He nodded frantically.
By the time I got up, Luca returned, blood had sprayed up the side of his neck.
“Feel better?” I asked.
He exhaled. “Yeah. I do.”
Sometimes it helped to deal with a problem our way. We both looked at the floor, two men unconscious, one trying to crawl. Phones still raised as people watched.
Luca tilted his head. “Want me to handle the footage?”
“No. Let it stay up.”
“Seriously?”
“Let them remember what happens when you cross our name and forget to kneel first.”
He nodded. We left the club like we owned it. Because we did. We were halfway to the car when Luca muttered, “Hold up.”
My hand went instinctively to my side.
Four men had just stepped out from the alley behind the club, broad, bulletproof vests under leather, tattoos that weren’t ours. The kind of walk that said they weren’t afraid of dying,which usually meant they didn’t expect to.
Syndicate enforcers. But not Crow.
I didn’t need Luca to confirm it. You could smell the arrogance. The lack of order. Merc contracts at best. Hired fists, maybe even reclaimed legacies trying to play big. Not all syndicates respect Crow authority.
The one in the middle stepped forward, hand resting on the grip of a pistol tucked into his waistband.
“Crow enforcement,” he said, like it was a joke.
“Is there a problem?”
“You just beat three men half to death in a neutral club.”
“They were Crow-marked. They betrayed a dynasty ledger.”
“Doesn’t give you jurisdiction in this quadrant.”
“Crow dynasty owns this quadrant,” I said flatly.
He smirked. “Not today.”
Luca shifted closer. His voice was low. “We need backup.”
“Message them”
He was already tapping his burner.
“And get the club cleared.” I added.
Luca glanced back. “Little late for that.”
Fuck. More movement behind the tinted club windows. Veil lights flickering. Faces pressed to the glass. Cameras still rolling.
Too many eyes.
“Try not to kill any bystanders,” I muttered. “Other than that—go loud.”
