Chapter 5 Zahra
ZAHRA
Iwhip my head around to find the waiter who served us and catch him wide-eyed, heading toward the back kitchen.
Declan reaches over to take my glass and gestures to Aidan sitting at his own table across the room.
The restaurant explodes into movement. I shove to my feet as the two brothers and Arman barrel straight for the attacker. Azula is at my side almost immediately.
“Take Declan’s whiskey glass and have it sent to our lab,” I order. Many mafias use poison, but most have their own signature. Whatever is in that glass could clue us in to who’s targeting us.
While Azula takes charge inside, I head in the same direction as where the waiter had left.
It doesn’t take long before I’m in a back alley, the coppery scent of blood filling the air.
From a quick look, both Declan’s and Arman’s hands are bruised and covered in red liquid.
Aidan has his arms wrapped tightly around the waiter's chest, and for a moment, I don’t see a man who tried to kill me.
Instead, I see a terrified boy who bit off more than he can chew.
Declan’s voice echoes on the brick walls as he leads the interrogation.
“Did you really think you could use my own whiskey to poison us?” He nods his head toward me before pulling back his fist and landing a punch square in the nose of the man in front of him.
The man crumples to the ground as Aidan lets go of him.
“T-There’s no poison in the drink…I swear…I’m just a waiter,” the man groans, albeit somewhat convincingly. I refuse to believe him. You don’t make it far in my line of work if you can’t tell a good lie.
Declan grabs at the man’s shirt and rips it off, revealing a chest covered in ink—the silhouette of a vulture.
I’m not familiar with what mafia this represents, but by the look of terror on the man’s face as his secret was revealed, and the fact that he had laced my drink, I have no misconceptions about whether or not he’s my enemy.
The adrenaline starts to wear off and the reality that this stranger in front of me nearly killed me sinks in, and I feel my blood boil.
I step up beside Declan, pulling out a sheathed knife tucked in my thigh holster, and strike the waiter across the face, leaving a large gash across his cheek that will forever remain as a scar.
If I let him live after this. “Just a waiter? Are you sure you want to maintain that story?”
The man refuses to say anything, letting out only a few grunts and moans of pain.
Declan lifts the man from off the ground with ease, pinning him up against a wall with his hand wrapped around his throat. He squeezes. “Who sent you here?”
The man stays silent though his face turns a faint shade of purple.
“He can’t answer your questions with your fist wrapped around his neck.” I roll my eyes, stating the obvious.
Declan turns his head toward me. “Are you alright?”
The softness in his voice causes me to stumble. From his tone, you would think he was checking in on me after I accidentally spilled a drink on myself or told an embarrassing joke, not that he was covered in blood, beating the man who tried to kill me to a pulp.
“I’m fine. Never took a sip,” I reassure him.
“Even if she did, she’d be fin—” The man attempts to console Declan, who just squeezes his fingers even tighter around his neck.
“Why don’t we test that theory, shall we?” Declan snarls, signaling to Aidan, who I realize still has my drink in his hand. Declan presses the glass against the man’s face and I don’t miss how his eyes widen with fear.
“Please…Please don’t…” the man begs, but to no avail.
“Why not? You said the drink was fine. Unless you want to confess who sent you,” Declan presses. The man shakes his head in defiance. I suppose I couldn’t blame him. Either he would die now at Declan’s hands or with the reputation of a rat once his boss discovered he had snitched.
“Very well.” Before the man can protest again, Declan pries his jaw open and pours some of the poisoned drink down his throat. Taking a step back, Declan lets the man fall to the ground and comes to stand next to me. We both watch as he convulses on the floor for a few minutes before stopping.
Aidan does the honors, checking the man’s pulse.
“He’s dead.”
_________
The scalding water falling down my back, mixed with the scent of lavender and orange blossom, is the only thing keeping me grounded at this moment.
I’m no stranger to rough days, violence, and death, but this is the first time someone has directly come to take my life.
And if I hadn’t had my wits about me, it would’ve been the last. Declan had been oddly protective of me once the man had died—insisting he be the one to put me back into the car, and following us back to my home before leaving back to his mansion that was on the complete opposite side of town.
I suppose I shouldn’t be that surprised.
Any true ally would have done the same when their partner was threatened.
And regardless of what I know to be true about Declan, he still had a facade to maintain.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap myself in a robe, rub cream all over my body, and run some leave-in conditioner in my hair to help form the subtle waves nearly identical to my mother’s when she was still alive.
I’m fully settled in the loveseat in front of the fireplace in my room when Azula walks in.
“Are you sure you want to do this tonight?” Azula checks. “We can always reconvene tomorrow.”
“No. I’m fine. The sooner we start to piece together who sent that man to kill me, the better.” I gesture for her to take the seat in front of me and pour us both a cup of warm tea from the pot I had ordered to be delivered prior to my shower.
“Arman is running the vulture tattoo through our entire database. Thus far, we have no matches between the largest known mafias in the states or prisons. Arman is going to do an international search soon, but it may take a few days for something to come back.”
