Eighteen
Zagan
Meetings aren't my preference, but as head of the mob, there are certain ones I can’t avoid. The kind where the overconfident need a reminder of who holds the power.
Watching Mitchell Berrett sweat under the weight of my glare, I’m reminded of the importance of these encounters. Men like him think that brute force alone took the throne, that I’m a beast with no mind for strategy.
They’re wrong. I don’t rely on force alone—I know when to use it and when to let everything else fall into place.
Mitchell Berrett, the frontrunner for Prime Minister, is exactly the type I need on my leash. He wants his victory, and he knows he’ll need my money and reach to get it. His win is practically decided, and he worries about the Cruxis situation. A matter that, according to him, is going to affect the elections. And probably also his plan about his big reveal—some underhanded deal of his opponent’s that he plans to expose right before the elections.
He’s nervous, repeats himself, and I’ve barely said anything.
“This is going to be a problem,” he mutters again.
“Yes,” I say simply, watching him squirm.
The rouge assassins roaming in the city this close to the election might be a problem, but it’s not one without a solution.
Mitchell pleads, not outright, but the strain in his voice is obvious. “Can the search for Cruxis wait until after the election?”
He’s got his son, Burke, with him, watching this little performance. He wants to appear strong, not like a man who’s afraid of me. It takes effort not to crush his feeble facade here and now. But Iblis is in the room, the fucker would complain about this for a few more months until I am tempted to shoot his kneecaps. I have to risk attending all the fucking meetings myself. So, I grit my teeth and give Berrett the nod he’s looking for.
Not that I need his permission for anything. The search for Cruxis assassins is already in motion, and Nico should be arriving with an update any minute now.
Mitchell checks his watch before answering a call with a clipped, “I’m on my way.”
A call from his mistress, no doubt—the one he sneaks off to while his wife drums up votes. If she knew, her powerful family would bury him without a second thought. I could ruin him if I wanted, but for now, he’s on a tight leash.
When he leaves, he tries to hand off the meeting to his son, Burke, who gives me an arrogant smirk—strained but still there. The boy’s arrogance is built on an untouchable life, one where he’s never known real fear. A spoiled brat to the core. Someone I despise with everything inside me.
“So, Burke, what do you think we should do about this infiltration?” Iblis drawls, his words dripping with mockery.
Burke frowns, obviously out of his depth but trying to mask it.
“As Dad said, we should keep it quiet until after the elections. Then we’ll take care of it.” His answer is empty.
I resist the urge to snap at his stupidity. He has nothing to back up that cockiness. Nothing but a last name. Iblis, ever the provocateur, leans in, pressing Burke.
“What if they decide to bring chaos now? What if they align with people against your father? What if they target CEOs or politicians to crash the economy?”
“W…What?”
Iblis doesn't bother telling him that those aren't the real reasons they’re here. Partly because he knows Burke will scurry back to his father with his own twisted explanation, veering far from the truth—a truth that still remains unclear. But mostly, he enjoys toying with the bastard, feeding into his psychosis.
Iblis keeps it up, messing with Burke's useless brain, watching the colour drain from his face as the stress sets in. It makes me wonder how the little siren would react in situations like this. She does know how to worm her way out of trouble, and she's far sharper than anyone realises.
My teeth grind, the urge to punch something rising. Preferably Burke’s punchable face, which is turning red under Iblis’s humiliation.
This has been happening more often. Me thinking about her at random moments. Her kissable face slipping into my thoughts when it shouldn’t. My grip tightens on the armrest as I recall how her face looked the day I almost kissed her. She didn’t make it easy to walk away from the fucking temptation.
The image of her trusting eyes lingers—those pink-tinged cheeks, her slightly parted lips, and the damn scent of hibiscus and vanilla. I had to leave before I could crash her to her door and bite those bee-stung lips. With great fucking difficulty, I stepped back, only to end up jerking off with my hand, imagining driving into her mouth, her cunt, her ass, spilling myself everywhere.
I feel my cock swelling my pants, and an involuntary growl rips from my chest. I see both Iblis and Burke turn towards me—Iblis curious, Burke terrified, struggling to hide it.
