But it doesn’t bring us any closer to the one—or ones—who put the hit on her.
Could be mafia or cartel.
Anyone with a grudge against her family.
Or a stalker, except he’s dead, and stalkers don’t generally put out hits, do they? They also don’t send creepy notes, either.
At least, the dead ones don’t.
But thoughts of Milo Marcello niggle at my brain. Cloris has plans to marry Marlowe off to him, but he doesn’t seem to want her, which makes me suspicious. Sure, he’ll take her, but when he gets what he wants—money, riches, power, gold, a virgin at midnight with super powers—I’m betting he’ll walk.
Like I said, fucking suspicious.
“One of the tricks is to just stand back and let things unfold. That will get you closer to answers,” Tor says as I walk over to him, watching an old school mafia man. The family name is one I’ve forgotten and one that Cal definitely knows. The man is not a threat, but even though he lacks in manpower on the street these days because his son’s taken over, he still commands respect and loyalty. In other words, if he decides to say there’s reason for the hit, the hit will happen.
Callahan invited him because he believes our newer ways can learn from the old ones.
The man is brutal, heartless and fair.
If Callahan was pure Italian and born seventy years earlier, he’d be that guy.
I see the parallels; how he watches and waits.
And Cal’s definitely aware the moment Marcello turns up at the party, even though he’s talking to one of the dancers.
Ire bubbles in my chest and I frown. It’s Topher, the one who dared touched Molly before we got involved after the night at the truckyard.
But it’s not why I’m frowning. I invitedsome of them. No, I’m frowning because… “Do they look like they know each other?”
Torin shrugs. “Probably. Topher’s from a well-connected oligarch’s loins by way of his mother and grew up surrounded by bratva.” He slides me a look. “I think he’s harmless.”
“Think is a double-edged sword, Tor.”
“So is your thing with Molly. She’s the reason why you didn’t fuck that girl and nearly destroyed that deal three years ago, isn’t she? Why you almost went to prison?”
“I got arrested. Not the same thing.”
Marlowe’s neck deep in a low conversation with Leon. I nod at them. “And him?”
“Not really anything on paper or police file or deep dive dark web, Dec.”
I grimace. “Roark’s looking into him, but so far nothing.”
“Roark plays by different rules. He’ll keep things to himself if he needs to. He’s one of us, but with his business, he has to be protective of information.” he says to me. “Remember that. Pay attention to what he says and doesn’t say.”
“But you found nothing on Leon Garcia or some mysterious Mario with maybe Irish bottom-feeder connections?”
I earn a sharp look from my brother. “Cal told ye to leave that alone, Dec.”
“Just asking,” I mutter.
“The answer’s no. Not yet.”
Not unexpected. The information we have is piss poor. But wishes are still the work of the fucking devil, and I’ve got a few of those gnawing around the edges of my skull.
“If it helps,” Torin adds, “everyone I thinkcould’veput a price on her head buys our story. And trust me, I made those photos scream deep fake. That, plus the rumors Roark seeded, and the London trip you supposedly took, it all lines up. Yourgirl wasn’t at that yard. No one’s come forward to say otherwise. This should hold.”
“Covers one angle,” I say, eyes drifting back to Molly. “But not all of them. Someone else is out there. I can feel it. And we still don’t know where her da is, or why?—”
