A guest.That narrows it down.The Syndicate doesn’t exactly welcome drop-ins.
The ride up takes less than a minute, but it’s enough time for my mind to drift back to Brazil.To Serena curled against my chest in that massive bed, the ocean breeze playing with the curtains.To the promises of a future that we made under stars that felt close enough to touch.
The elevator opens onto an elegant corridor.Warm zebrawood panels line the left wall, their honey-gold grain catching the recessed lighting.The right side is raw concrete, polished to a soft gray sheen.Eight elevator bays are arranged in pairs along both walls, each marked with black signage that gives the space a high-end airport terminal feel.The ceiling mirrors the zebrawood, creating a warm canopy overhead that softens what could otherwise feel cold and institutional.
The contrast is deliberate.Beauty and brutality, existing side by side.A fitting entrance to the nerve center of an organization that has controlled Boston’s underworld for generations.
My footsteps echo against the polished stone floor as I make my way toward the main corridor.The Syndicate’s headquarters sprawls across the entire floor, a maze of conference rooms, secure communications centers, and private offices.But the real power concentrates in Dave’s corner suite, where the windows overlook both the harbor and the city that our family has shaped for decades.
As I step into his office, I can see my brother hunched over his desk, studying something on his laptop with the focused intensity he reserves for serious problems.The city sprawls behind him, indifferent to whatever crisis has summoned us here.
Tommy’s already inside, sprawled in one of the leather chairs across from Dave.He looks up when I enter, his expression neutral.The twin bond we share means he can read my mood before I’ve said a word.Right now, he’s reading happiness.Peace.Something foreign to me lately.
His eyebrows lift slightly.Good trip?
I give him the barest nod.Better than good.
“You’re late,” Dave says without looking up.
“Got traffic.”I drop into the chair beside Tommy.
“In the elevator?It’s a five-minute drive from your place,” Dave retorts, lifting his gaze from the computer.
I shrug.Noting the way Dave’s jaw is set, I change the subject.“What’s so urgent, anyway?We had our regular meeting scheduled this afternoon.”
Before Dave can answer, the door opens behind me.
Nikolai Petrov walks in like he owns the place.The Russian is tall and lean, with pale eyes that miss nothing and a face carved from ice.His blond hair is slicked back from a high forehead, and he moves with the coiled grace of a predator who’s learned to wear civilization like a borrowed suit.Despite our decades-long friendship and constant alliances, Nikolai has never formally joined the Syndicate.His father, the Bratva Pakhan, prefers to do business rather than to share resources with us.
“My friends.”He dips his head.“It’s great seeing you.It’s been a while.”
“Likewise,” I reply, grabbing the forearm he offers me in greeting.
Tommy mirrors the gesture, but keeps his grip on the Russian, guffawing, “I bet your disappearing act had more to do with Isabella DiLorenzo than just investigating leads about her father.”Tommy pauses, assesses, and when our friend remains quiet, he adds, “I saw the two of you at the gala.”
Despite the flush crawling up Nikolai’s neck and spreading to his cheeks, he disengages from Tommy and straightens his spine.“We were dancing.”
“You were doing much more than that in a dark corridor.I passed by you on my way to the parking lot.Joe almost turned Shelby into a eunuch when he found out he’d eloped with Serena.”Tommy’s eyes scan Nikolai from head to toe.“You’re still in one piece.Does that mean he doesn’t know you’re fucking his youngest sister?”
Twenty years of friendship go up in smoke as Nikolai grabs Tommy’s throat, and Dave and I draw our weapons, cock them, and point at the Russian.As I’m closest, my barrel is leaning against Nikolai’s temple.
Tommy is the only one in the room who remains unfazed.He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow as if Nikolai’s fingers weren’t cutting off his air.“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Nikolai pushes Tommy off and grunts, “You’ve got a death wish or something?I swear, if you say bullshit like that about Isabella again around me, Iwillkill you.And your brothers can pick up your pieces later.”
Tommy’s hearty laugh fills the room as we put the guns away and straighten ourselves.“Now,thatanswers my question.Welcome to the club, Nikolai.Now that you’ve found your better half, like us.”
“Fuck you very much, Tommy,” Nikolai grunts, smiling.“I always thought you Boyles named your Syndicate after your diamond mines.Now I’d say you should ditch Hearts of Stone for Soft Hearts instead.”
The room’s light mood changes when Dave resumes his post behind his laptop.“We should start this meeting,” he announces.The lines around his eyes tell me he hasn’t been sleeping well.Running the Syndicate while raising two kids with Alexia would exhaust anyone, but there’s something else in his expression today.A weight that goes beyond ordinary fatigue.
“We asked Nikolai to gather information to corroborate Serena’s findings,” Tommy explains.
My spine straightens.I agreed to this when I told Dave about what Serena and I had uncovered.Why am I anxious now?
“What did you find?”I ask.
Nikolai crosses to Dave’s desk and empties a thick manila folder.I catch a glimpse of photographs and what looks like shipping manifests.Financial records.Property deeds.
