Chapter 23 #2
I’m more than a little familiar with the guy. The white-haired prick is in bed with the Ferreras, frequently doing business with La Cosa Nostra and lining their pockets. He’s had people disappeared, including a reporter who had started poking her nose in his financials.
He might be a suit-and-tie wealthy man with a so-called respectable job title, but he’s a lot like Malcolm Langston in that way—men who are chameleons and present themselves as civilized in front of one crowd while being anything but in the shadows.
When LaMalfa goes to shake my hand, I keep mine buried deep in my pockets. And when Simone bitches me out about being rude, I let her know her best friend’s dating a guy who’s no better than I am.
A man who I’d argue is a lot worse for hiding what he really is.
The evening drags on.
Simone and I wander the gallery in strained silence, our security detail trailing behind us. I check my phone every few minutes, waiting for an update about the operation at Dren’s compound.
Killian gets the latest before I do, stepping up on my right side with a grim expression.
“Just heard back from Sean.”
Simone takes the opening to wander back over to Chantal while me and Killian break off for a private word.
“It went sideways,” he says. “The compound was empty. Dren and his family were gone. They must’ve got the jump on us somehow and evacuated before we made it on.”
“How the fuck’s that possible?” I question in a growl. “We kept our plans close to the vest. Only our guys knew the details.”
“Which means somebody told—or Dren’s somehow overheard. Either way, the entire premises was abandoned. Not even his employees were there.”
My mind races, piecing together what this could mean. If Dren knew we were coming, if he evacuated his family ahead of time, then he’s aware we’re on the offense. A headstrong asshole like him will carry out his own counterattack.
“Fuck, you know what this means, don’t you? He’s going to hit back. Possibly tonight. We need to get ahead of this. Fionn can take Simone home. You and I will regroup with the others.”
Eddie’s been hovering close enough to catch what’s being said. He edges even closer and says, “I’ll go too. Make sure she gets there safe.”
Normally I’d scold him for interjecting when his ass should know his place, but I’d rather have him with Fionn on a simple task like escorting Simone home than taking part in whatever else goes down tonight.
I give a curt nod and start for the exit. Fionn and Eddie escort Simone out the door with me as she protests.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asks, pausing at the rear door of the towncar.
I’ve strode down the sidewalk to the SUV that’s waiting. I give nothing away as I glance at her and say, “Eddie and Fionn will get you home. Don’t worry about the rest.”
It’s the extent of what she needs to know; she should be happy she got to attend Chantal’s event at all when I’ve got a shitstorm coming.
Killian and I take off in the SUV. He’s driving while I’m dialing up Sean.
“Tell me you’ve got a location on Dren.”
“Working on it,” Sean answers. “We’ve put some feelers out in Morris Park, but nothing so far. You think they’ve left the city altogether?”
“Dren didn’t fucking leave the city,” I rumble, clenching my phone to my ear. “He’s about to strike, if he hasn’t already. Find out what he’s up to. Right now.”
I hang up and immediately start typing a text to Fionn, telling him to alert security at Callahan House and lock the place down.
“You think he could be at some Langston location?” Killian asks, stealing a glance at me before returning his gaze to the traffic up ahead. “Some warehouse or other hideout he’d provide?”
“Could be. Anything’s possible at this fucking point.”
My fingers tap away at the phone screen as I send another text to Fionn then await a response that doesn’t seem to be coming.
Fionn’s aware things have gone left; he knows shit is possibly about to hit the fan. So why isn’t he immediately responding?
Teeth gritted and irritation spiking in my veins, I call him.
His phone rings a couple times with no answer. I’m convinced I’m about to be sent to voicemail when, on the last possible ring, he finally gets his head out of his ass and answers.
“Fionn, what the fuck is going on? Why aren’t you—”
“Fionn can’t come to the phone right now.”
It’s Eddie answering for him. It’s unexpected enough I pause for half a second. Then I’m agitated all over again. I’ve had enough of my nephew being a fucking brat and meddling when it’s not his place.
“Put him on,” I snarl. “Stop fucking playing games, Eddie, or I’ll have this phone so far up your ass—”
He interrupts with a sharp laugh. “No, Uncle Ronan, you don’t understand. Fionn can’t come to the phone right now because he’s dead.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, you little piece of shit? If you don’t—”
“I killed him,” he continues plainly. Yet there’s also a hint of pride too. Like he’s been waiting to deliver the news.
I’m so fucking thrown his confession’s met with silence. It’s met with me pulling my phone away from my ear and checking the number as if questioning who I’ve dialed in the first place.
“But don’t worry,” my nephew says. “I’m still driving your precious wife. She’s coming with me on a detour. So if you want her to make it out alive, I suggest that, for once, uncle, you listen to what the fuck I have to say.”