Next, I flip the folio on the table. A hundred-dollar bill and her familiar handwriting stare back at me.
Life is full of surprises. Today’s storm may be tomorrow’s rainbow. Hang in there. If you ever need help, call this number.
I stare at the string of digits, wondering how the intelligent head of public relations can be so naïve sometimes—leaving strangers her phone number.
Myzemër’s weakness is her kind heart.
“What’s the meaning of this? Why scare off our customers, Mr. Kent?” Vasil Çela waddles out, beady-eyed, cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth, with his asshole son in tow. My temper brightens, a sadistic pleasure curling through me.
Not answering him, I pick up Lana’s receipt and carefully slide it into my suit pocket. Her kind notes—her little scraps of sunshine.
Myscraps of sunshine.
“That’s ours. Why are you taking—”
Brow arched, I hurl a seething glare his way, and he shuts up.
Then I take the gold-wrapped square she left for the waitress. A small piece of chocolate.
Curious, I unwrap and plop the morsel into my mouth. The nauseating sweetness registers first, always reminding me of that dark day.
But I force myself to savor it because she loves it. The unexpected spice fans the flames of anger inside me. Paprika, cardamom, and dark chocolate. Interesting.
“Where were you on February twenty-eighth? Twenty years ago,” I murmur.
Slowly, I face the father and son duo.
Sweat beads on the older man’s forehead, the blood leaching out of his face. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My veins turn to ice at his denial.
Leaning in, I watch him shrink before me. “Wrong answer. Allow me to remind you. A hardworking couple. Their three children. The youngest only three months old.”
Click.The flame blossoms from my lighter. I shut it.Click.Again.
“Took out the mom first because you wanted to inflict pain. Then, the baby because she was…” the words hiss through my gritted teeth, “too loud. Ring any bells?”
“What?” he whispers, his eyes wide with fear. A pungent stench reaches my nostrils, and I look down, finding his pants drenched.
Revulsion churns inside me.Pathetic coward.
“B-But how? You’re Elias Kent. You aren’t Albanian. H-How—”
“You thought there were no survivors. But that’s the thing with evil deeds…someone always lives to tell the tale.”
A tapping sound draws my attention to the window. A man darts away in a blur of black, leaving behind a scrap of paper with a drawing of a chess piece—a black knight—fluttering against the wind. Gasoline sloshes in under the door.
I smile. Ren works fast. The men in The Syndicate are the only ones I trust now.
“Who sent you that day?” There were two masked men. One tall and muscular, the other thick and short like the older Çela quivering in front of me.
The son grabs his sleeve. “Dad, what is he talk—”
“I-It was an extirpation, m-my Rite.”
My hand curls into a tight fist. The Association and its unhinged rituals and depraved violence.
“Who gave the order?”
