Chapter 6 #2
"Yep." Finley flipped the back of his coat up and pulled a gun out of the back of his pants. He moved slowly towards the bottom step. "He's a nice guy." He kept an eye on the door we came through, while we made our way up the stairs.
I glanced up. If anyone was waiting for us, they weren't visible from here. They must be standing back from the edge of the stairs.
"I'm sure he is. He must be very talented," I said. "You'd have to be pretty sharp to be a professional musician."
Finley nodded that he understood what I was trying to say. If anyone used a gun in here, it would be loud. A knife would be quieter.
"Sharp and dedicated," he agreed. "Not unlike being a professional hockey player. You have to want it very much. You have to want it more than anything or anyone else."
We reached the second floor landing as the ground floor door opened and closed. The sound of movement from a few floors above immediately followed.
"I'm sure you're just as dedicated as any of them," I said. "You want them to win."
Translation, 'you want to get out of here alive.
' Although, the presumption he wanted the Demons to win was equally accurate.
He worked his ass off as hard as them and Aidan, for exactly that goal.
That was yet another very good reason we needed to deal with whoever thy were as quickly and quietly as possible.
"I want that very much," he agreed. His brow was creased in a frown, but he kept on moving, keeping me between himself and the wall.
"Is there anyone else interesting living here?" I asked.
"I'm not saying the rest aren't interesting, but the two of us are the most captivating." He slid a look my way and smiled. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself. And he neatly answered the question. As far as he could tell, there were only two of them in the stairs with us.
I almost wished I had a gun, but the same old fear lingered. When it came down to it, would I be able to use it? Would I freeze while someone lunged at me with a knife? What if they lunged at Finley instead? Could I react to protect him?
Too many thoughts rushed through my head, threatening to rise in a tsunami of panic. That would be the very worst thing I could do. For me, and for him.
"I think they know we're here," Finley said finally. He spoke loud enough for them to hear. "They know that we know."
We stopped.
Complete silence fell. The only sound was the pounding of blood in my ears. That was so loud I was sure it would give away exactly where we were. Finley was right though. We were moving too slowly to be unaware of their presence. If we'd trotted up, we might have appeared to be clueless.
He tilted his head back. "What do you want?"
The silence hung heavy for a few more moments.
"We want justice for Oscar," the voice below us replied.
"I know plenty of good movies have missed out on the award, but you might be taking it a bit too far," Finley quipped.
The voice, he sounded like a man about my age, chuckled. "That's cute. You know I mean Oscar Fiorelli. He was murdered by you or someone you know. That either makes you a killer or an accessory."
"I'd make a cute handbag, but I have no idea what you're talking about," Finley said. "Whoever killed Oscar, and I mean the person not the awards, did the world a favour."
The voice growled and stepped up towards us. "Oscar was nothing more than a kid."
"He killed my brother," I said without thinking.
"He killed a lot of people's brothers." He stepped up the stairs and into view. Dark hair, dark eyes, long black coat over black patent leather shoes. He reeked of money, influence, confidence. "We've all done our share of that." He looked me up and down, like a lion might appraise a deer.
"Nicholas Fiorelli," Finley said as though greeting an old friend. "How are you not dead yet?"
I was wondering the same thing myself. Nicholas was Oscar's brother.
A year or so older than me, he was as bad as Oscar.
Worse. If anyone was going to step into the shoes of their father, Dante, it would be Nicholas.
He was one of the few who might bring the family back together and back to strength. That made him dangerous as fuck.
"Finley Howard, Elenna Christakos-Draeger, I could ask you both the same question. Rumour has it you're as up to your eyeballs, just as Ike was."
I kept my gaze steady. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear. He was working with you, against the Brantley family, but you had him killed anyway."
Nicholas clicked his tongue. "We both know that's not what happened.
The opposite, in fact. He was working for the Brantley family against us and we dealt with him.
Was he reporting to you? It can't be a coincidence you married one of Caleb Brantley's lieutenants.
That must have been very convenient for Ike and you.
But here you are, with one of Aidan Draeger's underlings.
I can't imagine he'd look favourably on you cheating on him. "
"There you go, listening to gossip again," Finley said. "Elenna had nothing to do with whatever Ike was doing." He kept his eyes on Nicholas the whole time, his gun held loosely in his hand.
"That's what they all say." Nicholas' eyes narrowed. "I haven't believed it yet." He slipped out his gun, but held it the same way, like he wasn't prepared to use it in a heartbeat.
So much for using knives, and trying to be quiet. Even a silencer would be louder than thunder in the stairwell.
"What do you want?" Finley demanded. "If you've come here to kill us—"
"Believe it or not, I haven't," Nicholas said smoothly. "Instead, I've come with a warning. Stay the fuck away from us and our business. My stepmother, Geneva, doesn't want to start a war between us and the Brantley family."
Finley snorted. "You could have fooled me. Dante seemed hellbent on doing just that. Taking out the Brantley and Bell families and replacing them both."
"Dante is dead," Nicholas said flatly. "We don't want a war, but that's what you'll get if you don't stay out of our way. If you want to earn some points with my aunt, you could tell us exactly who murdered Oscar. Once we've dealt with them, we can all stay out of each other's way."
I managed to contain a flinch. "I have no idea," I lied. "I can promise you it wasn't Aidan or Finley."
Nicholas dipped his chin, his dark brown eyes sceptical. "How do you know?"
"Because they would have told me," I said quickly. "If they killed the person who killed my brother, they would have said so. They would have wanted to put my mind at ease."
Nicholas' shoulder jerked forward slightly. "Maybe, and maybe not. Either way, it's in your best interest to find out who it was and tell me. Things don't need to be ugly between us. I'm a reasonable man. And if you ever get tired of Aidan, you're welcome to spread your legs for me."
In the corner of my eye, I saw Finley's hand twitch. He was clearly tempted to shoot Nicholas in the head for that suggestion.
"I'll bear that in mind," I said dryly. He wasn't even on the list of people I'd like to fuck, given half a chance.
Footsteps headed down the stairs towards us. Celine Fiorelli looked a lot like her brother Oscar, dark-haired and stunning. She looked at me like she'd just found me searching through the bargain rack at Target.
"Elenna," she said smoothly.
"Celine." I didn't bother to smile. The woman was as toxic as the rest of them. She'd probably shoot me if she had a bad day or broke a nail.
"We're done here," Nicholas said. He put his gun away and gave us both a nod.
Celine didn't look so convinced, but she followed him down the stairs and back out the door.
"Maybe they can text next time," Finley muttered. He put away his gun and took my hand to lead me to the door on the landing above us.
"Yeah," I replied. They wouldn't do that. Not when they knew this would leave us rattled.