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"Scarlet Reed? I thought you said she disappeared off the face of the earth after that article last year?" Nicolai rubs a hand over his face, the dark circles under his eyes evidence of his new fatherhood status. He has been distracted and tired ever since the arrival of his son.
"She did, but she has reappeared as a waitress named Laura Jones," I advise him. "She must have been wearing contacts, and her hair was a different color, so I didn't recognize her at first. I have only ever seen photographs of her before that day."
Nicolai shakes his head, letting out a long exhale. "Why are you barely realizing this? Why didn't you stop her at the wedding if you had your suspicions?"
"I don't know. I've been thinking about her ever since the wedding, trying to piece together where I'd recognized her from. It wasn't until just now that it dawned on me who she really is." I fist my hands tightly, wanting to damage something. Really,I should have trusted my gut instinct with her. I should never have let her go."I will handle it," I tell Nicolai, standing from my chair. "Properly and permanently, this time."
Nicolai nods, raising a brow. "I hope so, brother, because if you don't, I will."
His threat pisses me the fuck off. He knows he just baited me. I don't like to fail. No one ever gets away from me, and Scarlet Reed better be ready because I am coming for her.
* * *
Two weeks and nothing! There is no trace of a Laura Jones, Scarlet Reed, or whoever the fuck name she uses now, anywhere! Alessio has returned from his honeymoon and is beyond pissed off about the published article. He said every goddamn paper, magazine, and media company in Italy has gotten their hands on the article and printed their own coverage of it. Alessio is not only my cousin, but he is my best friend. I have let him down and feel like complete shit about it.
I'd hoped I would have had better news for him upon his return, like finding Scarlet Reed and destroying her. However, the sneaky little snake has slithered away, no doubt hiding in a dark hole until she thinks she is safe again.
I chuckle to myself. She will never be safe. I will find her and will end her, even if it's the last thing I do.
Nodding to the bouncer as I walk into Revolt, he ushers me through the crowd outside and into the club where I am then escorted to the elevator. I’m here to speak with the club owner Elijah Jackson. He knows everyone in the underworld on either side of New York and New Jersey and knows just about everything about them. He calls his club the gossip hole. It's where all the darkness of the underworld echoes through his walls. Anything that is said in his club he hears. He knows everyone's dirty little secrets, and thank God, he is loyal to me.
As the elevator begins to move, I look out the glass walls down onto the club below. It appears to be a regular club from this view, but little do most of the patrons and party-goers below know what lies beneath them. An elite and highly illegal underground fight club operates under the nightclub called the Dungeon.
Elijah is known as The Prophet because he used to be a fighter himself. People believed he could foresee his component’s moves. His predictions were his weapon, like he can see into their minds and prepare himself for what is to come. It's a shame his old man died too early, and he had to end his career to take over the business.
The elevator pings when the doors open on the top floor. It's not only Elijah's office but his home. No one other than trusted staff has the clearance to get up here. I am an exception to the rule as a long-time loyal friend. The Valsetti's have lined his father’s and grandfather's pockets before him to keep the information flowing.
Most weekends, you'd find Elijah down in the Dungeon, but tonight it's Wednesday and our monthly poker night.
"Luca!" Elijah calls out to me. "I am in the back room."
The apartment is simple and masculine with its modern industrial interiors and dark colors. There is no hint of a female in his life, and that's the way he prefers it. In the ten years I have known him I have never seen him with the same girl more than once. I wouldn't say he is a player. He is just too busy for the complications of relationships. He and I are the same when it comes to this. Perhaps that's why we are such good friends.
In the line of work I do, it is not easy to find a woman capable of withstanding, or stomaching, who I am.
I don't have girlfriends. I don't have lovers. Most of the women I sleep with remain nameless faces to me. I don't have time to commit, nor do I want that anyway. I've seen what it does to men firsthand. Both my brother Nicolai and my cousin Alessio have been pussy whipped, and it's softened them. I cannot afford the luxury of being soft. In my line of work, I have to be hard, disconnected, and unforgiving. That's what makes me so brutal, the fact I don't care. I know I am not a good person, and I do not give a shit. I was born to be who I am, so I make no apologies for it. I am loyal to my family and friends and will protect them with my life. Pride. Power. Protection. The Valsetti family motto.
As I enter the room, I find Elijah sitting at the table, shuffling a deck of cards to get ready for our game. There is a glass of whiskey waiting for me already. I lick my lips, anticipating the taste.
"You're late," he jests, starting to deal the cards out.
I take a seat and a long sip of the whiskey before replying, "I've had a shit day."
Elijah raises a brow. "Awe, wanna talk about it, sweetheart?" He chuckles as he fills my glass with more whiskey.
"Fuck off." I mumble, snatching my cards off the table to look at my hand.
"Seriously, man, what's up?"
"I need to find a woman named Scarlet Reed. Her last Alias was Laura Jones, but she is good at disappearing."
Picking up his own cards and scrutinizing them, he then looks up at me with furrowed brows. "Scarlet Reed. Where have I heard that name before?"
"She was the assistant journalist that helped write the article in the New York Times last year about Juna's death being linked to a long-lived dispute between the Kastrati and Valsetti families," I tell him.
"Oh, yes, the reporter. I thought you'd handled that already?"
"Clearly not. Didn't you see the recent story of Alessio's wedding in the paper?" I take another long mouthful of whiskey, savoring the burn as it hits my throat.
