15. Killian #2
The tip pierces his Adam’s apple, a slight pop under pressure.
My grin grows before blood flows over my hands and into the collar of his shirt.
Red mars everything, and the sweet, heated scent of copper drifts into the air, mingling with her perfume.
Unimaginable relief sings through my veins; colors brighter, vision crisp.
Exhaling, I crack my neck, a needed release exploding over my nerves.
Sitting back on my knees, I look down into his bugged-out, dull eyes. It’s still messy, regardless.
This causes a slight hiccup. I’ll have to clean it up before she sees. And now I’m the errand boy to the capo without Liam.
Oh well. Small sacrifices. Glancing at Maeve, I grab the corpse’s legs. Do I think she’ll care that I killed him? No. If I can clean everything up and dispose of the body before she wakes up, it’ll be one less worry for her.
Maybe she’ll even thank me for it.
“C’mon, Liam,” I say cheerfully. “Off to the harbor we go.”
“Fucking Reaper,” Alessio De Luca swears, and rubs his stubbled chin ruefully.
Oh, good, the feeling is mutual.
Alessio De Luca is the bane of my existence. He’s always been the heir Ferguson wanted—and he never let me or Maeve forget it. Whereas I was killing without discretion for my mentor and the facilitator of the love of my life’s abuse, he was ignoring all the work she put into his clan.
We’re only as strong as we are because of her wit. Her grit. Her fucking sacrifice.
Did Ferguson see that? No. But he drooled for some boy in a pretty suit, instead of recognizing the two of us covered in blood.
Taking in the polished office, I inhale. Aftershave, gunpowder, and wood polish, it still smells like when Nico ran things. The capo hasn’t exactly branched out and made the family his yet.
Glancing to my side, I incline my head the slightest to Tony, the capo’s second. With a bald head and broad shoulders, Tony is a cousin with special ops training. And the keeper of a few secrets I never want to get out.
He returns the greeting, the barest hint of fear in his eyes.
“Capo.” I take the vacant seat before his desk. Papers cover the top, a book of expenses open wide at the corner. A cigarette burns in the ashtray beside his arm, and I tsk. “Still smoking? I’m sure Sloane wouldn’t be happy about that.”
“Fuck off,” he growls, stubbing it out. “You’d smoke too if you had twins due any day.”
Maybe. I’m not married to the resident wild child. That’s his problem.
His black hair glistens under the soft light, his ebony leather gloves crinkling against the silence of the room. He wears them to cover the burns that cover his hands and body. He sustained them as a child in Italy, before Nico, his uncle and former capo, brought him here.
I could consider him attractive, with his burning amber eyes, warm skin, and laugh lines—if I didn’t have this insane urge to gut him whenever he’s near.
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“So.” He reclines in his seat. His black Armani suit, pressed with all the right creases, hides the large, obnoxious watch on his wrist. “My product. Where is it?”
Crossing my legs, I shrug. His pulse thumps, and something tickles me to cause him this aggravation.
“You don’t know?”
“Oh, I do.”
Exhaling, he slaps his hand on the desk. “Then out with it, Reaper. Where the fuck are my pills?”
God, it’s too fun riling him up.
Smirking, I pluck a cigarette from my coat. Snapping his fingers, he says, “Hey, what about the bullshit you gave me?”
“I don’t have a wife to answer to,” I reply. “I’ll keep my bad habit.”
“No. Only a master.” He scoffs. “Speaking of. Does she know you’re here?”
I just stare.
Lex nods, laughing. “Whatever you two are doing, keep me out of it. I don’t need Ace cutting out my heart. She’s psychotic.”
Smart man. He remembers Ace cutting off his cousin’s head when he tried to harm Sloane. It was beautiful watching her saw into his throat and crack his spinal cord as she dislodged his head. Poetic, really.
Blowing out a puff of smoke, I sigh. “The pills have been destroyed.”
“Destroyed?” The vein on the side of his neck bulges. I wonder if Sloane makes it a game, counting how often it throbs. I’m tempted to try.
“Bruno,” I say by explanation. “He’s becoming a nuisance.”
Checking his phone, the capo raises a brow. “I don’t have a text about his death. I would assume by now Ace killed him and a new leader was chosen.”
I don’t like how well he knows my girl.
Rubbing my bottom lip, I fantasize about slicing his neck. “She tried. I stopped it.” Flicking ash onto his floor, I ignore his glare. “We have a situation at home.”
Lex pauses, tilting his head. “Is Sloane in danger?”
Is she?
So far, the Board has only gone after Maeve and the clan. Technically, Sloane is a De Luca. Attacking her would equal war.
But they’re not playing nice anymore. Anyone close to Maeve—anyone she cares about—is collateral.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. “Given past circumstances, I’d be on high alert.”
His jaw bunches. “What happened?”
“We have a mole.” No point in lying. “And Ace is in trouble. More than she’ll admit.”
A sliver of sympathy shines in his eyes. I fucking hate it. He shouldn’t care about her—not like I do. Not like I have. “What kind of trouble?”
“Bad.” I wave my hand in the air. “Things are tense. The city is close to war. And Bruno isn’t helping the situation.”
Not like he ever does, the fucking idiot.
“What do you need from me?”
“Information.” Stubbing out my cigarette in his crystal ashtray, I keep his gaze. “We’re looking into the leak, but I want you to keep an ear out. Anything that sounds off. Anyone who might be suspicious.”
Lex nods resolutely. “On my honor. Ace is my family. So is Collins and Hayes. I’ll make sure my men are aware.” He gestures to Tony, and the big brute leaves without another word. Lowering his voice, he nods once. “Is she alright?”
How do I tell the capo that the most fearsome woman in this city is trying to kill herself to keep everyone else safe? Self-sacrificing pain in the ass that she is, she’d be dead if I didn’t keep pulling her out of the fucking flames.
“Perfect,” I respond, smirking. Tapping my lips, I say, “Remember, capo. She doesn’t know I was here. Anything you find comes directly to me.”
“Great,” he mutters. “More secrets.”
“In this life, you should be used to it.”
Exiting the club, I pull my jacket close, fighting the brisk cold of winter. The gray overcast sky darkens the street, and I sidestep the black ice as I get into Maeve’s car. Taking out my phone, I send a clipped message to Briar.
Send me all the names of all the players in the city who are active.
I open the car door, and Briar responds quickly.
Briar: Why? What aren’t you telling me?
Groaning, I pinch my brow, letting the car warm up. Without her here, it still smells like the perfume that torments me in my dreams. I’m a fucking masochist, so I take her car just to be hurt by it.
Opening the message, I hesitate. Not because Briar can’t handle the truth—but if anyone is more protective than Maeve, it’s Briar. Once he learns what’s happening, it’ll take an act of God to keep him out of the city.
It’s safer for him to stay away.
The Board is sending players after your sister.
She’s safe. I want to intercept.
Three dots appear and disappear in rapid succession. I can imagine his angry green eyes under a curtain of dark hair, fingers furiously pushing keys.
Briar: If anything fucking happens to her…
He doesn’t finish the message. He doesn’t have to.
Get in line, kid.