They’re crafting a lie we can all pretend to believe.
Kirill downs the rest of his beer and slams the bottle on the counter with a decisivethunk. “Gio’s been a problem for weeks anyway. Wiping out his operation was inevitable.”
“Besides,” Alexei flips a coin between his fingers, a nervous habit he’s never managed to break, “this gives us a legitimate reason to go after the Falcones. Roman’s been jonesing for an excuse.”
Max nods once, his agreement somehow unexpected and predictable at the same time. He follows orders, and the collective shift is close enough to one for him to be in.
A ripple of tension passes through the room. We can’t guarantee Roman’s approval, and his disapproval is dangerous.
Vanya claps his hands. “We’re doing this. Saving the kindergarten teacher and taking down Gio. I assume you have a plan beyond ‘kill everyone’?”
“Working on it. Need to find her first.”
“On it.” Vanya produces his own phone, his posture shifting and his voice softening as he slips into the charming personathat makes him so effective at extracting information. “Darling, it’s Vanya. Yes, I know it’s been ages. Listen, I need a favor…”
He steps away, voice dropping to a murmur as he taps into his unparalleled network of informants. Ex-lovers, current lovers, people who wish they were his lovers… He collects contacts like trading cards and maintains them with strategic texts and occasional appearances.
A useful skill, but one I never had any interest in mastering.
Kirill crosses to the laptop on the kitchen counter and pulls up a chair. Despite their size, his fingers fly over the keyboard deftly while the screen’s blue light reflects in his cold eyes. “Falcone properties. Front companies, warehouses…anything off the grid.”
Max drifts to the corner, quietly and methodically arranging weapons on the one clear surface. Guns, knives, a garrote. His perfect stillness, which masks a capacity for explosive violence, usually unnerves me a little. He prowls like a predator even when he’s not hunting.
Right now, though, his particular brand of controlled savagery is exactly what I need. If this all goes to hell, Max can erupt and rip apart everyone on the other side.
Except that might endanger Chloe. Once Max starts raging, all bets are off. His destruction often resists all attempts at direction, even by Roman.
I stand in the middle as my team mobilizes.
My team.
What a strange thought. We’ve worked together for years, but always as Roman’s men. Roman’s enforcers.
This time feels different. Personal. Real emotions are in play.
The revelation should discomfort me, but I don’t care.
I only care about rescuing Chloe before Gio breaks her.
“Got something.” Vanya returns to the group, his smooth charm replaced by focused intensity. “My contact at the harborauthority says there’s been unusual activity at one of the old processing plants on the South Side. A derelict place that should be empty suddenly has vehicles coming and going at odd hours. Last activity was about an hour ago, with multiple vehicles arriving in convoy.”
Kirill’s head snaps up from the laptop. “South Side processing plant. Got it.” His fingers clatter over the keys. “Three properties owned by Falcone shell companies in that area. Only one fits the description.” He shifts the screen to show the satellite view of a sprawling, long abandoned industrial complex surrounded by a chain-link fence. “McLaren Fish Processing. Shut down in 2009, bought by a company called Oceanic Holdings in 2011.”
I remember that place from meetings I worked as a guard. “Oceanic Holdings is a Falcone front we’ve had eyes on for months.”
“Blueprints coming through.” Kirill clicks through screens. “Warehouse layout, entry points, structural vulnerabilities.” He zooms in, pointing. “Main entrance here. Loading docks here and here. Skylights. Large ventilation system designed for industrial use.”
Max returns, his arms laden with weapons. He sets them down with careful precision, arranging them by type. “How many guards?”
I wish I knew. “Unknown. But based on the attack here, at least a dozen. Probably more.”
Alexei closes the coin in his fist. “Odds aren’t great.”
Vanya shrugs off that observation with a laugh. “When are they ever?”
For the first time since they arrived, hope flickers in my chest.
Not optimism, because I don’t do optimism, but hope based on a calculated assessment of probability.
