Chapter 32 Ghost in the Grid
I stare at the altar, bathed in a sharp beam of moonlight from the skylight above.
It’s quiet inside Saint Michael’s, the type of quiet that can only show up in centuries-old churches like these. Ghosts still linger in the air, but within these walls, even the dead seem willing to call a truce.
I only wish some of that calm would find its way into me.
I’m not a religious man. But I wonder if this is why Rafe’s a priest. Maybe he’s drawn to this unsettling peace because demons lower their voices in here.
“I didn’t expect you to be here.”
Sturdy footsteps echo behind me, but I don’t turn because I know who it is.
Instead, I sign, “Isn’t the church supposed to welcome everyone?”
“My church. Definitely,” Rafe replies.
Simple black shoes and pants fill the corner of my vision as he slides into the pew and takes a seat next to me.
“The church is for everybody,” he says. “Believers and non-believers. It’s a haven.”
“Then why haven’t you taken your final vows?”
I feel his gaze on me, but I don’t look at him, drawn instead to the deep shades of purple and red glinting against the ceiling from the beautiful stained-glass window to my right.
An angel vanquishing a demon, its painted sword frozen inches from the beast’s throat.
Rafe’s quiet for a moment. But then, he finally answers, “Becoming a priest shouldn’t be an escape.”
“What are you running from?” My fingers twitch. I want to disassemble my gun, but I don’t think Rafe would appreciate me doing it here. “Or you can’t tell us?”
“You don’t like to speak, but your words have bite.” A deep chuckle rumbles from his throat. “So tell me, what’s bothering you?”
The sunset slowly fades into darkness, and suddenly, the stained-glass windows are cold. Like the dark has won.
“Aria.” Finally, I face Rafe. “It’s karma. All the lives I’ve taken. They were jobs. I didn’t lose an ounce of sleep over them.”
I pause, waiting to see if he’ll recoil.
He’s a holy man. While we may not know why he’s harboring us—thieves, murderers, and sinners—I’d expect at least a frown of consternation.
But I get nothing.
If anything, his brown eyes only darken with concern.
“I regret it.” I breathe out and swallow the shards jabbing my throat. “If I could rewind time, I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger.”
Because it devastated her.
Rafe’s expression doesn’t change. “He always forgives those who repent.”
“Aren’t you going to ask who I’m talking about? And why I regret it?”
“That’s between you and your conscience,” he says. “But if sharing will help you, I’m here to listen.”
The church bells chime, the melancholic bellow echoing inside the vestibule.
“Blake Amscot,” I rasp. “He was a mark.”
Rafe’s sharp intake of breath tells me I’ve shocked him.
“It makes sense now,” Rafe says quietly. “You and Aria. Your obsession with her. The guilt I recognize in you. Why you’re risking it all to save her. You’re atoning—”
“I love her.”
The words rush out of me, unable to be stifled any longer. Every minute away from her kills me. I miss her—her smell, her humor, the way she makes me feel human, the way she makes me want a life I was never meant to have.
“She knows everything. I deserve her hatred.”
“You don’t deserve hatred,” Rafe murmurs, “not with a heart like yours.”
I laugh—a short, humorless sound. “If your God exists, He has some sense of humor.”
Rafe quirks his lips and squeezes my shoulder. “He works in mysterious ways. All you can do is have faith that everything will work out in the end.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re gathered inside The Syndicate Chamber to plan the next steps now that the bounty is temporarily frozen. Jasper and his goons have been fidgety, tracking my every move at the siheyuan. They won’t sit still for long.
“For the vow,” Elias says as he rolls his lighter over his knuckles.
“No mercy,” we respond.
“Who the hell is Phantom?” I sign.
The room goes quiet.
“The bastard’s sneaky.” Elias scratches the long scar on his face. “He left no trace. Just like last year.”
“He doesn’t show up on the security footage.” Cornelius finally let me examine the footage when I told him I needed to know who our enemies were to protect the siheyuan. “He was in a dead zone, or the footage was cut.”
“A Kong insider, perhaps?” A stillness settles over Elias as he pins me with his impenetrable gaze. “The Phantom helped me take down the Berishas last year. That benefited the Kongs.”
It doesn’t sit right. The Phantom doesn’t feel familiar, but I can’t rule out Elias’s suspicion. In our world, coincidences are strategic chess moves.
Tristan, dressed again in his usual fed outfit of black suit and tie, raises his hand. “Nothing came up in the bureau. But I had to keep things quiet.”
“Did anyone suspect you?” Elias asks.
Tristan grimaces. “It’s not every day someone pulls off raids on five dangerous criminal branches in the city. Got me in the spotlight. I prefer to stay out of it.”
“How did you explain it to them?” Sebastian swivels his chair, his icy blue eyes pinned on the newcomer. “Anonymous tip?”
