Edon Berisha waves me into his office on top of the eyesore that is Berisha and Sons Corporation headquarters, a gaudy skyscraper in the shape of a fucking gold dildo, built smack center of Michigan Avenue.
The building is tasteless and vulgar, just like the family themselves—criminals dressed in luxury, rotten to the core.
Oh, he’s prepared for me. Three men flank him like dogs at heel—his sons, heirs to his multi-billion-dollar empire.
Agron, the eldest and COO, levels a stare at me, his eyes sharp and calculating. Ilir, the middle son, lights his father’s cigar with the smugness of an Ivy League lawyer. Dritan, buzz-cut and built like a soldier, has one hand inside his jacket.
I’d bet anything they’re armed, ready to empty their clips into me at any second.
I scan the room. Gold everywhere—lamps, chandeliers, even the doorknobs.
Three windows, one emergency exit, two security cameras. Plenty of blunt objects to block projectiles. A circuit breaker a foot away. Pour water on it, and everything goes dark.
Boom!As Aleksei would say.Everything’s better with a boom.The man should be an explosives specialist, not a hacker.
“Didn’t expect a welcome party,” I murmur and take a seat across from Edon. “I’m flattered.”
“Nothing less for the person who’s ruined so many of our plans.” Edon smiles thinly, his eyes flat. An average person would think he’s your regular billionaire—short man, thinner than he appears on camera, gray hair meticulously combed over.
But I know better.
The Berishas are the newest of The Six—the only family to have joined The Council in the past few decades. The other five are founding families of The Association. It takes ruthlessness to climb to the top. You don’t step over bodies. You make them.
“It’s just business. No hard feelings.” I turn the lighter in my hand, feeling its reassuring weight.
“Our deals with the Andersons,” a curl of smoke slithers in the air, “you’ve come in between us. Hard not to have any ‘hard’ feelings.”
“They weren’t going to pan out. I saved you time and energy.”
When The Association threatened the Andersons in the past, I assisted my friends—whether with intel or reinforcements. Back then, I didn’t realize how tightly locked down The Association’s kill ledgers were.
How there was no way for me to find the man behind my family’s murders unless I became one of them.
A miscalculation on my part.
The grandfather clock in the corner chimes four times. The room thickens with smoke and silence.
“Color me curious. What are you doing here, Kent? Do you need a favor from us? What is it you do again…a favor for a favor? A secret for a secret? Because the answer is no.”
Edon sucks on his cigar and releases a plume in my direction, his eyes goading.
“Cutting to the chase. I like it.” I click my lighter once, twice, then snap it shut. “I have a better one for you.”
Swallowing the acid rushing up my throat, I lean in.
“I want in.”
The sons stiffen.
Agron speaks up first. “In? Our properties, our clubs?”
“The Association.” I want to spit out the words, but I rein in my disgust. Anything for revenge.
Edon arches his brow, his mouth parting to respond, but I hold up my hand.
“Do me a favor and don’t pretend you aren’t part of The Six. Yes, I know about it. Let’s skip the denial dance and tell me your demands.”
The man studies me, his gaze inscrutable. “Why the sudden interest? Your loyalties…shifting.”
