Star: Later
“How does she know her?”
Rory took a sip of water. “I haven’t uncovered that.”
“So you’re perfectly fine disseminating valuable intel to someone unknown? I guess you’re the reason she posted about Clarice overhearing the conversation between Brackton and Devere before the fucker died!”
At Luc’s sneer, her expression turned mulish. “Taube is trustworthy and her links are too.”
“She’s an assassin! A frankly deranged killer for hire who set her sights onyourhusband?—”
“This is different! Anyway, Hunter knows about this?—”
Into their argument, I tacked on softly, “How do you know it’s different,soru?”
“I just do.” She threw her water bottle at Luc. “Clarice deserved some form of justice, even if the best I could do meant revealing the truth tosomepeople that it wasn’t an accident. That she was murdered.”
“That’s no answer.Porca troia, Aurora, you should have come to me with this. We should have convened on the information you shared—on whether you should or shouldn’t have been passing it on to a third party.”
Rory folded her arms on top of her belly. “I don’t need you to hold my hand, Luciu.”
“Apparently you do because this conversation should have happened after that first meeting with her.”
I tucked my cell into my jacket pocket. “What doesI Told You Sowant? What’s her endgame?”
For the first time, Rory appeared uncertain. “Havoc, I think.”
“Youthink?” Luc sputtered.
“It’s come in handy for us,” she snarled back. “Like I said—it’s an easy way to sow dissent! Her reach is unparalleled in an age of social media.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “And an easier way to leak our intel to the enemy.”
“You’ll have to trust me!”
“It’s not you we don—didn’ttrust.” Luc’s correction had her eyes turning stormy. “It’s this unknown factor. We’ll discuss this later. After the Summit. Until then, we present a united front.Capisci?”
TWENTY-SIX
STAN
Playlist recommendation:
I Could Have Danced All Night - Frederick Loewe, Marni Nixon
The four factions that ran NYC typically convened in an empty warehouse—a different one every time as the owners rotated.
The Russians hosted today’s Summit.
It was clear as day too.
Unlike the other organizations, all raised with money and families that gave a fuck, Lyanov and his Forgotten Boys had been dragged up—mostly on the streets.
That meant the only furniture in the forty-thousand square feet of barren space was a table dead center for The Forgotten Boys, the Valentinis, the Five Points, and the Triads to use for the meeting.
Amid the emptiness, that bastion of gleaming three-hundred-year-old mahogany stuck out like a sore thumb because its grandeur, the matching antique chairs, the Persianrug, etc., contrasted greatly with the bleakness of the vast warehouse floor.
Lyanov was the only one who ever tried to prove his wealth.
