TWENTY-EIGHT | PRESTON
Dark gray and black swirl overhead, the relentless clouds unleashing a heavy rain and wind that slightly obstructs the view of the marina lights in the distance. Boats rock back and forth, bound to the dock ties but still imprisoned by the angry waters that stir the surface, the sea dark while dawn draws nearer.
The pads of my fingers dig into my biceps, my eyes steady on the large box van that’s backing up to our main tunnel entrance with our new shipment of narcotics and illegal weapons that arrived earlier this morning. And when I say early, I mean four a.m. because it’s one of the easier times to smuggle our shipments in and out of the harbor.
It’s nearly five now, the slight chill from the wind and mist blowing through the open overhead door torments my body with the reminder of the peaceful warmth of Kate’s limbs tangled with mine before I slipped out of bed. The peace I felt is now replaced with dread as I watch a few of our men pull up the hatch, revealing the tens of blue and white crates piled into the back of the truck.
The scent of salt and sea quickly overtakes the dank tunnel air as its breath collides with the freshness outside. Workers wheel down the crates filled with the day’s lobster catch, soon to be processed in the warehouse and distributed to local markets and suppliers. Meanwhile, the most valuable part that fuels our empire, concealed in the middle of the stacked crates, will be wheeled into the tunnels that lead underneath the park.
Arden’s orders echo through the space, the chill in his tone penetrating deep into my bones. His demands leave no room for negotiation: he tells them to wheel the crates down the ramp into the large processing room, then to wait silently for further instructions. Anyone in proximity to this shipment is to be held in rooms until they’re all interrogated by my father and me until we’re sure none of them is our mole. We’re still searching for the scum under our nails that Luciano planted to destroy our operations while he works toward encroaching on our territory.
Stealing what’sours, thinking it will divert our attention and buy him some time before we hit back harder and obliterate a kingdom that was never supposed to be his.
His brother, Marco, had many enemies back then.
But we weren’t one of them.
However, because we were the only outsiders in that meeting when the life slipped from Marco’s eyes, it was easy for his brother, Luciano, to place blame. Blame that ended with my mom and Tayla being murdered for a sin that isn’t ours to bear.
After years of planning and calculating our revenge, a new plan was set in motion six months ago when an anonymous person sent an invitation in the mail to one of Luciano’s exclusive parties.
Time to celebrate.Anew era is beginning.You must show this invite at the gate to join us forLuciano’s 50thbirthday party onApril 12th@ 7 p.m.
A birthday party he’s throwing himself, which is a pathetic excuse to indulge in more sex, drugs, and alcohol.
Lucky for him, I’ve always been a good gift-giver.
And when our plan comes through, and we get him alone, he’ll have front row seats to watch his birthday bash blow up. Literally. Then I’ll give him the rare experience of eating his entrails instead of cake while watching his empire burn. His last few breaths will be tainted with his metallic flavor filling his mouth and the tangible stench of smoke, while his life and anyone he loves goes up in flames, including that spawn of his.
Eight more months.
Instead of over the hill, he’ll finally be buried six feet under it.
A death that’s five years overdue.
My father shoves his hands into his suit pockets, his untrusting eyes following our men as they wheel the crates down the ramp into the dark that swallows them whole, along with the evidence of our illegal operations.
He scrubs a hand over his salt-and-pepper beard, walking back toward me. “We’ve got enough fucking messes to deal with as is and can’t afford to miss anything. You and Carter are sure it's none of the recruits that were on the estate when we were in New York?”
“We interrogated them all, and I have no reason to suspect any of them were behind it.” Even if they somehow sent word to Luciano about us taking that shipment with a team to Virginia, it doesn’t explain how the other shipments went missing before they reached the harbor. “Those shipments were full when they left our partner facilities. Someone is intercepting them before they arrive, stealing enough that it is noticeable but not detrimental to our operations.”
Enough to throw us off our game and distract us while Luciano plays a bigger one.
The tendons in Arden’s neck flex, the words sounding like venom off his tongue. “That bastard is smarter than I give him credit for.” He folds his arms over his chest. “If Carter were here, we’d be out of here faster. I saw this week marked off on the calendar. Where is he?”
I try not to let the words affect me, but fail. “His sister is getting married.”
A look of sadness passes behind my father’s eyes. “Good for him. It’s an exciting time for a family.”
I choke down the unwanted emotion slithering up my throat and tearing at my insides. “Too bad we’ll never know what that’s like.”
Creases form between his brows, his eyes holding mine captive. “That’s not entirely true—”
“No?” I spit with too much hatred. The admission is out before I can stop myself. “Because last I checked, you don’t have a daughter anymore to give away someday, and I don’t have a sister to pester about how her future husband will never be good enough for her.”
Nobody would’ve ever been good enough for her.
Usually, my father carries himself like a god above men. I’m almost as tall as him, and with the way he holds himself up, it's always like he is looking down at me. But right now, it's like my comment slaps him across his face, and his shoulders drop.
