35. Lars
The war room at the Estate is filled with only the most important members of the Syndicate’s inner circle. Our Hacker, Rowan, called an emergency meeting so here we are, sitting around the heavy table bracing for what information he has for us.
Enzo takes the head of the table. I settle into the chair to his right.
Dom, Cormac, and Stefano sit opposite us. Rowan stands near the large, wall-mounted monitor, laptop open, cables trailing toward the main screen. He looks like he hasn’t slept or shaved in a week, but his eyes are still sharp.
“Well,” Enzo says evenly, folding his hands on the table. “You said you had something important.”
Rowan nods once. “We’ve been tracking irregular movement in Falco’s shipping routes for the past week. Smaller loads and staggered timing. Nothing odd enough to trigger a response yet, but things to note.”
Cormac leans forward. “He hasn’t changed routes in months.”
“There’s something more important that I need you to see…” Rowan redirects. “Especially you, Enzo.”
He taps a key and the screen flickers to life.
The video was taken at night, it’s dark, but there’s enough light that we can see enough to identify the dock. We all know it’s Falco’s private river access.
The camera angle is elevated, likely mounted across the street. Falco stands near the edge of the dock, posture slack, shoulders loose.
There’s a woman beside him, she’s relaxed, no evidence of force.
She’s laughing.
Dom shifts in his chair. “Who is that?”
Rowan zooms the frame slowly, enhancing it in stages. The image sharpens enough for facial features to settle into focus.
Silence fills the room.
Enzo rises from his seat without speaking and walks toward the screen. His hands slide into his pockets as he studies the woman’s face.
“Zoom in again,” he says quietly.
Rowan does and we see the woman turn in the footage. Falco leans close to her ear, speaking into her hair. She tilts her head back and smiles.
Enzo curses under his breath. “Kelly Kavanagh.”
The name lands like a dropped blade and my stomach tightens.
I glance at him sharply. “You’re sure that’s her?”
With no hesitation, he says, “Yes.”
Cormac looks between us. “Wait, Kavanagh? Is that Declan’s wife?”
Enzo keeps his eyes on the screen. “The one and only.”
Declan Kavanaugh was Zara’s brother and Kelly his widow.
When Declan was caught in the crossfire of a mission, Kelly called Zara back to Chicago, desperate and grieving.
Zara came home for her brother, but by the time Declan was gone, the truth had already started to unravel.
It wasn’t a coincidence. It was a trap. Her father used Declan’s death to pull her back into his world, setting everything in motion for his plan.
An alliance between the Falcos and Kavanaughs.
Zara walked straight into it, right into Lachlan’s hands, and before she could find a way out, she was being forced into a marriage with Anthony Falco.
She never made it to the altar because Enzo stole the bride first.
Rowan pulls up a second angle. This time it’s from a different camera at the same dock. Falco’s hand rests at the small of her back. It seems familiar and comfortable.
“She doesn’t look like she’s being forced to be there,” Stefano mutters.
“She isn’t, and I want to know why she’s so goddamn cozy with Falco,” Enzo replies.
Rowan taps another key and freezes the frame as Falco turns, then looks directly toward the camera.
“He saw the camera,” Rowan says. “But he left it in place.”
“He wanted us to see this,” I say.
Dom leans forward. “You want her brought in?”
Enzo turns to us. “No. But I want two members of the Ghost team on her.”
The Ghost team is our specialized band of security, headed up by Dante. Most of them are ex-military, slightly unhinged, but dangerously good at completing tasks or protecting people in our most complex situations. Enzo walks back to his chair and sits, resting his forearms on the table.
“We watch. If Falco believes he’s unsettled us, let him keep believing that.”
Cormac frowns. “That’s a gamble.”
“So is reacting before we see can dissect their plan,” I say. “He’s rerouted shipments and adjusted crews. He’s testing response time. If we move now, we confirm we’re chasing him.”
Rowan nods. “He reduced the volume this morning. Smaller loads, tighter routes. He’s seeing how quickly we notice.”
Enzo’s gaze drifts briefly back to the frozen image of Falco and Kelly.
I watch him carefully. “When do we tell Zara?”
Enzo drags a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell her this evening.”
Kelly Kavanagh standing beside Falco wasn’t random. And Falco leaving that camera intact wasn’t accidental. I run scenarios through my brain to assess every angle that Falco could be playing by making it known he’s connected to Kelly and why he’s so friendly with Zara’s dead brother’s widow.
Enzo nods once to Rowan. “Send the full file to my secure server. Keep your eyes on the routes and Cormac, increase presence on the streets.”
Rowan closes his laptop and the display on the wall goes dark. “Understood.”
Falco didn’t just test a shipping lane, he sent a personal message.
And he did it on purpose.
The door to my penthouse closes behind me with a quiet seal.
From the living room, the familiar cadence of announcers drifts through the space—voices dissecting hands from the International Professional Poker Tour. I loosen my tie as I step inside, letting the sound guide me.
Memories of those first few nights in Austin surface—Neomi at the table, her sexy, calm demeanor, her calculating eyes. The way she lets men think they’re reading her correctly only to take them down. The way she glanced at me over a stack of chips like she already knew how the hand would end.
I tug the tie free and drop it onto the island, shrugging out of my jacket.
When I round the couch, she’s curled beneath a blanket, hair spilling over one shoulder, gaze fixed on the screen. The sight of her here—comfortable and settled in our home—does something to my chest that I’m still getting used to.
She looks up when she senses me.
“You’re home.” A soft smile touches her mouth. “How was your meeting?”
I sit beside her and reach for the blanket, pulling it away and setting it to the side. My hands settle at her hips as I guide her onto my lap. She comes willingly, thighs sliding around mine, fingers tangling into my hair.
I close my eyes for a second. The weight of her soothes me. It’s a new feeling for me, having someone here when I get home. Her warmth and the quiet reassurance that she’s here allows the stress of my day to start dissipating.
“It wasn’t great,” I admit, opening my eyes to meet hers. I brush a strand of hair back from her face. “But this helps.”
Her hips shift against me, and I breathe out slowly through my nose, fighting the reflex to flip her onto the couch and have my way with her.
She presses a trail of kisses along my jaw. “Can I help you unwind?”
I huff a quiet laugh and lift her chin with two fingers so she looks at me. “Just you being here does that.”
I nod toward the television over her shoulder. “Watching a tournament?”
She glances back. “Yeah. I already know who wins, but I wanted to see how they played down to the final table.” She tilts her head toward the kitchen. “There’s food in the oven if you’re hungry.”
I rest my hands at her waist, thumbs brushing slowly along her sides.
“I was thinking,” I say, “do you want to go out tonight?”
Her eyes brighten.
“I would love that.” She bounces in my lap, energy lifting. “I’ve been feeling a little cooped up.”
I lean forward, brushing my mouth along the curve of her throat, feeling her pulse beneath my lips.
“Get ready,” I whisper against her skin. “Wear one of your devastatingly sexy dresses.”
She smiles, that sharp, curious edge returning to her eyes.
“Where are we going?”
I lean back just enough to meet her gaze fully.
“The Monarch.”