“If that falls through, I can probably hack into the local traffic cameras and see if we find something there,” I offer, refusing to let this be a dead end.
Azula blinks and gives me a rare smile. “You know how to do that?”
“Don’t insult me. I’ve gotten through Ukrainian and Italian cyber walls in a matter of days, less if you account for the naps I took.
Cities can’t afford extra protections for their security systems. At least not the security systems that would make it harder for me to get in.
I can crack their code in a couple hours.
Four max, is my prediction.” I blow on the steaming tea in front of me before taking a sip from the mug, relishing the warmth that comes over my body.
“I’m surprised the Mayor hasn’t asked for suggestions on how to fix that.” Azula snickers.
“I offered to help revamp Boston’s entire security system, but they were concerned I’d leave some sort of untraceable bug to use for nefarious means.
” I roll my eyes. “Which, for the record, is exactly what I would have done, but I only would’ve spied on our rivals.
I don’t have any interest in what civilians are up to. ”
Azula snorts. “Well, at least you’re honest. Plus, it’s not like you don’t have the Mayor in your back pocket anyway.”
“That’s what I said! And yet he still turned my idea down. Make it make sense.”
“You can’t. Men.” She rolls her eyes.
“Men,” I agree. Nothing more needed to be said. “Did you get the labs back on the whiskey?”
Azula gives me a quick nod, eyes darting to the untouched tea mug in her hand. She toys with the glass long enough for me to know I won’t like whatever comes from her mouth. “Declan’s glass was clean.”
My entire body stills as Azula confirms what I already suspected.
“No traces of poison were found in his glass. We tried to test the remains of what was left in your glass and we think the chemical makeup of the poison could be tetrodoxin, a neurotoxin, but we can’t be sure.
There wasn’t enough left after Declan, you know…
” Azula drags her index finger across her neck.
It all made sense.
Declan had tried to have me killed.
And when one of his foot soldiers failed, he covered up his tracks by killing him.
Declan had been the one to chase after the waiter, the one to expose the man’s tattoo, and concoct the story that the vulture on the man’s chest represented some other mafia were unfamiliar with.
The look of fear in the waiter’s eyes when he faced off against Declan.
He probably realized that he could either drink the poison and have a quick death or be skinned alive later for exposing Declan’s duplicity.
And by ensuring the waiter consumed as much of the drink as possible, he not only made himself appear as my ally, but he also hindered our ability to determine what he tried to kill me with.
“So I was the target.” The only target. Declan is an idiot.
He could have at least laced his own drink and dumped it to lessen my suspicion.
It was an amateur move that only increases my focus on him as a threat to my life.
An amateur move that Declan would never make if he was truly in the right state of mind.
Maybe the guilt of killing his father is slowly starting to get to him.
Good. He deserves to be haunted by the consequences of his own actions.
I would do everything in my power to capitalize on his weakened state of mind.
He has taken his first direct shot at me, which I refuse to take lightly.
Declan may have missed, but I’ll do everything in my power to make sure I don’t.
“You seem pretty calm for someone who just lived through an assassination attempt,” Azula notes, her hard features softening ever so slightly, dropping her guard the way she only ever does around me.
It’s a kind gesture, though not completely necessary.
At least that’s what I tell myself. As much as a part of me wants to sit for hours and rehash today’s events, I know that doing so will open up the floodgates.
Today was a close call….but I’ve had many close calls in my life.
Beyond expanding my shooting and martial arts training, and adding a few extra members of security, I processed any threats to my life by moving on.
It was all I could do. My father was always transparent about the risks of our line of work, which had driven him to keep my identity hidden.
“Likely the first assassination attempt of many. Not worth shedding any tears over.” I shrug, ignoring the lingering pit in my stomach that had formed hours ago.
I have to appear unfazed and collected. Not only is that what everyone would expect from a mafia boss, but I know any sign of emotion from me would be dramatized.
While I know Azula would never speak ill of me, the walls of my mansion have ears.
Another lesson my father had instilled in me from a young age.
The only person you can trust in this life is yourself.
Everyone else, including the men you think are loyal to you, can turn in the blink of an eye.
Especially if they sense weakness. For that reason, you can never, ever let them see you falter.
Azula leans closer, as if she can read my mind and sense why I’m silent. The words from her lips are barely a whisper. “You know you can talk to me, right? Not just as your second but as your best friend.”
“I know. And I will, when I feel the need to. Right now, there is no need. I’m alive. That’s all that matters,” I assure her.
Her lips turn down, but she carries on. “Given the evidence that we have so far, or lack thereof, there’s not much we can do with respect to plotting our retaliation.”
If only she knew. “Set up a meeting between myself and Declan. Preferably here, but anywhere private should suffice.”
“Is that a smart idea, given how often your meetings have ended with bullets flying and poison?” Azula deadpans.
“So, a normal day for us?” I hedge, causing her to break character with a small snort.
“Fair enough. I’ll set up the meeting. It’s probably worth you and Declan debriefing today’s events anyway. Who knows, maybe he noticed something that will clue us in to who tried to kill you.”
“Maybe.” Or maybe I’ll kill him before he can try something else.