Chapter 1
ONE
LANCE
This is taking too long. And I don’t like Cricket’s text. I check my phone again and reread the last message she sent me.
C
I’m fine. I need more time. Trust me.
This time, I leave it on the bar, face up, so the screen will glow the minute there’s a new message. Using burners is usually reckless. Not to mention, service is spotty in this underground club with thick concrete walls. But we can’t use earpieces in here. Too conspicuous. Nobody will pay attention to a guy in a suit with a cell phone. Walk in here with an earpiece, and I’d get patted down.
I’m seated at the bar of LaRoe, the mafia’s favorite private strip club —but who are we kidding? It’s a sex club. From what we were told, there’s nothing particularly gruesome here. The women are of age, and seemingly all eager.
The escorts aren’t why PALADIN is here tonight. That’s not what we do. Maybe when we were working for the FBI, but it’s been months since that fizzled. Now, we’re free agents again, and Vesper’s not interested in enforcing politics. Let these women make a living how they please. As long as they aren’t being kidnapped, tortured, or killed, this is none of our business.
We’re only here tonight for Giovanni Rossi. Poor sap.
Right now, the Rossi family mostly keeps to themselves. Yes, the government is aware of the mass weaponry and drugs they are smuggling into the country. But they operate within their own network. The murders are between competing crime families, equally guilty. Not our problem. As long as civilians are safe, the crime lords putting each other in the ground is just natural selection. Survival of the fittest, so to speak. Gio had the good sense to keep his dealings far away from the public, until he got a little stupid…
They wanted more ships. More control over the docks. But instead of putting a bullet through his enemies’ heads, he decided to strike up an alliance with the Colombo and Conti families. Now, that’s a big problem. Those three forces combined could easily overrun New York City’s law enforcement.
Ergo… Now, it’s PALADIN’s problem. Cricket and I were sent here to keep the sheep… sheep.
Somebody needed to go, and their potential new business partners needed to think there was an unforgivable betrayal. We flipped a coin. Sorry, Gio. Tonight, you die.
Gio Rossi’s men will think that Conti arranged an assassination. They’ll wage a war against the Conti family and wipe them out, hopefully whittling down their own numbers in the process. Colombo, who has the smallest impact in this seedy underworld, will remain in power and can take over whatever is left of the Rossi family. As much as I’d like to take credit for such a clever plan, this was Vesper’s genius.
She sees mob bosses and mafia heads as puzzle pieces. Driven by an innate desire to accomplish their mission, never really seeing the whole picture. Easily manipulated.
This job was cut and dry. Very simple… Until Cricket disappeared into a back room that’s been locked for twenty minutes too long. She told me to wait, but it’d only take seconds for a situation to go from under control to wildly awry. I fight the urge to barge back there, because if I interrupt, I could blow her cover, and it could cost her life. I have to trust she can handle herself.
Still, I reach for my phone to check for the umpteenth time when a dainty hand on my shoulder sends a little jolt down my spine. A small, brunette woman slides right next to me on a barstool placed far too close.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asks, trilling her fingers against the bar, mere inches from my hand. I turn to look right into a pair of big, starling, bright green gems. There’s something familiar about her eyes… I’ve seen them before, I think. Her dark brown hair is in soft waves, long enough to touch her belly button. She’s stunning, really. Exactly the type of woman I’d usually take home…
Except lately, I’ve had a little problem.
Okay, fine. Big problem. Horrendously huge, disastrous fucking problem. I mean that literally—I’m having a fucking problem.
“No appointment. I’m just here to drink,” I say with a clipped smile.
“You look kind of lost.” She holds her hand out. “Do you know how this place works?”
“I can imagine,” I answer, shaking her hand. But we don’t exchange names.
“What do you fancy?” She swivels in her chair, and her long, sparkling red dress drapes over the stool legs. It’s an elegant dress, except the slit is so high on one side I can easily see her G-string. I turn my head, following where she’s gesturing. She points to a woman nestled in a private booth that looks similar to a clam shell. I can’t really see what’s going on, but she’s obviously beautiful, blond, and aggressively flirting with the man whose back is turned to us. “Creseda looks like a sweetheart, but I heard she likes the red room. Her endurance”—the brunette pumps her brows—“is impressive.”
I exhale. “Well, too bad she already has company,” I mutter out as an excuse.
“Who, Bishop? He can’t afford her. He just likes to flirt, hoping for a pity appointment. I’m sure she’d be more than happy to keep you company.”
“No, thank you, like I said—here to drink.”
The brunette shoots me a half-smile. “Except you don’t have a drink.”
Ah, fuck. “Caught,” I say with a laugh. “I actually haven’t seen a bartender.”
“She slipped into a private room with some suit. I’m sure she’ll be back any moment. But I’m happy to make you something.” She leans in close and puts her lips against my ear. “All you have to do is order,” she says in a raspy whisper.
This should turn me on. She’s gorgeous. The old Lance would make sure Cricket is okay, get her home safe and sound, then sneak back out to Club LaRoe to handle this beautiful creature properly. But something has been off for a couple of months now… Ever since that unexpected kiss with Cricket in the break room at PALADIN headquarters a while back.
