“Oh! That smile!” She puts her free hand over her heart. The motion shifts her coat, and the wires of the bomb come into view. I still can’t tell what kind of bomb it is, but maybe Aron can.
“Mattie, her smile will move mountains. Everyone who sees it just melts for her.” She turns a little more towards me. “You know, they say at this age it’s just gas, but I know better. A mother can tell.”
At this point, Emily seems to have forgotten that she’s holding a knife. She’s gesturing wildly as she waxes philosophic about her daughter’s many attributes. The raincoat falls open, revealing several blocks of C-4 strapped to her chest. Aron’s eyes narrow as he assesses the visible components of the bomb. I don’t see a timer, which I consider a good sign. I can keep distracting her at my leisure.
“Does she have that smell? You know, the special scent that babies have?”
Emily puts both hands over her heart now. “She smells amazing. Even changing her diapers is a joy. Mattie, you’re missing out by not having children. They’re such a blessing! God’s special gift to the wor—”
She doesn’t get to finish.
A thin trail of blood oozes from the bullet hole Aron put between her eyes. Emily wavers on her feet for a second before crumpling to the floor in a heap.
Aron wastes no time. While I help Percy to his feet, he grabs the knife and starts cutting wires. When he sits back on his heels and wipes his brow, I assume the bomb is disabled.
“What now?”
Good question, Percy. What now, indeed?
Chapter 15
Aron
Let’s see where I’m at on the sin meter. I married my half-sister, fornicated with her, fathered a child with her, and now I’ve murdered her. I’m minutes away from ordering the mass murder of an entire organization. Am I missing anything?
Oh, yes. The sodomy. I’d like to think that God is progressive enough to forgive that one since I love Matt, but the rest?
There aren’t enough Our Fathers and Hail Marys in the world to atone for what I’ve done.
“Does this mean it’s over?” Percy trembles from shock as Matt tends to the cut on his back. His Syndicate tattoo is going to have a deep scar straight across the middle, but he should be fine. Matt assures us that nothing vital was cut when Emily sliced him.
I meet Matt’s concerned gaze over Percy’s shoulder. “I’m afraid not, Percy. We can’t let the Empire continue to exist. Eventually, they’ll find another leader, or worse they’ll splinter into more groups, dividing our forces. We have to wipe them out now, before they can regroup.”
Percy gives a solemn nod of understanding, the winces as Matt starts stitching the wound.
“We can’t allow any of them to survive. Mercy is weakness, Percy.” Matt’s eyes never leave his work, but his expression is pained as he talks. “Remember that.”
It must be tough parroting Tito’s words. With everything that’s gone on, Matt hasn’t had time to really process and grieve. There wasn’t even a proper funeral. Tito was buried next to Lucinda’s original grave without pomp or circumstance, just me, Matt, and a handful of top Syndicate officers in attendance.
Seemingly undeterred by Matt’s somber words, Percy nods sagely. “Of course, Don Matteo.”
While Matt and Percy are occupied, I get to work dealing with Emily’s body and those of her victims. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she killed a dozen guards on the way in, so it’s a lot of bodies to take care of. Emily gets carted out by two surviving guards, who bury her next to Lucinda somewhere on the estate grounds.
Once the guards’ bodies are collected and sent to the local morgue, I start the grim task of notifying any families they might have had. Guards in the Syndicate don’t typically earn family status until they’ve been serving for at least a decade, but that doesn’t negate the families they had prior to joining. The visits to heartbroken mothers and enraged fathers are exhausting, and I return to the mansion drained of all energy. I just want to lie down and sleep for a solid week, but that won’t be possible.
It’s time.
Matt meets me in our bedroom suite since the office is still covered in Emily’s blood and brain matter. Even for Syndicate cleaners, it takes time to erase all evidence of a baker’s dozen worth of bodies, and I insisted that the guards’ blood be cleaned first.
“Are we ready for this?” Matt asks as I close the door behind me.
I take a seat next to him on the bed and turn to the wall of screens we had installed to monitor the attacks. “Ready as we’ll ever be.”
Our phones vibrate in unison. We share a glance before checking them.
Are you ready, Dons?
The text from Holly is short and succinct. Everything hinges on our signal.
