Rage coils in my gut, hot and vicious. My family helped build this city. We bled for it. Died for it. And now these men sit in judgment of us, laughing over our corpses like they’ve already won, reaping what we sowed.
But they haven’t won yet.
Aleksander takes a slow sip of vodka, making us wait. “What’s your name?”
“Vito Serra.”
“You can fight, Serra. Better than I expected from Vici trash.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “But fighting’s easy. Loyalty? That’s harder. Especially for a man with a raven on his chest.”
Dashamir sits beside him, perfectly still, his sharp eyes tracking our every movement. Assessing. Calculating. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just watches with the cold patience of a man who sees through every lie.
My stomach swoops as I realize he doesn’t believe a word of our story.
But he’s not calling us out. Not yet.
Aleksander waves a hand dismissively. “Sit. Drink. You’ve entertained me tonight, so I’ll let you stay.”
His condescension makes me want to put my fist through his teeth. These Dervishi scum waltzed intomycity, stolemyweapons, and now this arrogant bastard is granting me permission to sit in a warehouse that should be burned to the ground with all of them inside.
I accept his invitation with a smile, keeping my arm draped around Adora.
Aleksander turns his head slightly. “But understand this. You’re on probation. One wrong move, and I’ll put a bullet in your skull myself.”
His tone suggests he’d enjoy it.
A bottle of expensive vodka appears. Glasses are poured. Thekryetar—Aleksander’s underbosses—congratulate me with bruising handshakes that are meant to put me in my place. These are the men killing my soldiers, taking my territory, bleeding me dry. I shake their hands and memorize their faces.
Adora plays her part perfectly, leaning into me, laughing at their jokes, letting them think she’s just a pretty bitch at a fight. But her eyes are sharp, taking in everything.
The music starts again, pounding bass that makes everything more chaotic as people lean close to talk to each other.
I spot a phone sitting next to an ashtray, forgotten by one of thekryetarwho’s now shouting at someone across the table. I catch Adora’s eye and let my gaze drift deliberately to the phone, then back to her.
She doesn’t miss a beat. A moment later she’s leaning forward to accept a drink, her handbag sweeping across the table. When she sits back, the phone is gone.
I hide my smile behind my drink.
While thekryetaron my right is distracted by the arrival of several more women, I lift his phone. Then another from the one across from me, who’s so drunk he’s nearly falling out of his chair.
Three phones. Three sources of intel on where these bastards are keeping the weapons they stole from my family. Guns and munitions I promised to Rafiel Lucania that could arm fifty men. The Dervishis stole them like the Vicis were already dead and buried. I’m going to make them regret that.
I would kill for Aleksander or Dashamir’s phones, but as I glance toward the brothers, I notice Dashamir’s colorless eyes intent on me.
Time to go.
I lean close to Adora’s ear. “We need to leave. Now.”
She nods imperceptibly.
I stand, pulling her up with me, and address Aleksander. “This has been an honor, but my head feels like it’s going to explode. Your man has a brutal right hook.” I grip my jaw and flex it.
“Already?” Aleksander barely glances up. “Fine. You’re dismissed.”
Dashamir speaks for the first time, his voice quiet and cold. “I will see you again soon.”
It’s not an invitation. It’s a threat. He knows we’ve been lying to him about why we came here tonight.
“Looking forward to it,” I lie, wondering if he’s realized I’m not justanyVici. I’mtheVici, but I feel certain he wouldn’t let me walk out of here alive if that were the case.
