"Look how that story turned out," I mutter.
"We're in love."
"Oh, Lyndall."
"I don't know how he is. I don't know if Dad killed him, he probably killed him, and we have never even kissed."
It is the one thing that makes me not hate this Luke and makes me think the love and the relationship beyond friends are in her teenage head.
"I'm sure he's all right."
"No, Dad kills people to solve his problems. That's what he does."
I nod, sick to the stomach. "But one of his men? I can ask Enzo."
"No! You can't. Not any of it."
My heart breaks for the teen, and I want her to like me. So, I go against my better judgment.
"Okay, I won't say a word, I promise."
But, if this Luke is even dipping his toe below deck, I will kill him myself.
Chapter Thirty-Two
ENZO
The problemwith fucking shoot first and ask questions never is you don't get any pertinent questions asked or answered.
Things like who sent them, their names, and who they intended to kill.
Things like that.
The last one is surface easy. Me, most likely, but I'm not sure if I was the real target or more of a bonus kill.
That leaves Lyndall, and taking her out with me here would be...stupid. Enough to start a war with half the crime families in New York.
They knew my address, which isn't listed, but there is enough traffic that it would be easy to find it out.
Or...
Lola.
They could have been after Lola.
Shit.
Which puts me back where everything started.
I kick the closest body and straighten up.
No ID. No giveaway tattoos. I don't recognize either one.
Professional guns for hire, probably.
I look back at the camera, but I leave them safe for now as I call Silas and Cade, telling them to get here. Now.
When I have cleaned up as best I can to get the door shut and the lockdown door ready to come down and all my calls made to contacts within the cops and to one of Uncle Gino's men I trust, I throw a coat of mine over them and call the Syndicate's cleaning crew.
