Chapter 17
“If a Monroe gives their word, it means something. I hope you’re cut from the same cloth, Luciani.”
— ROBERT MONROE
Maximo
Saturday night is closing in fast. Every man in the house moves with quiet purpose, the air heavy with the kind of anticipation that comes before blood is spilled.
Enzo, Constance, and I gather in my office.
My desk is buried under maps, photos, and floor plans of Club Metron.
It’s hot as hell in here because Leonard, the most senior of the house servants, has stoked up a fire.
The old man is always cold and assumes the rest of us are too.
The firelight casts our faces in sharp, flickering shadows while we plan.
Enzo points to the layout of the club. “Okay, the technician planted the device here.” He stabs a finger at the blueprint.
“The HVAC system will fail at ten fifteen. It’s not enough of a charge to blow the roof off the place, but it’ll light up the insulation and cause a massive amount of smoke.
It should drive everyone towards the exits within minutes limiting the danger to any civilians.
The street crews will be in position to close off every escape route and drop Kirill as soon as he peeks his head up. ”
“It’s clean, if we can avoid the police that will be responding,” I say.
Constance studies the plans then asks, “Where did they leave my gun?”
Enzo lays his finger on the blueprint, but before he can say a word, I slap my hand down on top of his. “I’ve already told you no, Constance.”
“And I’ve told you that there are reasons for me to be the one to go inside,” she replies evenly. “You need eyes on Kirill to know which way he runs if you want a real chance of catching him.”
I stare at her, willing her to stand down. Trying my best to intimidate her. It doesn’t work. “You’re just going in there to be our eyes, and to let us know which way he bolts when the fire starts, understood? I’m not risking you for anything more than that.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “You would rather risk sending someone who doesn’t know him by sight?
Someone who might hesitate or lose him in the chaos?
I’ve studied every photo, every scrap of the plan, Maximo.
I’ve etched that bastard’s face into my brain.
You know I can spot him before anyone else could. ”
“You’re asking me to send you into the one place I can’t protect you. I promised you vengeance, but tonight isn’t your fight,” I tell her.
“Every night has been a fight since they murdered my father,” she shoots back. “If it were you, you wouldn’t hesitate. You would demand to be the one to pull the trigger.”
I fucking hate that she’s right. I hate even more that a part of me knows that she’s the best option for this portion of our plan.
Enzo shifts uncomfortably in the silence, then finally speaks.
“If she goes in, nothing really changes. We’ll cover the extraction points and make sure she’s out the second Kirill’s position is confirmed.
You won’t need it, but the gun is behind the vent grate in the rear women’s bathroom stall. They left the screws loose for you.”
I already know that the moment Constance steps through that door, control shifts out of my hands. And I fucking hate it. I also hate the thought of losing Kirill.
I look between Enzo and Constance, knowing the two are intent on working together regardless of what I decide. Finally, I let out a slow breath. “Fine. But you do exactly what I say, firefly. No improvising, no heroics. If I say pull out, you pull out.”
She gives me a short nod. “Agreed.”
An hour later, I stand in the hallway as she emerges from her room.
She’s dressed for the occasion in a short, sleek black dress, her long dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders.
It’s a look that could strike a man with the force of a bullet.
I’ve come to know her in so many beautiful ways the last few weeks, but tonight her radiance is practically blinding.
For a moment, a stab of something completely unfamiliar jolts my heart.
Jealousy.
Jealousy is a useless fucking emotion. One I’ve never had to deal with. But seeing Constance like this, knowing that every man inside that club will look at her the way I do? It hits me with the force of a knife shoved between my ribs.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” I ask her. “You look stunning. So much so, I’m considering just dragging you out myself to another club entirely.”
Her eyes meet mine without wavering while adjusting the thin wrap that’s see through and fidgeting with her clutch. “I want to see Kirill suffer. Personally.”
There’s no fear in her eyes, only purpose. It terrifies me more than the thought of facing Kirill alone.
The banter dries up in my throat. Her expression softens before she moves towards me, her arms snaking around my neck and pulling my lips to hers. The kiss is so intense that for a moment I forget our mission and lose myself in her.
When she pulls away from me, our eyes meet and she reiterates, “I’ve got the text chain already set up with your men. I’ll let them know whether Kirill bolts out the back or the front.”
“And the gun?” I ask.
“Only in case of emergency.”
“Don’t let the police or any of the Bratva catch you,” I warn her.
“Enough, Maximo.” She smiles as she drops her arms and moves past me. “Make sure your men do their job. Tonight, we’re going to avenge my father.”
I follow her downstairs and watch her walk out to the waiting car. Every instinct screams at me to call her back, to keep her here where I can protect her. But I know she would never forgive me.
That’s why I let her get into the car and drive away without me.
What I should’ve told her was that if I lose her tonight, it may very well be my ruin.