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“Fucking waste of time,” Enzo growls, landing a swift kick to the dead man’s leg.
I’m not so sure. I replay his words while I walk over to the table. Enzo gathers the used blades and torch while Dominic phones for a cleanup crew to come in.Noticing a bit of blood, I take off my jacket and shirt and pass them to Enzo to add to the bag.He hands me a clean black shirt before tying off the plastic bag of evidence.
“The damn rat didn’t know shit,” Enzo complains.
“Not true,” Dominic says. “We know the leader’s name now.”
“Xiao?” Enzo snorts. “Never heard of him. You don’t just come into power without others knowing who you are.”
“Well, if he’s this boogeyman he mentioned…” Dominic continues.
I tune my friend and cousin out and concentrate on our next steps. Though Chang was tight-lipped and didn’t share much, his pieces are starting to fit with what we know.
I look at my twin, curious if he’s thinking the same as I am. Raphael meets my eyes across the room and gives me a subtle nod.
Enzo and Dominic continue to bicker over the lore of this boogeyman when Raphael interrupts. “It sounds like the Triads are scouting High Table businesses for the best location to launch an attack.”
I fold my arms across my chest and add, “We’ve long suspected the bombings on the Irish ships were Triad-related. This confirms that.”
The O’Leary Irish mob has firm control over the docks, with an impressive number of import and export businesses fueling their wealth and influence. Patrick O’Leary is derailed enough to begin with, but he has become increasingly enraged with no one to blame.
I turn to Dominic. “Even if we’re wrong, alert security across all businesses. Divert warehouse deliveries and question any new hires in recent months. If anyone sees a single thing out of place, have them bring it to our attention immediately. The Triads may have help from outlier families. And if they’re bringing their attacks inland, we need to be prepared for anything.”
Dominic nods and then glances at Raphael for confirmation of the order. I ignore the small stab of pain the look causes in my chest. It’s good that they check in with Raphael. He’ll be their don soon, and while I’ll serve as his underboss, Raphael’s words will always come first and last. His decisions will be final. His word law. I know that, but it still hurts to watch.
“Cleanup crew is here,” Enzo announces, which is our cue to leave.
As we walk up the stairs, the club’s music grows in volume the closer we get to the door. The rush of adrenaline from Chang’s interrogation left me aching to expel some of that energy, and I know of a certain red-haired, green-eyed beauty who can help with that.
We return to our booth only to find it empty. Maybe she’s still in the bathroom. I check my phone. How long have I been downstairs? Surely long enough for her to clean up and return to the booth. But…no. Something feels off.
My chest tightens unpleasantly as I look around. I don’t see her on the dance floor or at the bar. And as the minutes tick by, my worry only increases until the truth becomes clear. She left.
“Michael, you alright?” Raphael asks, and I turn my head to look at him. It’s sometimes eerie looking at my twin because it’s like peering into a mirror. And seeing my reflection is the last thing I need right now.
“She left,” I mutter, feeling a rush of unknown emotion settle over me like a heavy fog. It’s like I don’t know what to do next or where to turn.
Raphael studies my face for a long moment before he blows out a breath like he has come to a decision. “Damn. You really liked this girl, huh?”
“Yes.” As if that hasn’t been clear enough for him.
“Then I guess we’ll just have to find her,” he suggests.
Something in me shifts. The fog lifts, and a new purpose appears. I’ll find her, and if I have to burn the entire world to find her, then so be it. Let it all burn.
6
Rose
March
The Mikhailov compound is terrifying. Dark and foreboding, nothing about the house is warm. I’ve never been to the home of the Bratva leader, yet so far, I’m not impressed.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I shiver against the chill, even in the Florida evening heat. The O’Leary estate is cold, but this gothic-style home makes ours seem like a tropical paradise.
“Welcome, Ms. O’Leary. This way, please.” The butler greets me at the door and gestures for me to follow him into a grand foyer as frightening as the exterior. He shows me into an equally dark dining room. The candles on the table and the wall scones are the only light sources. Apparently, they don’t believe in using light bulbs. It must clash with the frightening vibe they’re going for here.
“Ah! Ms. O’Leary, there you are.”