Someone knocks on the door. I hope it’s Nico with the file.
I need a distraction. Something to deflate my rock-hard dick in my fucking pants.
“Get in.”
Two of my men enter, hauling in a slumped figure between them.
“We’d have thrown him out, but he came in with Mr. Berrett.” Wes, the head of security, explains.
A scruffy, piss-drunk idiot who’s caused trouble downstairs, from what they report.
Burke’s face flushes red, but he doesn’t dare say a word. When my men release the drunk fucker, he stumbles into a chair, looking smug despite his dishevelled state.
“Troubling women, Cody? Not a good look for the son of a Supreme Court judge.” Iblis jabs.
I want to kick them out, but the only obstacle—no matter how fucking useless and miserable—these fucks are the reason thoughts of Ara stay at bay. Cody, the fucking Judge’s son, is lucky that Ara wasn’t one of the women he troubled.
Then, I am suddenly thankful that the woman doesn’t step into any pubs, even if she was as drunk as a sailor on the pier on that day. I have no idea what I would do if she were to step out in skimpy little clothing, baring those curves for every man to see, showing that drunk, side of her while she danced. The lone thought has me seeing red.
Don’t leave me.
Her desperate plea, coupled with those ravishing lips, blown out in a pout. That side of her—the unguarded, trusting, vulnerable version—no one deserves to witness it. No one, except me.
“Screw off, Vesper.” Cody sneers at Iblis.
“My my. Did Daddy dearest not teach you eloquence? Or was he too busy fucking his secretaries?” Iblis fires back smoothly.
“Big words coming from the man who let his friend steal my fiancé”
The door to his office opens without a knock, and I have to tamper down my rage when I see Eero strut in carrying a bag. Nico, as usual, gives him a disapproving glare as both of them walk in.
“Bossman. How are you this fine evening?”
My eyes narrow at him.
He was supposed to foresee the weapon shipments that were being sent to Troit. He shouldn’t be back this soon unless he outsourced the job. He isn’t the one to slack off, so he must have paid a visit to the siren and her friend, who he calls friends.
Before I can say anything, Cody sneers at Eero, who looks at him with a smug smile.
“Immature cunts,” Iblis shakes his head.
I agree but my attention is on the black file in Nico’s hands.
“Slum smelling mongrel,” Cody sneers at Eero.
Eero doesn’t even flinch.
He grabs Cody by the back of the neck and slams his face down on the desk, over and over, until Cody’s face is a mangled mess. Burke cries out and tries to protest, but nobody stops Eero. When he’s finished, Cody is a pulp, and Eero steps back with satisfaction.
There is a reason why people stay the fuck away from my enforcer. He is always one second away from unleashing his bloodlust. And I have no qualms to control that beast, not when I have been wanting to do the same.
“Take care of it,” I say, dismissing the bleeding pile that was Cody.
He’s dragged out of the room along with complaining Burke. Nico hands me the file he’s brought, and I focus on the contents.
“Five kills in two weeks. That seems too many. For someone in hiding,” he muses out loud.
“They have been here for more than two weeks,” I say as I thumb the paper.
The execution of the kills was precise. Clean. Showing the expertise of the killer. Either a clean slit of the neck or a bullet to the forehead. Nothing too different to draw any attention. Happened at non-decrepit places, in neighbourhoods where next to no crime could be found. The killers must have followed them at least for a week to establish a schedule before the kill.
“Who placed the bounty?”
“Anonymous, as usual. It was an open bounty. The interesting thing is that the price wasn’t high. Nowhere near the level of the top Cruxis assassin,” Nico answers as he goes to lean on the wall beside the table.
“They must have issues with the funding. Maybe they are unable to access their bank accounts,” Iblis thinks out loud.
“Who would block them? Cruxis?” Nico frowns.
I shake my head once, and the other two snap their attention to me.
“The organisation wouldn’t let someone as important as them go. They will want them back, but only after they are done with whatever shit that they want to do.” I explain.
Iko explained how the organisation worked. If one thought I or the Dark Accord members had no qualms about ethics or morality, Cruxis takes it to a whole new level.
