“I-I don’t know.”
“Then where’s the kill ledger? You at least know that, right?” I snarl. The Association keeps records of their kills; that much I do know.
The old man shakes. “Pl-Please. I don’t know anything. But the Berishas have the ledgers. The Six all have copies. That’s all I know.”
The ruling Albanian family.They’re part of The Six, the council ruling The Association.There are rumors of unrest within the family. They’re the weakest link.
My silk tie cinches my neck, making it hard for me to breathe. Because I know what I need to do next—I’ve avoided this last step for as long as I could.
I need to infiltrate The Association; join the very people I despise.
But I’ll get answers.
I’ll find the murderer who ordered my family’s execution, the man who shattered Sofia’s life and mine.
I’ll find the answer to my question: Why? Why target my small, lower-class family?
With my expression nonchalant, I pull out a metal flask and unscrew the cap.
“Congratulations.” I offer it to the man who trembles like I’m offering him poison. “The finest whiskey. Go on. Drink it. A reward for the right answer.”
Vasil Çela swallows, his hands shaking as he takes the canister from me. He takes a tentative sip, his eyes widening when he realizes I wasn’t lying.
But when he lowers it down, I lash out, my grip firm as I douse his face and shirt with the rest of the alcohol.
He chokes and wheezes, “W-Why does this matter to you?”
Someone whimpers in the background. It’s the damn waitress loitering by the back door.
“Go. Get out of here.” She’s not smart, but she’s innocent.
She shrieks and flees, the back door banging behind her.
“Looks like you just lost one of your women.” One of the thousands they traffic for the Albanian mob. Anger burns through me.
My soul is black and heart nonexistent, but there’s a special hell reserved for men who prey on women.
I face the petrified older man again. “I never answered you before. Elias Kent isn’t my real name.”
Rule one: Look them in the eye.The Antihero Syndicate has rules to govern the monsters living within us.
I fist his collar and lift him off the ground until he’s at eye level.
Rule two: Tell them their sins.
“It wasmyfamily.”
His eyes blow wide. Sneakers squeak, a terrified gasp, and his son flees, finally registering they won’t make it out alive.
I draw my gun and fire a round into the younger Çela’s back. A wretched scream tears out of his throat.
Rule three: No innocent women or children.The third and final rule.
Everything else is fair game.
The sniveling son groans on the floor, red spreading on his shirt. I remember the server girl shrinking in his presence—classic battered woman syndrome—and how he disrespected Lana.
Notinnocent. If I weren’t pressed for time, I’d chop off his hand and choke him with it to teach him a lesson on consent.
