“Remo,” Lorenzo exhaled my name on a slow sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “If her pregnancy is true, the stakes just doubled, but you need to listen to me. If Ajay took her, killing him won’t bring her back, it’ll just start a war we can’t finish while she’s missing and then we may never find her.”
I stood and walked out onto the balcony overlooking the city and the ocean beyond it. Hands in my pants pockets, I let my gaze run over the view from one end to the other. Somewhere within that busy chaos, Ishika lay hidden. I hoped for whoever’s sake, she was safe.
How was it possible no one knew where she’d gone? Not even Rahul with his ingenious hacking abilities could track her.
Lorenzo came up beside me. “It’s like losing Tanto all over again, isn’t it?"
Dragging my hands through my hair, I took a few deep breaths and turned to look at him. “It’s worse.” Words defeated me as I fought for composure, memories playing ping-pong in my brain.
“Serendipity twists you up and spits you out, but in the end, it gives you what you need most. Only, it doesn’t bring back the dead. Nothing can.” Lorenzo offered me an out, reminding me his love hadn’t come easy. “Losing Tanto broke you. I won’t let this break you too.”
I’d treated Tanto like another brother and time with his family made me forget I belonged to a criminal one. “You’re right. Losing him almost ended me, but this…this is different. When I lost him, I lost family. If I lose her, I lose everything.”
“Exactly. This time though, you know Ishika is somewhere out there, waiting to be found, and I’ve got every fucking man working his ass off to help. We’ll find her.” He gave me another reassuring look. “Just don’t do anything rash, not yet. Okay?”
I stared out at the cityscape once more, grinding my molars to stay my fury. If I gave into it, there’d be fucking hell on earth. Lorenzo knew that, and why he was coaxing me to remain calm. He didn’t know about the dreams, about the woman who watched while I was hurt. He thought military school had hardened me, he didn’t know the scars were already there.
“Two days, brother. Then I’m painting this fucking city red,” I growled and he cursed under his breath, knowing better than to take my threats lightly.
three weeks later
sixty-five
. . .
Koro– 34 years old
My sword rested against my thigh, cold and familiar, an extension of my arm beneath the black fabric of my glove, always grounding me. Crouched on the ridge of the roof, the tiles slick with evening dew, I watched the guards patrol the grounds below. Their movements reminded me of wind-up toy soldiers that needing winding at every shift change. They believed the walls protected them, that the guns at their hips made them powerful. Sadly, they were about to learn a lesson in authority, in supremacy, in control. Because power never resided in a trigger or behind a locked gate, it breathed in the shadows they couldn’t catch, danced in the silence they couldn’t hear and ultimately, lost their sight when it mattered most, on their way to their graves.
Veer believed no one knew about his secret estate, though only small-minded men would believe such a thing. The last time I was here, Ishika had played her part in the criminal drama that had become our lives, even if we never wanted it, we had to accept it. She’d gotten engaged to Ajay, an ass who was just as arrogant as the patrolling assholes and the puppeteer whopulled their strings. I had yet to learn the puppeteer’s identity and getting there would take time, sacrifice that would heal or hurt but we’d survive as that was the promise I made to Ishika.
Now that she was ready to return to Boston after three weeks recovering under Uncle Haru’s care, in Japan, a plan I’d agreed was best for her safety, I had to mark the progress. Let them know I was one step closer and I always believed one step, no matter how small, was equally significant.
Rising, I sheathed my sword, strapped it to my back and moved soundlessly, sliding down the trellis until my feet touched the grass. The estate was a fortress of conceit, lit by floodlights that cast long, useless shadows where I chose to walk. Cameras swept the perimeter, blind spots mapped in my mind from days of observation. I slipped through the gap between two lenses, a ghost in the machine, and reached the window of the bedroom where Rajesh Hirani slept. Veer’s head of security, the man who thought himself untouchable inside his employer’s walls, the man who commanded the guards with an ego so big it was no wonder his entire muscular body carried its weight without crashing.
The latch gave way under the pressure of my blade, a soft click swallowed by the night. I stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of cedar and stale cologne. He sat propped against the headboard, a glass of whiskey in hand, the lamp on the nightstand casting a warm glow over the gun resting beside it.
His eyes lifted to mine with a slow, arrogant amusement instead of the fear some of his colleagues suffered. Naturally, he didn’t reach for the alarm or called for his men, I knew would be down the corridor.
He took a sip of his drink and set his glass down on the nightstand with a thud, the clink of ice suggesting his weighted effort. “You have balls walking in here,” he scoffed. “Is that supposed to frighten me?” He gestured to the mask, the yin-yangsymbol and red contacts staring back at him. “Let me guess, Rossi is too chickenshit to do the dirty work himself? Or are you just another stray dog looking for a master?”
I didn’t answer. Silence was a weapon in the face of overconfidence.
He laughed, a low, grating sound, and picked up the gun, holding it loosely, instead of aiming with intention. “You think because you wear a mask, you’re invisible? Veer owns Mumbai and pretty soon he’ll own Boston too. The Rossi’s know better than to touch what’s his. You’re dead before you hit the floor.”
He moved faster than I expected, swinging the barrel toward my chest. I stepped in before the trigger could compress, the sword whispering as it left the sheath. Steel met steel as I batted the gun aside with a quick flick of my wrist, the force knocking it from his grip. It skidded across the floor, out of reach. His eyes widened, the amusement fading into something sharper before he lunged, reaching for the knife hidden beneath his pillow, but I was already there. The tip off my sword angling beneath the black KA-BAR. A simple lift, another timed flick and it flew up, landing in my hand with unmatched precision.
He scrambled back against the headboard, hands raised. “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice losing its edge, trembling now. “You can’t kill me. There are fifty men outside. They’ll hear us.”
“They heard nothing,” I replied, my voice distorted by the mask. “And they will hear less.”
He spat at my feet, trying to reclaim the conceit, trying to convince himself he still held the power. “You’re a ghost. Ghosts don’t bleed.”
“No,” I agreed, raising the blade. “But you do.”
I stepped forward, the floorboards silent under my weight. He tried to dodge, rolling off the bed, but his foot caught on the sheet and he fell hard. Looking up at me from the carpet,the terror finally broke through the bravado. He reached for the gun again, fingers scrabbling against the wood, but I placed my boot on his wrist. Pressure in the right place at the right angle delivered a resounding snap. My other foot shot out, catching his jugular to cut off his scream.
The sword poised above his chest, I leaned down. “Think you can tell Veer that walls don’t work?” I whispered.
