His expression hardens. “Don’t worry about them. That problem was taken care of already. No one else will get within a mile of my wife.”
There it is again. My wife.
Ownership dressed up as protection.
My father didn’t just trade me. He exiled me to a foreign country where I’m one hundred percent dependent on a man who can eliminate threats with one phone call. Back home, I handled problems. Here, problems are handled for me.
I don’t even have the freedom to walk through a park without permission or danger circling. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had a gun…or a purpose.
But this afternoon proved something else.
I’m not just Bronx Viacava’s prisoner.
I’m New York City’s prisoner, too.
14
BRONX
My wife just schooled a team of security pros who've been doing this shit for fifteen years.
Three surveillance teams hunted her and Connor through Central Park, and my guys needed her to spell it out for them before they caught on. By the time they were moving, Tierney had already marked every threat and planned the exit.
She was babysitting her own fucking protection detail.
“Manino,” I growl into my phone. “Explain to me how my wife ended up running point on her own security.”
“Boss, we picked up the threats?—"
“Yeah, after she spotted them and held your goddamn hand through it. She's been in this city three weeks and she's better at your job than you are.”
“We responded once we knew?—"
“You responded too fucking late. You're supposed to see shit first, not play catch-up. If she hadn’t picked up on those guys…” I grit my teeth. Fuck, I don’t even wanna think about what might have been.
Manino doesn’t say a word. Smart man. Because he knows he has no defense.
“New protocols start now. I want eyes that actually fucking work.”
I hang up and call Kingston. Professional surveillance teams don't just show up for fun. There’s a reason why the Tribunal is sniffing around, and we need to figure it out fast.
“Emergency meeting,” I tell him. “We’ve got company.”
Half an hour later I walk into Kingston’s office where my brothers and father look at me like I just pissed in their coffee.
“Talk,” Kingston says, his voice tight.
“It was professional surveillance. Multiple teams following Tierney and Connor through Central Park.”
Dad gets up and walks over to the bar to pour himself a bourbon. “How many?”
“Tierney saw three teams. Could've been more.”
“And what about our guys?”
My spine stiffens. “They caught on eventually. But my wife was running the show. She spotted everyone first.” I sink onto the couch next to Reign. “She was their fucking early warning system.”
Reign turns toward me. “Who the hell runs surveillance on protected targets in broad daylight?”
