Chapter 2
SILAS
Not once in my life have I met a woman so stubborn and defiant.
Leonore Graves is troublesome, with looks sharp enough to be mistaken for a weapon.
My jaw grinds as I try to figure out how I even ended up out here.
No one defies me. I have a reputation enough for anyone in their right mind to know better.
But Leonore came as a surprise, and unless I’m willing to throw that cold, dead body over my shoulder, which I did consider, I have to wait. Patience is not my virtue, but since it’s my uncle Pietro, his body deserves to be handled with respect.
My fists clench in and out; I’m devastated by his death. I’ll have to break the news to my sister, but first, I need to figure out which family was behind this.
As I stand beside my car, the rain picks up as I watch Leonore lock up.
She turns to face me, the rain hitting her face and catching in her lashes, and she locks eyes with me, emerald eyes so deep that you can almost tell what she’s thinking.
Almost. Beautiful things like her should obey.
Yet she has a fire that I’ve never come across before.
It’s silent in the way she stares at me.
I parked right next to her car, so she has to walk this way regardless.
The rain gets louder, almost drowning out her footsteps as she makes her way closer, and I make sure I am blocking her car door.
When I look down at her she seems so small, but the burn in her gaze does not give off a woman who thinks of herself as small. No, not at all.
“Do you like to intimidate people often?” she asks as she sidesteps me and is able to reach her car door. She pulls it open and throws in her jacket and purse. “Of course you do,” she answers for herself.
“I’ll pay you more than your yearly wage to hand over the body now.”
Her gaze flashes with harsh intellect. But I can sense she combats with something until she finally says, “No. I don’t work for you. You can pick up the body on Monday once I’m done.” She slides into her car, and my hands flex back and forth once again.
Who the fuck is this woman to have the nerve to say no to me?
I watch as she starts her car and drives away.
I had never actually met her before tonight.
I had heard rumors about her. Not just the work she does, but who she is.
Closed off and neutral to all the crews.
Not once has she had an issue with any of them, and that’s saying a lot, considering the caliber of gangsters she collaborates with.
They’re hot-headed assholes who like to be demanding, especially with women.
The woman can hold her own, but that leaves me empty-handed, and the reason I don’t make a move is because right now, I’m at my most lethal. Whoever killed my uncle is going to fucking pay.
Getting into my car, I call Valen, my second-in-command and the man I trust over all others.
I pull the door shut behind me, the sound of the rain cutting off in an instant. My hair is still dripping, cold running down the back of my neck as I settle into the seat.
Valen picks up on the second ring.
“Where have you been?” he asks. I hear the giggle of women around him and figure he’s at one of the clubs. That’s where he likes to go to burn off energy. He loves women. Lots of them.
The engine turns over as I listen.
The heater clicks on a moment later, warm air slow to push through the vents, fogging the edges of the windshield as the rain continues to hammer down outside.
I lean back slightly, watching the glass blur.
“Visiting the morgue,” I tell him.
“Ohh, so you finally went to see her. Tell me, is she as hot as they say?” he asks, getting to what he considers the important details. “Big tits? Juicy ass? Don’t leave me hanging, Silas. I heard she has the kind of lips that look good wrapped around—”
“We aren’t discussing her looks, Valen,” I growl, surprising myself with the sharp edge to my tone. Valen doesn’t yet know about Pietro, and it’s the only reason I’m not going to kill the fucker for getting on my last nerve.
“Fine,” he says, and I hear him shuffling something before his voice comes through again. “Why were you at the morgue? That’s unlike you.”
“Pietro’s dead.”
Silence. I hear Valen shuffling again, and the giggling quickly cuts as well as the music. I’m assuming he’s stepped into a private room. “What did you just say?” Silence fills the call. “Who the fuck—”
“I don’t know which family is responsible yet,” I quickly say.
His tone is more brutal now, the pleasure from moments before completely gone. “What did she say? Did she say how he died or who handed in his body?”
“No, she has…” I pause, thinking of the right word. “Attitude.”
He doesn’t even try to cover up his laugh, as if maddened by his own rage. “Yes, so I’ve heard. But that hasn’t stopped you in the past. Or do we need her?”
I’ve never needed her before. Mostly because we don’t leave bodies to be found, but something she said sits with me. “I give them a burial.”
If it weren’t for her lucrative operation, I’d never have any hope of finding his body and being able to give him a proper burial. Suddenly, my thoughts of her job shift slightly.
“You know as well as me that no one does the job like she does. Maybe she’s the lead we need to trace his killer,” he says. Valen knows when I go silent I’m thinking.
Running a hand down my face, I know he’s right.
She has a reputation, and it’s all very fucking good.
Not once has anyone tried to kill her for her work.
And why, you may ask? Because she’s fucking good.
Not only does she have the protection of one crew, but she has the protection of multiple.
And that’s hard to get. But she never discloses where the bodies come from because if she did, she’d be out of business.
So how do I convince a woman who has woven herself so perfectly into our underworld that only I can give her what she needs?
“Do you want me to talk to her?” Valen asks, which is short for really fucking scaring her. But I have a feeling that even that won’t work on Leonore Graves. Because she wasn’t intimidated by me, and I’m oozing with bloodlust right now.
“No,” I say, a little too clipped. “I’ll invite her to the office to discuss business.”
“Do you want me to send the invite?” he asks in an annoying tone that tells me he can’t wait to meet the woman nicknamed Grim in the underbelly of Boston.
It’s short for Grim Reaper, of course, yet it has more to do with her notorious scathing and unpleasant personality.
Or so they say. If anything, it’s because he wants answers just as quickly as I do.
