I'm in my office when I hear the engines—that same too-clean, too-uniform sound that sets my teeth on edge.
By the time I reach the front door, three cruisers are pulling into the parking lot, and Chief Douglas Varro himself is stepping out of the lead car.
He's not hiding behind his officers this time.
He wants me to see him.
Wants me to know exactly who's responsible.
"Chief." I keep my voice neutral as I step onto the porch. "Back so soon?"
"Search warrant." He holds up the paper, that thin smile playing on his lips. "Anonymous tip about illegal weapons being stored on the premises."
"Anonymoustip." I don't reach for the warrant. "That's convenient."
"Isn't it?" His smile widens. "You're welcome to observe while my officers conduct their search. Wouldn't want you to think we're planting anything."
The implication is clear.
He's not above planting evidence if that's what it takes.
But he's also smart enough to know I'll be watching every move his officers make.
"By all means." I step aside, gesturing toward the door. "Search away."
For the next four hours, Varro and his officers destroy my clubhouse.
Varro's officers tear through the club—upending furniture, emptying drawers, pulling apart the chapel piece by piece.
They go through the bedrooms, the storage areas, the garage where we keep the bikes.
They even dig through the kitchen cabinets, like we might be hiding assault rifles behind the cereal boxes.
Through it all, I watch. Zenon watches.
The brothers who are present—Sipher, Klutch, Enigma, a few others—watch with rage simmering behind their eyes.
They don't find anything.
I made sure of that weeks ago, the moment Varro first showed up with his threats.
Every weapon that wasn't strictly legal was moved off-site.
Every piece of contraband, every questionable document, every shred of evidence that could be used against us—gone.
The clubhouse is cleaner than a hospital operating room, but that's not the point.
The point is the message. The humiliation.
The reminder that Varro can walk into our home whenever he wants, tear it apart, and there's nothing we can do about it.
When the last officer files out, Varro pauses in the doorway. "We'll be back," he says, that smile still playing on his lips. "Count on it."
"Looking forward to it, Chief."
He holds my gaze for a long moment.
Then he's gone, engines roaring to life, cruisers pulling out of the lot in a cloud of dust and exhaust.
