I lunged forward blindly, hands catching nothing but smoke and cold air, kept moving and kept searching until my foot hit the edge of the roof and I stopped just in time, looking down at six stories of empty air.
The smoke started clearing and I spun to scan the rooftop, finding nothing but HVAC units and the abandoned helmet lying in the gravel, snow already dusting it white.
Rafael was gone.
“FUCK!” The word tore out of my throat, raw and furious and helpless.
I heard an engine and looked over the edge to see a black sedan pulling away from the building, Rafael behind the wheel. He looked up, made eye contact, smiled, and was gone.
I stood there at the edge breathing hard, blood dripping from my nose, hands clenched into fists so tight my nails were drawing blood from my palms. Snow kept falling, catching in the security lights, turning the rooftop into something out of a film I didn't want to be in.
It had been Rafael. The whole fucking time. The man who'd been in Declan's life for years, who'd offered help and shown up at the fights with concern and advice, who'd integrated himself so thoroughly that suspecting him had felt impossible. He'd been using that position to watch, to gather information, and to strike when we were most vulnerable.
My phone was ringing and I pulled it out to find Luka's name on the screen.
“It's Rafael,” I said when I answered.
Silence. “What?”
“The attacks. All of it. It's Rafael Varela. I chased him, fought him. He got away but I saw his face.” My voice was steadier than I felt. “Luka, it's been him the entire time.”
More silence, then I heard Luka talking to someone else in a rapid exchange I couldn't make out.
“Where are you?” Luka asked.
“Rooftop. Six blocks south of where you last saw me.”
“Stay there. We're coming to you.” His voice was firm. “Troy. Do not go after him alone. We handle this as a team.”
“He's been in Declan's life for years. He knows everything, where we live, where we work, our patterns.”
“I know.” Luka's voice softened slightly. “Which is why we need to be smart.”
The call ended and I stood there watching Chicago go about its business, completely unaware that somewhere in those streets was a man who'd turned friendship into surveillance and trust into a weapon. Snow kept falling, sticking to my jacket, melting on my face, mixing with blood I couldn't be bothered to wipe away.
How long had he been planning this? How far back did the deception go?
The roof access door banged open and I heard footsteps on gravel. Dmitri appeared and took one look at me. He swore in Russian.
“Can you walk?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Because Luka is very angry and wants you in the car immediately.” He grabbed my arm and started moving. “We leave before police arrive.”
We made it down the fire escape to find Dmitri's SUV idling at the curb, Luka already out of the driver's seat and crossing to me in three long strides. He grabbed my face and turned my head to examine the damage, his expression carefully blank but the calculation happening clearly behind his eyes.
“Get in the car. We're going back to the house. Ash has Declan.” He released my face. “We need to move. If Rafael knows we've identified him, he'll either run or escalate.”
I climbed into the back seat, Dmitri got in beside me, and Luka drove.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Luka said, eyes on the road but his full attention on me.
I walked him through it. The chase, the fight, the moment I'd pulled off the helmet and seen Rafael's face.
Luka listened without interrupting. When I finished, he was quiet for a long moment.
“He wanted you to know,” Luka said finally. “The chase, the confrontation, letting you see his face. All of it was deliberate.”
