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“Steven let me in,” Mick answered, standing as I entered the room. Steven was Jack’s housekeeper. “I didn’t give him much of a choice, given the circumstances.”
I headed toward the hallway, planning to comb Jack’s desk drawers for a pen and paper. “When will he be back?”
Mick followed. “I have a feeling Jack won’t be returning for a while.”
I stopped mid-stride, turning to face him. The hallway was darker than the rest of the apartment, casting a menacing shadow across Mick’s grim expression.
“What do you mean?”
Mick shuffled his feet, staring down at them. “Jack’s gone rogue.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“He’s been dark since Thursday. That’s why we’ve been trying to contact you. To ask what the hell happened that morning.”
“Dark?” I repeated.
Blood thrummed in my ears. My legs shook. Connor had gone dark and, two days later, we’d found him nearly decapitated. The warmth fled my body at an alarming rate. I placed a hand against the wall, steadying myself.
“Calm down, Emma.” Mick approached with his hands raised like he was cornering a rabid animal. “Jack’s alive.”
“How do you know?” I choked, almost bent in half. If he wasn’t in communication, how could anyone know he wasn’t being held captive or hurt? Or dying alone in the streets. Shit, I was going to faint.
“Because he cleaned one of the Mafia’s safehouses,” Mick explained. “I know his style. He doesn’t leave any evidence behind, but it was him.”
Cleaned a safe house? Did that mean what I thought it did? Was this what Eoghan had been referencing when he caught up with me outside of NYU?
“I thought you’d be worried, not angry.”
We had been talking about two different things.
I sprinted down the hallway into Jack’s bedroom. I slammed into the armoire, punching the code to the safe as fast as my numb fingers could move. I opened the door, relief washing over me.
One of the cases—one million in cash—was gone along with a few different weapons. A sniper rifle and a pistol with accessories. There were other things missing from crates, but I couldn’t remember what had been there before.
He was alive. For now.
Exiting the closet, I found Mick waiting for me in the bedroom. “Why aren’t you looking for him?”
“We are,” he insisted. “We’ve been searching for days, ever since Cathal got word about the seven Nicolettis found dead. We’ve hit all our own safehouses and every apartment, but there’s no point. He won’t be at any of them. He doesn’t want to be found.”
“S-seven?” I stammered, trying not to display my horror. Jack had murdered seven people. On his own. He could’ve been killed.
“Jack can handle himself,” Mick clarified, but I recognized the doubt in his voice. “But we need to find him soon before the don puts two and two together.”
“How does Don Luca not know who killed his men?” I asked, incredulous.
“Jack thrives in the shadows.”
I returned to the closet, digging through drawers in search of sturdier clothes. Dark jeans, combat boots, lightweight leather jacket. I changed quickly, not bothered that Mick could walk in and find me indecent. Regardless, he gave me privacy.
“Are you going to tell me what happened between you two?” Mick asked as I walked into the bedroom, tying my hair into a high ponytail. “You were the last one to speak with him.”
“Don’t play coy, Mickey,” I reprimanded, still feeling sour toward Jack’s first lieutenant. “You know why I ended things.”
“Ended things,” he repeated. Despite saying he’d understand if I called it quits, Mick’s tone was one of disbelief and anger. “Just like that?”
“No, not ‘just like that’! I ended it because he confessed to cheating on me while you two were in Ireland.”