“Courtesy of Elias.” Tristan’s lips lift as if it hurts to smile. “As much as I hate to admit it, name-dropping Elias Kent works.” Then he turns to the man in question. “You have ties to the Bureau, don’t you? People seem afraid to cross you.”
Elias leans back and gives one of his enigmatic smirks. “Catching on finally, I see.”
“You scheming motherfucker,” Tristan mutters. “If you weren’t the enemy of my enemy, I’d—”
“Stop him? Kill him? God forbid, arrest him?” Sofia scoffs. “We don’t need you, fed.”
Tristan arches his brow. “Stop letting your emotions get the best of you. You want to take down the most dangerous organization in the world, and you don’t think you’ll need someone inside law enforcement when this blows up in your faces?”
A chair crashes against the wall of monitors, blue light flickering over Sofia’s crimson dress like cold fire. She moves toward the fed, who slowly rises.
“God,” Sebastian mutters, making the sign of the cross. “Save me from this.”
“Focus.” Elias knocks his lighter on the table. “Stop bickering.”
He hurls a glare at Tristan, who holds his hands up and sits back down.
Sofia rolls her neck and smooths her hands over her dress before granting us all a serene smile, like moments ago she wasn’t about to commit murder.
Clearing my throat, I sign, “I’ve been lying to Aria.”
“No shit,” Sebastian says. “And you look like a lovesick puppy.”
I flip him the middle finger.
“You’re Reaper,” Elias says.
My eyes narrowed. How long has he known?
“Ever since Lana told me about a certain nighttime visitor Aria’s been having,” he answers my unasked question.
Tristan mutters, “You really think you’re that good at dodging my alarms?”
I look around the table, finding no one surprised. Sofia takes out her compact and fixes her hair. Sebastian twirls his penknife, his gaze apathetic.
“You’re in love,” he says. “Even I can see it, and usually I don’t see these things.”
I exhale. Of course I can’t fool this group of hooligans who somehow became family.
“What are you going to do?” Sofia asks me.
“Lana told me you confessed everything to Scarlett,” Elias says. “Lana wants to kill you. It took a lot to stop her. A lot of persuasion.” Then his lips curve in a disgustingly proud smile.
“Oh, holy fuck.” Sebastian shudders. “Elias, please don’t smile again. It’s revolting.”
Ignoring the idiots, I respond to Sofia. “I’m going to protect her. Until we can figure this out. But we don’t have a lot of time. I intercepted two more assholes tailing Aria after work. One from the Carusos again, and the other was one of Jasper’s newest recruits.”
Both found themselves at the bottom of Lake Michigan, their bodies weighed down by rocks.
“Which is why I’ve brought in more help,” Elias says and clicks his lighter, his attention turning to the entrance of the chamber.
The temperature drops ten degrees.
Because standing there in the doorway’s shadow like a monster rising from the dead is someone I never thought I’d see again.
That’s impossible.
I sign, “There was nothing on the monitors.”
“And just who set up those monitors?” a low voice drawls.
The intruder steps in.
Dark cargo pants. Black T-shirt showing off his two full sleeves of tattoos.
A frame more filled out since the last time I saw him.
His dirty-blond hair is no longer in a buzz cut.
Now, it hangs longer on top and is shaved at the sides.
Still, he looks more haggard than older. More haunted than smug.
“What are you doing here, Aleksei?” Sebastian’s voice flattens. He stands. “You’re not welcome here.”
The arrogant smirk on Aleksei’s face slips. Guilt darkens his features as he lifts his hand, beckoning Sebastian.
“Come. I won’t fight back,” he mutters. “Hit me.”
Ice flashes in Sebastian’s eyes.
With a growl, the psychopath slams a sharp right hook across Aleksei’s face. Blood spews from Aleksei, but true to his word, he doesn’t defend himself.
“Anyone else want to have a go?” he asks as he wipes the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Why are you here?” I’m torn between the urge to kill him and to call him brother again.
“You bastards couldn’t survive without me,” he says.
“Fuck you. This isn’t over.”
“I’d expect no less.” He lets out a shaky exhale, a wet sheen appearing in his eyes. Then he clears his throat. “I come bearing gifts.”
In a few strides, Aleksei reaches the table and slides folders in front of us. His gaze lingers on Tristan, who’s scanning the Bratva hacker with suspicion.
“Didn’t include you, fed,” Aleksei says. “Also didn’t know they’d replaced me with you.”
Tristan shrugs. “I didn’t know the madman of the Bratva was part of this ensemble.”
“Genius, you mean. Genius of the Bratva.”
The FBI agent snorts. “Rumor was, you fled to Siberia after the hospital shootout.”
“Bad info. But then, you feds only get what I feed you.” Aleksei winks.
I glance at the first document in the folder. A weight sinks into my gut.
“What’s this?”