Sometimes I get the urge to break his face, and it takes every ounce of my willpower to stop my fist from connecting with his twenty-thousand-dollar smile.
“No, I know exactly how to invite her,” I say. “I want everyone’s ears on the ground. The fucker who did this will pay, even if it starts a war.” I hang up the phone.
A small but deadly smile touches my lips. Leonore might think she can ignore me.
But I’m going to show her how wrong she is.
I step out onto the street, and the cold hits my face like a slap. The rain's gone but the pavement is wet, and moonlight shimmers in the puddles.
I pause to light a cigarette, then pull my collar up and start walking.
The city can be a dark and dangerous place after midnight. But it is where I feel most alive. When the mask has slipped and the real city comes out to play.
This is when I think the best. When I am free to be who I am. Without the noise that surrounds me during the day.
I take a long drag and let the smoke bleed out between my teeth as I continue to move through the shadows.
A cat shoots across the street ahead of me and disappears under a dumpster with a cry. Steam curls up from the manholes and vents, white against the dark street. In the distance, a foghorn moans on the harbor.
Valen thinks I’m insane for my nightly walk. He calls it risky and reckless. But he couldn’t possibly understand that I need this. That this is where I truly feel at home. In the cold, dark streets where danger lurks and sin is the currency.
I have a multi-million-dollar estate. A staff of many. An abundance of loyal soldiers. But here is where I belong. With the dark pulse of the city singing in my veins.
I cut down a side street where the streetlights don’t work.
Three men lingering on the corner see me coming and step away.
They know who I am and not to mess with me.
Farther along, a woman dressed in tiny shorts and a glittery top steps forward when she sees me coming, but steps back just as quick when she sees my face and starts walking in the other direction.
The cigarette burns down to my fingers, and I flick it into the gutter and keep going, increasing my pace.
I round a corner, and the street opens to the waterfront. The harbor is black and flat, and the boats knock gently against the docks. Across the water, the city skyline glows.
From here it looks beautiful.
Which is a perfect lie.
Because I know what’s underneath. I know because my family built half of it. The good, the bad, and the fucking ugly.
And believe me, there is a lot of fucking ugly.
But this place is home and it lives inside me, right next to the dark creature who likes to come out and play when I need it to. Like tonight.
I turn my back on the water and keep walking down the small cobblestoned alleyway and further into the shadows.
The warehouse sits at the end of a pier, a dark silhouette against a moonlit sky.
Ignoring the stink of the low tide hanging heavy in the air, I push through the side door and step in.
Inside, two of my men stand near the far wall, guarding what I am here to see.
Jacob Wolka. Wannabe drug lord. The man who gave the order to kill my uncle.
Information I found out two hours ago through a reliable source.
He’s zip-tied to a metal folding chair and making a hell of a racket.
I pull a chair over and sit down in front of him.
I don’t say anything for a while because I want to make him sweat, and it works. Sweat pours down his ruddy face, and his eyes are wild with fear.
He knows what’s coming.
No point rushing it.
In fact, I want to savor this moment.
I’m probably what some would call a sick fuck because I relish this moment. The lead up to when the sinner finally regrets all the things he did that led to this moment. There’s a raw beauty in retribution.
And retribution is exactly what this piece of shit is going to get.
Tonight, he had my uncle killed.
And now, I am going to kill him.
I don’t waste time exchanging conversation. We both know why he is here.
He had my uncle killed in a bold move to shake the fragile peace that exists between all the crews in this city.
He tried to make it look like the Hayes had broken their truce, hoping I would go to war in retaliation.
But he’s an idiot and didn’t know I have eyes and ears all over this goddamn city. One of his men talked. He talked a lot.
I take Jacob’s right hand. He fights me by jerking and twisting away, but I’m stronger and after a few seconds his resistance collapses, and I’m able to hold him steady.
I grab his ring finger.
“No … no … no … Silas…”
With my free hand I place a finger over his lips. “Shhhhh…”
Unfortunately for Jacob, the gardening secateurs I take from the table beside us are not sharp.
And this is going to hurt.
I could’ve chosen to use something sharp like a knife or a scalpel, but where would the fun be in that? I mean, if you’re going to give retribution … give retribution.
Am I right?
He screams, and the sound fills the warehouse and bounces back at us from every wall.
It’s not an easy amputation. I really have to put some effort behind it. It tears the skin, the muscle, and the surrounding tendons before the bone finally pops.
Ahhhhhhh…
I hold the finger up.
Valen would disapprove. He says that collecting trophies is indicative of being a serial killer.
Like that’s a bad thing.
I don’t bother explaining to him that every trophy I take is proof of a promise I made and kept.
Is it so wrong to want something to remember it by?
Is it wrong that they hold immeasurable value to me?
I take a handkerchief from my pocket and wrap the finger in it before sliding it back into my coat.
Jacob is sobbing, and his ruined hand is tucked against his stomach, the blood spreading across his shirt.
Sucking in a deep breath, I think of my uncle.
He was a good man.
But now he is gone.
Removing my gun from my breast pocket, I walk behind Jacob.
A lot of people think I’m a psychopath. But a psychopath would seek enjoyment in watching the light go from his victim’s eyes as he puts a bullet in his brain.
Personally, I don’t like to watch. Because I’ve already taken what I want from him tonight.
His pain and fear. The intimate moment of his death is something that should remain between him and God.
Pressing the muzzle close to the base of his skull, I pull the trigger, and Jacob is no more.
It is over.
I look at my men, but I don’t say anything. They know how to clean up.
Leaving the warehouse, I push through the door and step back into the night. I leave the pier and disappear into the shadowy streets once again.