We got caught up in a moment. It meant nothing, or so I thought. But it’s been months, and I can’t stop thinking about her lips. It’s driving me crazy. I’m sure Cricket’s gone home with other men since then. In her thick-ass Irish accent, her exact words were, “Forget about it, Lancelot.” She used my full name, like she only does when she’s mad at me. Obviously, the feelings didn’t linger for her like they did for me.
I can’t forget. I’ve tried.
Lately, I’m worried about her safety, like I’m suddenly terrified to lose her. I have to bite my tongue because treating Cricket like a damsel in distress is a good way to get a blade pressed against your throat. She’s a feral little thing. Actually, quite scary, if I’m being honest. Maybe that’s why my heart kicks into hyperdrive every time she enters a room lately—the thrill of wanting what I know I can’t have. My best friend put a spell on me with one, stupid kiss.
When I don’t answer, the woman swivels back around so we’re both facing the glass shelves of the bar. My lack of advance doesn’t deter her. She stays planted on her stool, and now I feel obligated to fill the lull in conversation. “What’s your name?”
“Kezia Silver.”
That catches my attention. I turn fully to face her. “That’s your real name?”
She nudges my shoulder playfully. “Silver is for theatrical purposes. But Kezia is real.”
“You’re Romani?”
Her smile grows wide. “You’re familiar?”
“I’ve traveled a lot. Nomads tend to find other nomads,” I offer. “You don’t look Romani, though.”
“It’s an honorary name.” Her eyes shift forward as if she’s speaking to the bottles of liquor on the bar shelves. “I took a bullet straight through here once”—she taps her chest with two fingers—“grazed my heart. I should’ve died. A Romani tribe found me clinging to life. They nursed me back to health for months. By the time I healed…”
“They were your new family?” I ask.
She nods. “For a long time, until our paths went different ways.” She turns again to look me in the eyes, piercing me with her sharp gaze. “Your turn, Babyface.”
“Babyface?” I scrunch my brows with an incredulous look.
She laughs. “Yes. You look like you took the wrong turn on your way to rowing practice your freshman year at Harvard.”
I glower. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.” She lifts one brow. “You stick out like a sore thumb here. You’re going to blow your cover.”
“What?” My mouth falls open at her last statement.
“What’s your name? Your real name,” she insists. “I gave you mine”—she places her hand over her heart—“as a show of trust, assassin .”
My heart stops. I’m made.
“Okay, who the fuck are you really?” I growl out.
“Calm down.” Kezia grabs my hand and slowly drags it up her thigh until I feel a small pistol. “An assassin knows how to spot one. I’ve been watching you since you sat down.”
I glance around the club, ensuring no eyes are on us. The room is so dark, barely lit with table lamps and neon signs. “Are you an assassin or a spy?” I murmur. “You sure know a lot about this place.”
“Ha. I’m just better at my job than you. I’ve been here for less than thirty minutes, and I already have all the intel I need.”
“Being?” I ask, taking my hand back, as it’s uncomfortably close to the curve of her ass.
She uncrosses her legs, the slit of her dress landing in the center of her thighs. At this point, I can’t tell if this woman is interested in seducing me or killing me.
“My target’s not coming.”
“Who’s your target?”
She quirks a brow with a smirk on her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is this your first day on the job, Babyface?”
“Lancelot.”
“Ah, Lancelot. Where’s your sword and your noble steed?” She rolls her eyes. “Weak. I gave you my real name.”
I exhale. Against my better judgment, I add, “I was once a boy named Levi. His obituary was nine years ago. Reborn as Lancelot. You said Kezia was an honorary name. What’s the one on your death certificate? All assassins have to disappear one way or the other.”
“I’ve never lied about being dead.” Her eyes go misty. “There’s simply no one alive who’d know to look for me.”
I roll my eyes. Now, I’m annoyed that I gave her the upper hand. “Well, have a good evening, Kezia. Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. My target is in the back room.”
“Sylvie.” She holds out her hand. “Short for Silver. The very few people who know this version of me call me Sylvie. It’s the best I can do, Babyface.”
I shake her hand again. “Fine, then. Pleasure to meet you, Sylvie.”
Her plum-red lips spread into a wicked smile. “Now, how about a drink?”
“What’ll it cost me?”
She rakes the tips of her fingernails through my hair. “Information.”
I scoff. “Sober it is.”
“Maybe we can help each other.” She flutters her lashes at me. “It’s just a conversation.” She slides off her seat and makes her way around the bar. Once she’s standing in front of me, the bar counter between us, she asks, “What would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
“Can I make you my specialty?”
Now I’m skeptical. Usually, an assassin’s favorite drink to serve is poison. “Sure.”
Sylvie has to fetch a step stool to reach the middle shelves. She collects a medley of bottles, one of which looks neon purple. I watch her prepare a martini that changes colors with the pour of each new bottle.
“No allergies, right?”
“Not that I know of,” I reply.
