Dorian waved them forward, and Antonio placed a file front and center on the desk. Through lowered brows, Dorian brushed his eyes over the file and then looked to Antonio before slowly picking it up.
He took care when flipping the pages, but there was a restless monster rising beneath the surface of his skin. Having not read so much as even a word, Dorian set the file gently on the desk in front of him before grabbing a dagger from his desk and casting it across the room, at the same time that he shouted, “I don’t need to fucking read it, just tell me!”
The dagger landed in the wall to his left, vibrating with force.
Antonio cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. “Adam Vandemilio is definitely dead. The police report shows there were charred bones in the warehouse, and there were no hospital admissions within five-hundred miles for anyone matching his injuries that day, or even for the next few weeks.”
“You’re sure?” Dorian’s voice was a quiet, poisonous whisper.
“Positive. He couldn’t have made it out of there. Even if he did, there’s no way he could have survived those injuries for any length of time without medical attention.”
Dorian’s eyes flickered with a glimmer of knowing, one that made his Second twitch on the spot.
“We dug up the grave ourselves–” Antonio stuttered.
T.B.’s voice was more confident, and behind his eyes was a glittering of wickedness. He, at least, would relish in the things they would have to do to make sure they stayed on top. He was almost taunting when he said, “What did you find in Darton?”
Ah, that little trip upstate with Mercedes... Yes, that was a fruitful adventure. Much more so than his usual business escapes.
“Darton revealed exactly what I thought it would,” Dorian replied.
Though the evidence was to the contrary, Dorian no longer believed that somebody else could be after him. There was no one else he knew who had the power to put together a successful enough team to take him out. The other gangs in neighboring cities had all been dealt with through legacy agreements. He had killed his siblings. He had killed his cousins. There was no one else coming for him.
It had to be Adam Vandemilio.
Or someone acting in his interests.
“Fine,” Dorian agreed, though his eyes said otherwise. “But if it’s not Adam Vandemilio himself, then it’s someone very close to him.”
Antonio, wide-eyed, glanced to T.B., but T.B.’s look was just as feral as Dorian’s.
“Get Dan, Carlos, and Paul up here first thing in the morning. We need to have a chat,” Dorian laughed.
“Really? They’re just low le–”
“I saidget them up here.”
17
PUSH THE TEMPO
MAY 1991
Mercedes spotted Paul and Adam standing on the Ridge City Bridge before she even pulled her car up, parking on the right side of the bridge in a dense gravel parking lot.
She stepped out into the heat and wiped a dribble of sweat from the back of her neck. Casually dressed, she’d opted for white sneakers, denim mini shorts, and a black lace bralette.
Adam, she noted, almost matched. He was wearing white sneakers and denim shorts with a black linen shirt, and clearly unbothered with the buttons, leaving his shirt to hang open, exposing his chest beneath.
Mercedes approached them, her long, dirty blonde hair blowing aimlessly in the wind. Still not having noticed her coming, Adam tilted his head back in a laugh, exposing a tattoo on his neck that she’d never seen before. Feathers. Tucked just beneath the collar.
And once she’d started looking, she couldn’t stop herself, looking down his neck to his chest, muscled, veiny forearms, abs, and the sprinkle of hair below his belly button. Adam turned to look at her, too, and the sun caught his eyes, the whiteness of his wicked smile bouncing off the sunlight as if he knew where her next look would go.
Snapping at Adam, she said, “What am I out here for?”
“Hello to you, too,” Adam smiled, his eyes now lingering over the fabric barely covering her stomach.
She pushed her way in between Adam and Paul, folding her arms and glaring.
