callaghans and Ivanovs brawl. Boris Ivanov, the Russian patriarch, turns crimson trying to pull his sons from the Irish. The princess in question buries her face in her mom’s shoulder.
Sebastian winks. I smile. Here’s my window.
Rook Elias
Go boom.
I slip out of the ballroom and head up the stairs, knowing Aleksei has the cameras looped.
The two guards are nowhere to be seen.
“You go right, I go left,” a soft voice says at the landing.
Sofia, dressed in a dark green gown, points down the hallway.
“Where did you put them?”
She grins. “A sudden onset of bad diarrhea. Courtesy of a small little prick.” She flashes two tiny pins laced with meds, no doubt. “We have five minutes max before they call for replacements.”
I nod. “Be careful.”
We split. I check room after room—a library, a gallery, both ornate but abandoned.
Fucking show-offs.
Lana would love these rooms.
I shove the stray thought aside and head down the hall. Two bedrooms. The air is musty, so I doubt anyone’s been in here for ages.
Before I leave the room, I hear a door creaking. Not Sofia, judging by the heavy footsteps.
I plaster myself against the wall, gun raised, breath held.
A man moves past me, his strides quick.
I peek through the gap. Black tuxedo, tall frame, black mask.
Not one of us. Who’s joining the party?
The mystery man moves like a phantom, hand tucked inside his jacket. Holding a weapon, most likely.
He opens the last door and slips in, quietly closing it behind him.
My pulse ricochets. I curse myself for being too slow.
Is this the ledger exchange? Or something else?
Minutes crawl. The man isn’t coming out.
My phone buzzes.
Queen Sofi
No ledger. Only bedrooms. You?
Fuck.
I glance at the time. It’s been ten minutes. Whatever he’s doing, he should be done by now. I can’t wait anymore.
Quickly, I walk out of the room, shoulders back. Guilt is easy to spot. Confidence makes people second guess.
I head to the last room, curl my hand around the doorknob, and twist.
It’s unlocked.
Gun ready, I walk into the darkness. My eyes readjust. I make out bookshelves, a large desk, and a settee. This is a study. A pristine one at that.
But no one is here. Where did the phantom go?
Sweat drips down my neck. I sweep the room, checking the usual suspects—empty vases, hollow books, anywhere anyone can hide a small USB drive.
It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
Then I see it.
A notebook lies open on the coffee table in the far corner. Smoke curls from a blown-out candle.
I cross the room.
My breath freezes when I read the writing.
Better luck next time, Elias.
Or should I say, Kian Leste.
A for effort though.
Here’s a consolation prize.
Beneath it, a photograph taken at a deli near my childhood home. An image of a tall man wearing all black.
Time-stamped February twenty-eighth, twenty years ago.
My vision narrows, anger so intense I can taste it. The photo crinkles under my death grip.
I know that face. The eyes. That sickening smile.
?ela’s partner, the other killer that day.
Someone’s onto me, but I can’t bring myself to care.
All I can think of is—kill.