“Good.” She pulls a small tube of gray powder from the cup of her bra and sprinkles it into the martini. It dissolves immediately. When she’s finished, the drink looks like it’s practically glowing—a rich amethyst.
“What the hell is this?” I ask with a laugh. “Spy, assassin, and a drug dealer?”
She chuckles. “Not drugs. An herbal Romani mix for good luck. Call it superstition, but I sprinkle it over every drink.”
“If I was going to poison someone, I’d tell that exact same bullshit story.” I smirk at her, then narrow my eyes.
“My, oh my. You sure are paranoid.” She holds up both hands in surrender before taking a hearty sip of the drink. She twirls around. “See? Still alive.” Then, she slides the martini glass to me. “And it is delicious if I say so myself.”
Balancing the glass between my thumb and forefinger, I take a small sip. It’s fruity and sweet—like blueberry and lavender, but there’s a bitter kick at the end. “Gin?” I scour the bottles she pulled out.
“And Absinthe.”
“Weird combination. What’s it called?”
“Love Spell.” She sinks to her elbows and holds my gaze for an uncomfortably long time. What the hell? Those eyes… Where do I know this girl from? She finally breaks her stare and shrugs. “Hm, guess it didn’t work.”
I crack a smile. “So, slacker, how’d your target get away?”
“Bad intel. He never showed. He likes to keep his minions guessing, I suppose. I’m going to need a new source.”
“Who’s your source?”
“Giovanni Rossi.”
I point at her forehead. “There’s your mistake. Gio’s no minion. He’s the head of the Rossi mafia.”
“Oh, you are brand new here, Babyface. These factions all answer to the motherland. There’s a rumor they are forming an alliance to rise up against their overlord. And that rumor was enough to poke the hive. The real mafia don is on the way to put them back in their place.”
“What?”
“Rossi, Colombo, Conti, and Bianchi are all just peasants in the court, my friend. Does that surprise you?”
Ah, damn. Suddenly, I feel like my job here is redundant. “So when the big boss gets into town, he calls you to do his bidding?”
Her eyes turn to slits. “No. My target is the big boss. Well, his son, who is a fucking ghost. I’ve been hunting him all over the world, but he went underground years ago. I needed something to summon him to the surface.”
“Who wants him dead?” I ask.
“ Me,” she murmurs. “A personal vendetta, if you will.”
The cogs in my mind start spinning. Maybe I’d be able to piece this together a little faster if the drink wasn’t so damn strong. I’m no lightweight, but whatever is in this martini has me woozy. “Wait…so it was you? You set up all the mafia families in New York? You knew your target would come if they banded together?”
Her smile is devilish. “You can convince Rossi to do anything if you strip down naked for him.”
I give her ample chest a once-over. “Yeah, I don’t think that’d work for me.”
“True. Your allure is of a different nature. Speaking of which… If that love potion is kicking in, I have a few minutes when you’re off work. The red room is open, I believe.” She licks her lips, making them glisten under the bar lights.
Tempting, honestly. But… I have another woman on my mind. “I’m flattered, but I—wait.” I scowl at her. “A few minutes?”
She shrugs innocently. “You look inexperienced, Babyface.”
The fuck? “For your information—”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. My screen glows bright, lighting up Sylvie’s face in a blue hue. Fucking finally. I lunge for my phone, and my heart drops when I see the messages from Cricket.
C
I’m okay, but we have a small problem.
Wait, I undersold that.
Big problem…big mess. I need you to come back here.
Ah, dammit. I slam the rest of the martini back in one gulp. I look up to see Sylvie’s large, unblinking eyes.
“That was meant to be sipped, slowly, ” she says. “Are you okay?”
“It’s just a drink.” I shrug. Actually, not that I’d tell my boss this, but I complete most of my jobs with a few drinks in me or a little high. Takes the edge off and helps me focus.
“In about thirty minutes, this place is going to be crawling with Rossi’s men. If any of them could recognize you, you should go. Hate to tell you, but your source is now a dead end.”
“I’m heartbroken,” she snarks. “But fair point. Some of his men know my face. I should go. Another time then, Babyface.”
She strides away in a hurry, but I flag her down. “Hey, wait. Sylvie?”
She stops and looks over her shoulder. She doesn’t answer but raises her perfectly styled brows.
“Your target’s name? If I find out anything, I’ll get in touch.”
“How will you find me?” she asks.
I’m really relying on my instincts here. Why do I feel this innate urge to help her and protect her? Those eyes. This girl is a ghost from my past; I know it. “Where do you live?”
“Nowhere…” She laughs. “Everywhere.”
“You don’t have headquarters? Who do you work for?”
“Myself. You have a keeper?” She shows me a bemused expression, I suspect laced with condescension.
I hold her gaze, feeling pity for this beautiful, probably vicious, woman. “I have a family, Sylvie.”
“Good for you,” she says. “Makes one of us. I don’t need your help. Luca Accardi is mine to find and deal with. But try to stay alive, Babyface. Maybe if the planets align, we can have another drink one day.” She blows me a kiss before disappearing down the hall. I’d follow her, but more important duties call.
I text Cricket back.
Me
Unlock the door. I’m on my way.