ALEX
The voices of my reluctant associates in crime—they weren’t close enough to be partners, considering they had no idea whose side I was really on—faded into the background too easily.
My mind, usually focused and honed to a knife’s sharp edge, had dulled today.
My concentration was shot, hands twitching. It wasn’t a safe state to be in around some of the worst figures from my past.
But I had enough practice with this, at least, that I could convincingly fake that I was tuned into the negotiations taking place in the back room of a pawn shop owned by the mafia family I’d been born into—the Antonovs.
Unlike with Frankie. I had no practice there, no idea how to even lie to myself enough to play it cool where that woman was involved.
The conversation largely swirled around me, leaving polite gaps for me to fill these men in on noncrucial intel from the Buteras.
Being a double agent wasn’t something I’d envisioned for myself when I was roped into the Antonov’s dealings as a teenager, thanks to my high-ranking uncle.
But after years of disrespect and dealing with the kinds of criminals who didn’t have as many scruples as Jonathan, Devin, and even Anthony, I’d had enough.
When I met Jonathan, when we became friends, it was only a matter of time until he offered me a spot amongst the Butera’s prestigious ranks.
It’s been many long years now. And I was still valuable to the Buteras because of my ability to maintain contact with the Antonovs. To play both sides, ostensibly, and maintain a cool enough facade that no one suspected a thing.
I tuned back into the chatter around me as soon as the conversation shifted to the most dangerous man in the tri-state area—maybe the country.
Robert Ferrara’s name came up, and the Frankie connection had me paying attention, sitting up straighter, clenching a fist at my side. Knowing the bastard was her deadbeat father only made me hate him more.
The room had gone quieter than usual. It wasn’t often that these men—the Antonovs’ soldiers, hustlers, smugglers—showed real unease. They were bred for blood, not nerves.
But Robert Ferrara’s name had that effect on everyone. It crawled through the room like a ghost, something that couldn’t be shot or buried.
“I’m telling you,” Mikhail said, his voice low, raspy from too many expensive cigars. “Ferrara’s losing it. He’s not justunpredictable anymore—he’sgone. Doing the kind of shit that gets everyone around him killed.”
The others grumbled their various agreements. Someone laughed under his breath, that dark kind of laugh men used when they were pretending not to be afraid.
I personally knew better than to have such an obvious tell. Especially around these men.
“Word is,” another said, “he put a hit on one of his own lieutenants last week. Claimed the guy looked at him funny. Next thing we know, he ended up missing.”
That earned a few grim nods. Paranoia spread like wildfire in our circles. A don who stopped trusting his own shadow was a liability to everyone who stood too close.
“Hell,” Mikhail went on, shaking his head, “the man auctioned off his own daughter’s virginity like it was a bottle of wine. Tell me that’s not insanity.”
That stopped me cold. The clinking of glasses, the scrape of a chair leg—every sound around me sharpened to a razor’s edge. My heartbeat felt too loud in my ears. Of course it all came back to Frankie.
I forced myself to take a slow breath, to keep my expression blank, a picture of mild disgust rather than the rage that clawed at my chest.
They didn’t know what that meant. They couldn’t.
But it was an opportunity. A dangerous one.
I tilted my head, careful, casual. “You finally heard about that.”
Mikhail smirked. “Everyone heard. Ferrara’s name’s poison in the streets. No one wants to deal with a manthatunhinged, but he’s too goddamn powerful to avoid now. Whole situation’s a fucking powder keg.”
I swirled the drink in my hand, pretending to think. Pretending, when in truth every word was deliberate, calculated. “Well,” I said finally, “I can confirm the rumors weren’t exaggerated. The auction was real. And it didn’t go the way Ferrara planned.”
A few pairs of eyes lifted toward me.
Perfect.