The only things they care about are their anonymity and the bounty prizes. So far, these assassins aren’t a threat to any of them. They would want them back as soon as possible. They are their prized assets. They wouldn’t waste the manpower and training go to a waste. So they wouldn’t hinder their path, even at the cost of the rift between Cruxis and us.
“They are broke. They must be. Why else take random contracts?” Iblis questions.
“Or they want us to think so,”
I recall the mail from Cruxis.
The warning to deal with extreme intelligence. If I knew that they were in my territory, they would’ve also known that I was on to them. They must have information on me as well, something much easier to get with the position I hold. Meanwhile, they remain elusive. Ghosts that I’m to chase.
“Why?” Nico frowns.
Fuck if I know. There is no pattern. Other than the kills happening at random-
My focus snaps to the file. I reopen it and skim through the information again. Out of five, three of them were in random states, but the other two were in Walius. One at the location of Ara’s previous apartment and the other at a neighbourhood close to her university.
I lean back, mulling over the information. I don’t believe in coincidences, and I’m not above accepting that my fixation on Ara might be making me see things that aren’t there.
I could be seeing patterns that I want to see so that I have more reasons to follow her and know more about her. I need to accept that both these neighbourhoods are also homes for hundreds of others, and there is no reason why any of this would connect back to her. I shake my head and turn to pin both Nico and Iblis with a serious look.
“They know that we’re searching for them,”
“They’re trying to throw us off their trails,” Nico nods.
“According to the report, we could send more men to the city of their last kill. But if this is an upstage, they could be anywhere,” Iblis frowns.
“They are here. In Walius or someplace close by,” I conclude.
They must be watching me.
They must know what I’m doing or what I plan to do. They’re trained to stay on high alert, but they’ve also been conditioned to fear nothing—not even me, the man who once impaled the previous mob boss’s head outside his home to send a message.
They are arrogant, yet cautious. They could be anyone, anywhere—hell, they could be downstairs, dancing in my pub, and I wouldn’t know. Masters of blending in.
I fucking hate being at a disadvantage. I’m used to being a dozen steps ahead, not fumbling around in the dark, unsure of what’s coming. I hate not knowing. I like to be prepared. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
“Have our men monitor the bounties all over Besall. As soon as someone accepts, I need them traced and followed. If any of the killers are new, take them to Eero,”
As if his name summoned him, Eero walks into the room, not knocking again. I grit my teeth, questioning myself why I still keep the fucker alive.
“The next time you don’t knock, you will meet me in the ring,” I growl snapping the file shut.
Eero winces slightly. “Wouldn’t want to do that, bossman,”
He drops two containers of food on my desk and announces, “Our sweet professor made these.”
Something in me stills. The containers are plain, nothing special, but I find myself pulling them towards me, claiming them before anyone else can.
I open one and inhale the warm, savoury aroma. She made this. With her hands. I imagine her in her kitchen, glasses slipping down her nose, cooking with that same gentle intensity she applies to everything. A rare flicker of warmth stirs somewhere deep within, unwanted but undeniable.
Eero groans, “Boss, please, at least share mine. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted in years.”
I give him a look that shuts him up. This is mine. She made it, and I’m keeping it.
“Fine,” he grumbles.
“She adopted a kid,” Eero says as he walks towards Nico. “And she invited you and me to her party for him.”
I can see the surprise on both their faces. The last thing they were invited without the other person having anything to gain was…nothing.
“Did you hear what I said, Nico? A fucking party. For a kid . And we are invited. I swear to the devil, I thought I was hearing things when she gave this to me,”
Nico and Iblis stare at the invitation Eero produces, the surprise plain on their faces. There’s something almost... innocent in the way they look at it. As if they’d forgotten what it felt like to be invited somewhere without strings attached.
“Looks like I’m not the only one on her shit list,” Iblis says, smirking, though even he holds the envelope with an uncharacteristic softness.
I glare at him, irritated.
“Oh, speaking of shit-list. What the fuck did you say to her boss?”
What the fuck is he yapping about.
“Why?”
“Because she is going on a date.”