“Maybe not directly. But Sebastian holds grudges tighter than most. You more than anyone know that. And from where I’m standing, he’s got every intention of making this personal.”
“He’s always made it personal. Not much I can do about that.”
“Maybe,” James agreed quietly. “But this time he’s fixated. Focused. I’ve seen it before. The quiet before he decides to strike—and when he does, it’s never clean.”
My gut twisted uneasily. James wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but hearing it from him made the threat feel suddenly real.
Tangible.
Sebastian wasn’t bluffing, wasn’t just pissed off. He was mad. He’d been sitting on this for weeks, locked up, planning exactly how to hit me hardest.
Valentina.
The thought flashed through my head before I could stop it, and James immediately caught the subtle tension shift in my posture. Damn profilers.
“What did you guys get into? He got leverage on you or something?”
“He’s reaching,” I said, trying to dismiss the thought before it fully formed. “He doesn’t have leverage on me.”
James tilted his head again. “Come on, Marco. You’ve got a tell, you know. Your left hand.” He nodded toward my fingers still tapping irritably against my forearm. “Always restless when you’re worried.”
I stopped tapping, my jaw tightening subtly.
He gave me a small smile. “Look, just do us both a favor. Handle this. I’m tired of cleaning up Sebastian’s messes, and you’re tired of dealing with the fallout. Deal?”
James wasn’t the enemy—not exactly—but he wasn’t on my side either. His loyalty began and ended with family, even when that family was a walking liability.
“Sure,” I muttered finally, pushing away from the wall. “You enjoy the paperwork.”
James gave me a dry look. “I appreciate your concern.”
“I figured you would,” I replied, already halfway out the door, leaving him with a pile of forms and Sebastian-size headaches. If nothing else, watching the bureau’s golden boy stuck withlate-night paperwork offered a sliver of satisfaction, however fleeting.
I moved quickly through the precinct, the hollow echo of my shoes bouncing off the white walls. I hadn’t bothered to ask where Sebastian was. No point—James had said it clearly enough. The only question that mattered was whether he’d already found Valentina. And if he had, how much damage he’d done.
If Sebastian didn’t reach her first, I’d have to kill him—simple.
I wasn’t thrilled about it, but hell, Sebastian had always been a pain in the ass anyway. Bastard probably had it coming. The idea of dumping his body in the Manhattan crossed my mind, and for a split second I almost smiled. Problem was, that would open up too many messy cans of worms, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood for a family war.
Besides, there were less bloody solutions—like swallowing my pride and striking another deal. I knew Sebastian well enough to understand what he’d want. He’d asked me once before, politely, if I’d consider working with him again. I’d said no. Now I might not have the luxury of turning him down—not if it meant keeping Valentina from knowing exactly who she’d married.
Because the thing was, Sebastian held one very particular card over me: Cillian. That whole mess had started out simple. Knock, knock, shoot, done. One quick shot to the head after he’d swung open his front door, as easy as ordering pizza. No struggle, no fanfare. I hadn’t thought twice about it. Hell, I hadn’t even stepped inside—just closed the door and walked away as calm as ever, leaving him bleeding on his own doorstep.
Except Cillian had a wife. I hadn’t known that part—guess I’d spent too much damn time in Chicago and too little time keepingtrack of who owed who in the circle. An amateur mistake I never would’ve made if I’d bothered with my homework.
Valentina had called the cops almost instantly. Poor girl was hysterical, according to the reports I saw later, standing barefoot in her husband’s blood, trembling and screaming into the phone. Rumor had it she wasn’t crying because she loved him. Apparently, love had nothing to do with it. She’d been crying because Cillian’s death meant losing the money she desperately needed to pay for her mom’s medical treatments. She’d been forced to beg, barter, and claw her way out of it ever since.
And I was the domino that tipped the whole fucking thing into chaos.
I’d never pitied her, exactly—Valentina wasn’t the type who’d want pity even if I offered it—but guilt? Yeah, that was harder to avoid. At first, I’d told myself that was all it was. Guilt. Responsibility. Hell, maybe some twisted sense of obligation. But then I’d met her—really met her—and things had started to shift.
Turned out I didn’t just feel guilty; I actually liked her. Her sarcasm, her stubbornness, the way she threw every damn curveball right back at me. The more time I spent around her, the harder it got to keep things simple. To keep her at arm’s length. She made everything messy and complicated.
Personal.
And now Sebastian had found that weakness.
He’d exploit it—gladly, smugly. He’d tell her exactly who’d pulled that trigger—no hesitation, no remorse—and I’d be left picking up pieces I wasn’t even sure could fit back together.
