Viktor and the rest of my inner circle are already waiting, and right now appearances don’t matter. Results do.
I walk through the door and five faces turn toward me. Viktor stands near my desk with his arms crossed. While Marco is leaning against the wall by the window. The other three—Santos, Dmitri, and Roy—occupy the chairs facing my desk.
“Talk,” I say, moving behind my desk and dropping into my chair.
Viktor speaks first. “There were six men in total. All dead except the one you interrogated. Professional contractors, former military by the looks of their mode of operation. I’m guessing someone paid serious money for this.”
“How’d they find us so fast?” Marco asks, looking flabbergasted. “She just landed a few hours ago.”
“They were already watching her in Portland.” I pull open my desk drawer and grab a bottle of whiskey, pouring into a glass. “Had PIs tracking her movements. The second she made contact with me, they mobilized.”
“That’s a lot of resources just to kill one witness,” Santos says.
“It’s not just about her.” I take a drink and let the burning feeling saturate my chest. “It’s about what she might know.”
The room goes quiet. They’re waiting for me to explain, but I take my time. Let them sit with the tension while I organize my thoughts.
“The Marchetti ledger,” I finally say. “That’s what this is about.”
Viktor straightens. “Boss, that ledger burned with the mansion six years ago. Everyone knows that.”
“Everyone assumed that.” I pour another drink. “But Antonio Marchetti wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have kept his insurance policy somewhere it could be destroyed in a fire. That ledger contained blackmail material on all five families—financial records, compromising photos, details of illegal operations. Whoever controlled it controlled the entire power structure in New York.”
“So you think it still exists?” Troy asks.
“I think someone believes it exists. And they’re willing to wage war to find it.” I lean back in my chair. “Five witnesses from that night. All dead in the last six months. Car crashes, overdoses, falls, fires—all staged to look like accidents. That’s not a coincidence. That’s a well thought out elimination.”
“They think the trafficking victims know where the ledger is hidden,” Marco says slowly.
“Exactly.” I drain my glass. “Which means whoever’s behind this believes Antonio told someone something before he died. Or that someone saw something. Someone like Scarlett.”
Viktor shifts on one foot. “Does she actually have information? Or was she bluffing to get protection?”
The question I’ve been asking myself since she called.
“I don’t know yet. But either way, she’s staying under this roof where I can keep her safe and find out the truth.”
“And if she doesn’t know anything?” Dimitri asks.
“Then they’ll figure that out eventually and move on to the next lead. But until then, she’s a target.” I set my glass down now. “Which means this house is now a fortress. Double the guards on every entrance. Motion sensors in the woods. Cameras covering every angle. Nobody gets within a hundred yards of this property without us knowing.”
“That’s going to strain our resources,” Viktor points out. “We’ve got operations across three boroughs that need attention.”
“Then delegate. This is priority one until the threat is neutralized.”
“What about finding the ledger ourselves?” Santos asks. “If we get to it first?—”
“Then we control everything,” I finish. “That’s exactly what I’m planning. But first I need to know what Scarlett actually remembers from that night.”
The meeting continues for another hour. We discuss security protocols, assign rotating shifts, and map out potentialvulnerabilities in the estate’s defenses. By the time everyone files out, it’s past midnight and my head is pounding.
I pour one more drink and stare at the clear liquid.
Six years of fighting and clawing my way to the top of New York’s underworld. And now it all comes back to one night. One job that went sideways. One girl I should have killed but didn’t. And a son I never knew existed.
That thought still makes my chest tight with rage so intense I want to put my fist through the wall.
I down the whiskey and stand. The house is quiet now, with everyone either asleep or on patrol. I should sleep too. Should get a few hours before tomorrow starts. But instead I find myself walking through the halls toward the guest wing.
