We pressSendsimultaneously and watch as the slaughter begins.
Explosions rip through downtown. People run and scream. Muzzle flashes flare in dark alleys as Empire members fall dead in the streets. Our hidden cameras across the city document it all for us.
The news outlets pick up on what’s happening about twenty minutes after the first responders start to arrive. What few Empire survivors there are get taken away in ambulances driven by disguised Syndicate men, heading for hidden garages where they’ll be executed, and incompetent policemen try in vain to catch our assassins, who have already fled the scenes, heading for temporary safehouses. Once the coast is clear, we’ll start bringing them home and getting things settled.
It’ll take some time to verify that we got them all, but our assassins will be ready to hunt down an annihilate any survivors that were taken to real hospitals.
No loose strings. No survivors. And to be certain of this, we watch as the Empire’s hidden ranch where I learned Emily’s true origins burns to the fucking ground.
Eventually the hour grows late, and the media are just regurgitating the same footage from earlier.
There’s nothing new to see.
Matt shuts off the monitors with a sigh. He scrubs his face with his hands, then leans back against the headboard, staring blankly at the ceiling. He fumbles for my hand, gripping it tight.
“I think I’m done,” he whispers.
I squeeze his hand and join him in leaning back. I don’t comment on his statement, but I know he doesn’t mean he’s done with tonight’s raid.
Matt’s done with the Syndicate.
“I was almost blown up last night … for the third time in less than two months. That’s a pretty bad bomb over time ratio.”
I nod silently. He doesn’t need words right now. He needs support.
“I’ve seen way too many of these mass attacks over the years. There was always some new gang trying to overthrow Dad and the Royal Syndicate. It was never as personal as this, never such a fucking soap opera, but there was always someone.
“I’m tired, Aron. Tired of the scheming and the fighting, tired of the weight on my shoulders. I want out, Aron, and I want you to come with me.”
I thread my fingers through his and rub his hand with my thumb. These are heavy thoughts and even heavier words, with extreme consequences in our world.
“You know Tito’s opinion on leaving the Syndicate,” I say cautiously. “He always said, ‘There’s only one way out.’ Is that what you want?”
Matt barks out a dry, humorless laugh. “Tito was an idiot.”
My brows rise in shock. Aside from taking me on as his co-don and lover, Matt’s been following Tito’s teachings like they were sent from God … at least where the Syndicate is concerned.
“That’s a minority opinion among our colleagues, Matt. Do you think any of them are just going to accept your retirement?”
“Oh, I’m not saying it’ll be easy. There will be pushback for sure. Maybe even a price on our heads.”
“That price will be high …”
He nods. “Definitely. High enough that anyone hoping to climb the ranks will be gunning for us. It’ll be a fast track to the inner circle.”
“And you want this? Even if we make it past the front gate, it’ll mean a life on the run. We won’t ever be able to come back to this city. I doubt we’d be safe on this continent.”
“Fuck this city, and fuck this continent. I hear Europe is great this time of year. Sandy beaches, fruity drinks, fancy villas …”
“Who would take over in your place? Yancy?”
Matt pauses for a second. “Most likely.”
“He’s a pretty staunch supporter of the Tito Method. He might even execute us himself.” I remember the meeting where Creed tried to challenge Matt. “Are you sure you want him in charge of our fates?”
Matt shrugs. “Our fate will be what it is. If we die on the way out the door or fifty years down the line in Rome, we’re dead either way.”
The corner of my mouth turns up in a wry grin. He’s thought about this.
