Page 120 of More Tricks

Outside there was just the low thudding beat of music coming from the clubhouse. No creaking of wood from someone standing outside on the porch or breathing that I could make out. Dropping down, so I was squatting next to the door, my back to the wall, I turned the doorknob and cracked it. Holding my breath, I waited, but nothing happened. If someone had been looking to kill one of us, they most likely would have shot through the door, or a friendly would have spoken up. Gripping the knob, I yanked the door open, still keeping off to the side as I whirled on the balls of my feet, pointing the gun out the door.

There was nothing but night and the soft glow of the porch lights illuminating the entrance. I glanced down and spotted a manilla envelope with Queen of the Hidden Empire written on the front. Searching the area once more, I picked it up slowly, making sure some booby trap wasn’t attached to it. Breathing out a sigh of relief, I stood, and closed the door, moving to the breakfast counter, and flipped on the light.

“What is it?” Sprocket asked from behind me.

Whirling around, gun raised before my brain caught up to who spoke. “Jesus fucking Christ, Sprocket. I could have shot you,” I snapped, lowering the gun and flicking the safety on so I didn’t make a horrible mistake.

“Sorry, I thought you saw me coming down the stairs before you opened the door,” he answered, setting his own gun on the counter. “Came down to get her some water and saw you at the door. What happened?”

“Heard someone knocking and with all that’s gone on tonight, I figured it was either something fucking important or someone trying to kill us,” I answered. “Seems they just had a package to deliver.”

Sprocket picked up the envelope and examined it in the light, but it was too thick to see through it. The top wasn’t sealed all the way, just secured with the silver tabs through the single hole. “We need to open it before she sees it,” I decided. “Who the fuck knows what that could be, but my gut is telling me it's not good.”

“Have we heard anything from Harper lately?” Sprocket asked, reading my mind.

I shook my head. “They talked right after they got out of Russia to figure out where they were going to place Prim once they got to New York. I assumed it would take them about two days, if not three of driving to get where they needed to meet for the flight out. Everyone agreed it was best to keep silent until they were stateside once more.”

“Alright, we look at this first, but no matter what is in here, we tell her about it,” Sprocket ordered, pinning me with his fierce gaze.

“I agree,” I answered.

Slowly, he opened the envelope and slid out two documents and a picture. There was also a handwritten note that was stuck to the inside of the envelope that I grabbed. Scanning the documents, I frowned, none of this making any sense. It was adoption papers with some guy's name on them that I’d never heard of before. The photo turned out to be two, one of Diego De León holding a baby in his arms with a woman smiling down at the baby. Diego actually looked happy as he smiled broadly at the camera as any proud father would be. The second image was of a man in his thirties who was the spitting image of Diego.

“What is all this?” I murmured, flipping the family picture over.

Written on the back was a note that looked like the same handwriting as the letter I’d yet to read.

The true heir to the cartel is still out there.

“The fuck?” I blurted. “What does any of this have to do with us?”

When Sprocket didn’t answer, I looked over to see him reading the letter, utterly absorbed in it. Setting the picture down, I waited, glancing over the adoption papers again. The boy had been given up at what they guessed was around six months. He’d been found on the steps of a fire station in Boston. All he’d been left with was a note that said his name pinned to his blanket, Tommaso. The boy had been adopted shortly after into an affluent family who I knew had ties to the Italian mafia. They were no friend to the De León Cartel, but something had always held them back from making a move to take over. Now it had me wondering if it was because of Marco being the true puppet master.

“Whoever this is, really doesn’t want Diego in power. They just handed everything needed to make an official coup d’état happen over who rules the East Coast,” Sprocket explained. “This boy is Diego’s oldest son from his first wife he married, who I might add was the daughter to an incredibly important person in the Italian mafia. It was a way to broker peace, but when his wife suddenly showed up dead and the child gone missing, war broke out. This letter says that’s when he sold his soul to Marco so he could keep his hold over the East Coast. Now it has me thinking his second wife has a connection to Marco in some way. Which is why only those kids take his last name and can inherit.”

I sat heavily on one of the stools looking over the picture of the man who might just have solved all our problems. Yeah, there was still going to be a war, but even after we removed Diego, we’d need to come up with a plan to fill that void. If we had control over who that could be and built a strong alliance, it could change everything. Just imagining the biggest powers in the US who ruled the coastlines working together was mind-blowing.

“We present this to everyone, but I don’t want us making any moves until I look into things more. This paperwork and photos give us a place to start, but I’m not going to take some mystery person’s word as law. That and I plan to watch the security footage to see how the fuck they got to the house without anyone noticing,” I grumbled, tossing the photo on the counter. “Why the hell does this all need to be so complicated?”

Sprocket grinned at me. “With great power…”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I laughed, shoving him. “Get the damn water and we’ll tell the others what happened.”

“You know doing that might cut your chances of getting your dick wet tonight,” Sprocket warned.

Shrugging, I gathered up the papers. “I waited thirty-some-odd years for her. Missing out on a night isn’t that big of a deal. Besides, now that she is mine, I have the freedom to wake her ass up later and fuck the shit out of her. Morning sex is a fantastic way to start the day.”

Sprocket smiled and laughed as he grabbed a bunch of water bottles out of the refrigerator. “You make a valid point, man. One that I will have to keep in mind for another time.”

“Yeah, well, you might want to clean up that shithole you call a room,” I suggested. “No woman wants to sleep on a twin mattress on the floor with engine parts scattered all over the place.”

“Guess I’ve never had to worry about it until now. I’d always go back to their place since Eagle didn’t allow fucking sweet butts in the house. He always said when we found the person we wanted for real, we’d appreciate not having mucked the palace up with other women,” he sighed, pausing at the top step. “Fucker was right, but you never heard me say that.”

Miming, I zipped my lips, tossed away the key, and grinned. “I told her the same thing, no fuck buddies at our house. There’s no way I would’ve been able to hold my shit together knowing someone was fucking the woman I’d always considered as mine in our house.”

“Ah, so that’s why she had the apartment,” Sprocket commented as we entered Cognac’s room.

The guys had their boxers on and were lounging on the bed watching something on the television while Dax sat in the middle of them all buck ass naked, glaring at us. “Where the fuck have you two been?”