How?
Why?
I know there are a million potential reasons. I’m a pakhan, I’m always under threat. That’s the reality of my life. But something about this feels different. Chaotic but clearly planned too. I don’t know what to think.
My phone is burning a hole in my pocket. I should be calling Niko. Should be waking up every captain, every lieutenant, every fucking street sweeper I pay to keep eyes open. But the second I reach for it, paranoia clamps down like a vice.
What if the leak came from inside?
What if one of my own men sold the meet to a rival family? Or worse—to the feds?
My associate—the one bleeding out on polished concrete—was loyal. But loyalty is a currency that devalues fast in this life. Look where it got him. Who is to say that he wasn’t my last ally in the whole damn family and that’s why they took him out first.
Fuck. I need to get some clarity. Somehow I need to piece this together.
I lean forward just enough to speak low.
“Change of plan. Take us upstate. The house on the lake.”
Alexander’s eyes flick to the rearview. “You sure?”
“Yeah. And slow it down. No sudden moves. I need the time.”
He nods once. No more questions. The SUV eases into the right lane, signaling for the turn that will take us north out of the city. Two hours, maybe two and a half with traffic. Enough time to think. Enough time to count my enemies.
I glance down at the boy again.
Eddie.
He whispered it in the alley, barely audible over the ringing in my ears.Eddie Luck. And that’s when it hits me…
The name on the flyer still sitting crumpled in my coat pocket. The sculptor. Twenty-two. Barely more than a kid. A Little, if the stuffie and the hint of a romper I glimpsed earlier in his backpack are any indication.
Fuck.
I don’t do complications. I don’t do witnesses. I especially don’t do soft, fragile things that cry and cling and look at me like I might be the monster or the savior depending on their mood.
And yet here he is, asleep against the Devil himself because I couldn’t leave him to die behind his own damn art work.
My jaw tightens. I force my breathing to slow and even out.
One problem at a time.
The boy might be a pain in the ass, but at least he’s not trying to kill me.
Yet.
The city fades. Suburbs give way to dark highway, then rolling hills, then the long stretch of moonlit trees that guard the approach to the property. The electric gates slide open at the sensor—no need to call ahead. I keep the place staffed minimally: a groundskeeper who lives off-site, a housekeeper who comes twice a week.
But tonight it’s empty.
Good. That woks for me.
Alexander pulls up the long gravel drive and kills the engine in front of the main house. Stone facade, tall windows, wraparound porch that overlooks the private lake. It’s not ostentatious. It’s secure. High fences, cameras, motion lights, a panic room in the basement I’ve never had to use.
I shift, sliding one arm under the boy’s knees, the other behind his back.
He stirs, lashes fluttering.
