With Percy on a mission for me, I open the door and wave over our other guard for this shift, Alaric. He’s young, recently recruited, with pretty, golden boy looks that could easily earn him more money than we’re paying him. Alaric doesn’t want fame, though. He’d rather risk those looks in this line of work than sell himself on a runway.
“Alaric, gather the enforcers. Officers. Anyone who knows their way around a gun. Have them meet with me individually. Ranked officers first, then down the line. Can you do that?”
He nods and exits, tapping another guard to take over.
By the time Aron returns, dozens of men stand in the hallway, awaiting orders. His face betrays nothing when he walks past the crowd and enters the office. If I’ve surprised him, there’s no outward indication.
The door closes behind him, and he takes his place next to me at our desk.
“It’s time?”
“Yep.”
Aron sighs. “This is going to be a bloodbath.”
“Yep.”
“Any ideas on how to mitigate so-called civilian casualties?” When I shoot him a confused glance, he clarifies. “Look, Matt, I want the Empire gone as much as the next guy out there. But people on the street? That’s a bit much. We’ll start hating ourselves before it’s over. Maybe we should consider smaller, more surgical strikes versus huge shootouts.”
I scrub my face with my hands, sighing. “We tried that, Aron. Remember? When Javier was ordering drive-by shootings and little one- or two-person hits, it was ridiculous. We can’t keep that up forever.”
“We don’t have to keep it up forever. We just have to time them right. Hit as many Empire targets as possible at once. Notonly will they not have time to coordinate any kind of retaliation, but they’ll be caught off guard.”
Sounds like a logistical nightmare. Where’s Aron going with this? “Synchronize watches, is that it? It’s not that simple.”
He stands and begins pacing. “Hear me out, Matt. If we wait a little while … oh, say, a few days … we can hit them in unison. They’ll be confused, disoriented, scattered. They won’t know their heads from their asses.”
Aha. That explains a little about his earlier disappearance. “A few days, huh? That’s oddly specific.”
Aron grins. “I may have borrowed an enforcer.”
“What’s mine is yours, Aron. No borrowing necessary.” Although I find it charming that he thinks he needs to explain himself like that. “All right. Three days should be enough time for this side quest of yours?”
“Two days for the quest, one for chaos.”
“Do I want to know what you’re planning?”
Someone knocks on the door, and Aron returns to his seat. “Maybe later. For now, just expect to be short one associate.”
Most of the afternoon passes before I figure out which enforcer he “borrowed.” Enzo’s one of our elite; Aron must have quite the task for him. Meanwhile, we give the rest of our officers and hired guns their own specific targets, with one universal time to strike. Much like Javier’s attacks on my dad’s penthouse and other apartment properties, these will ideally happen almost simultaneously.
Our most dangerous men are assigned to their Empire counterparts, saving the weaker targets for less experienced Royal Syndicate associates. I note, however, that Aron keeps redirecting me away from assigning the most dangerous targets of all:
Mom and Emily.
That’s when I realize not only who Aron used for his task, but what the task is. I wait for a break in the steady stream of hitmen before confronting him with it.
“Yes, Enzo’s going after Lucinda and my wife, but not to kill them.”
“What?”
His raised hand quiets me. “Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Then trust this. We’re going to capture them first. Eventually, they’ll die. The in between time will be a bit messy, but those two are certainties.”
“Messy” isn’t always a good thing. “Messy” leaves room for error, and I say as much.
