Chapter 39 ERION
ERION
"Are you sure she said she was coming back? She wasn't upset or anything?" My voice edged with anxiety I can't quite control.
It's been hours since Lily left. Hours that have stretched out interminably, each minute feeling like ten. Hours with no word, no text, no call. Nothing but silence that grows louder and more ominous with each passing moment.
Artan looks at me from where he's sitting on the couch, his posture deceptively relaxed but tension visible in the set of his shoulders. "She didn't seem upset at all. Just in a hurry. She said she'd be back. That she was getting her things from Jess's apartment and then coming home."
It's late afternoon now, sliding into early evening. Almost night. The light outside the floor-to-ceiling windows has that golden quality that comes before darkness, the sun dying slowly and painting everything amber and shadow.
We're all in Luan's apartment. Waiting. The three of us scattered across the living room like pieces on a board, unable to settle, unable to focus on anything except the absence that's grown too large to ignore.
I can't sit still. Haven't been able to for the past hour. Keep pacing back and forth across the living room, my footsteps heavy on the hardwood floor, wearing a path between the windows and the kitchen.
"I'm calling her," I announce, pulling out my phone with movements that feel too jerky, too urgent.
"Don't crowd her, vella," Artan says, but I can see the worry in his dark eyes too. The way his gaze keeps drifting to his own phone. The way his injured hands keep flexing like he's fighting the urge to reach for it himself.
I'm about to press the call button, my thumb hovering over Lily's name in my contacts, when Luan's phone pings.
The sound cuts through the tense quiet like a gunshot.
Luan picks it up immediately. Looks at the screen. His entire face transforms, a smile breaking across his features like sunrise.
"It's Lily," he says, relief evident in his voice.
We all exhale simultaneously. The tension in the room releasing like a held breath finally let go.
Finally. She's okay. Everything is fine.
Then I watch Luan's face change in real time.
The smile disappears as if it never existed.
Panic flashes across his features, quick and violent.
Then it's replaced by something worse. Extreme anger.
Fury so intense it's almost palpable. His jaw clenches hard enough that I can see the muscle jump beneath his skin.
His knuckles go white around the phone, gripping it so tightly I'm surprised it doesn't shatter.
Artan and I move immediately. Close the distance between us in seconds.
"What is it?" I demand, my heart already racing, adrenaline flooding my system before I even know why.
Luan looks up at us. When he speaks, his voice is cold. Controlled in that deadly way that means he's barely holding himself together. "The Irish took her."
"What do you mean?" I rip the phone from his hands before he can respond, needing to see for myself.
Read the message on the screen.
Message from Lily:
We have your girl. She's unharmed for now. If you want her back, retreat from all disputed territories on the south side, and transfer 1 million dollars of compensation. Location for drop will be sent in 1 hour. Come alone or she dies. No police or she dies. The Irish remember.
The Irish have Lily. They're holding her hostage. Using her as leverage to reclaim what they lost in our war.
"Fuck!" The curse explodes out of me. I check my weapon on instinct, pulling it from the holster at my back, making sure it's loaded, making sure the safety is off.
"I knew they couldn't be trusted. I fucking knew it.
That offer of truces at the engagement party was bullshit.
Pure theater. Just to lure us into a false sense of peace so they could strike when we were vulnerable. "
Luan steps fully into his role as leader, the transformation visible. I can see the anger in him, burning hot beneath the surface. The wish for revenge. The need to tear someone apart with his bare hands, to make them pay in blood and screaming for touching what's his.
But he stays cold on the outside. Controlled. Channeling all that rage into focus.
"Artan. Gather the men. Get them armed and ready. We're going to war with the Irish."
He picks up his own phone, already dialing. "I'm calling my uncle. Letting him know I'm going to paint Chicago red with Irish blood."
The words should satisfy the violence rising in my chest. But they don't. Nothing will until Lily is back safe.
Artan gets on his phone immediately, fingers moving fast across the screen. Starts alerting our men, sending out the call to arms that will have soldiers converging from across the city.
I do the same with my own network, texting the men who answer to me, who've fought beside me, who'll follow me into hell if I ask.
Luan's call connects. When Driton picks up, Luan's voice is pure ice, colder than I've ever heard it.
"The Irish took Lily. They are demanding money and territory. There's no more truce, uncle. This means war."
I can't hear what Driton says on the other end. But I watch Luan's expression, looking for clues, for direction, for anything.
A long pause. Then Luan's eyebrows rise fractionally.
Another pause. His jaw works. "Agreed. We'll meet you there."
He hangs up. Turns to face us both.
"He wants us to meet him at his hotel first before we make any moves. We'll strategize from there, build a stronger united front. Tell the men to gather outside the hotel."
We head to Driton's hotel, the drive taking too long even though we're breaking every traffic law. Our men are already gathering outside when we arrive, armed and dangerous, radiating the kind of violence that makes civilians cross the street.
Driton lets us into his suite without preamble. The space is elegant, expensive, wasted on the tension crackling through it.
"Show me the message," he says without greeting.
Luan hands over his phone. Driton reads it carefully, his expression giving nothing away, decades of experience keeping his reactions locked down.
"This isn't the Irish," he says after a long moment. Definitive. No room for argument.
I lose my temper completely. "What the fuck are you saying? It's right there in black and white!"
A knock on the door interrupts before Driton can answer.
We all freeze. Hands move to weapons in synchronized motion, muscle memory and training taking over.
Driton holds up one hand, commanding without raising his voice. "Settle down. Everything will be clear very soon."
He crosses to the door with measured steps. Opens it without checking who's on the other side, which either means he's expecting someone or he's lost his mind.
Standing on the other side of the threshold is Cormac O'Rourke.
The Irish leader. The man whose organization we're supposed to be at war with. The man who walked into Lily's engagement party and offered truces. Walking into this room now like he was invited. Like he belongs here.
What the actual fuck is happening?
Is Luan's uncle working with the Irish? Is this an ambush? A setup? Are we about to be executed in this hotel suite?
I draw my gun in one smooth motion. Point it directly at Cormac's head.
Artan does the same, his weapon trained on the Irishman's chest.
Luan goes further. Grabs Cormac by the collar of his expensive shirt. Presses his gun to Cormac's forehead with enough force to leave a mark.
"Where is she?" Luan yells, his control finally breaking, rage spilling out. "Where the fuck is Lily? What did you do to her?"
Driton doesn't try to physically intervene. Doesn't grab Luan's arm or step between them. Just says coldly, with absolute authority, "Don't shoot him, Luan."
"Give me one good reason why not." Luan's finger is on the trigger. One twitch away from ending this.
Driton looks at Luan. Then at Cormac. Then back at Luan.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet but carries the weight of a bomb detonating.
"Because he's your brother."