I lean forward, putting my palms on the desk. “I’m going, Enzo. With or without your blessing, or his. I won’t stand outside while the man who murdered my father walks past me untouched,” I explain to him. “So, you can help me prepare, or you can leave me unarmed in the middle of a Bratva party. And when Maximo finds out, he’ll be a hell of a lot angrier at you than at me.” That last part is a stretch, but it has the desired effect.
Enzo’s jaw works for a moment, but he doesn’t answer right away.
“You know I’m right,” I add quietly.
“Dammit, Constance… you’re forcing my hand.”
Finally, he sighs, picks up the Glock, and tucks it into his jacket.
“Fine,” he caves. “But I’m telling Maximo what I’m doing. I’ll put it where you can reach it, but I’m not keeping this from him.”
“That’s fair,” I say, even though we both know it isn’t. My stomach knots. I told him Maximo would be angrier at him than at me, but we both know that’s a lie big enough to choke on.
Enzo shakes his head. “You’re even more trouble than I expected. I’ll do this, but only because I know he won’t let you set one foot in that club,” he adds before picking up his phone and going back to his calls.
I leave him there, satisfied, with the phantom weight of the Glock still warm in my palm.
Come Saturday night, I’ll be ready.
By the time I slide back into bed, Maximo’s breathing hasn’t changed. He doesn’t stir when I curl against him. He has no idea the world is already shifting around him.
I close my eyes, and all I see is the Glock, the smoke, the fire we’re about to ignite.
Saturday night, I’m not watching from the sidelines.
I’m going in.
17
“If a Monroe gives their word, it means something. I hope you’re cut from the same cloth, Luciani.”
—ROBERT MONROE
Maximo
Saturday night is closing in fast.Every man in the house moves with quiet purpose, the air heavy with the kind of anticipation that comes before blood is spilled.
Enzo, Constance, and I gather in my office. My desk is buried under maps, photos, and floor plans of Club Metron. It’s hot as hell in here because Leonard, the most senior of the house servants, has stoked up a fire. The old man is always cold and assumes the rest of us are too. The firelight casts our faces in sharp, flickering shadows while we plan.
Enzo points to the layout of the club. “Okay, the technicianplanted the device here.” He stabs a finger at the blueprint. “The HVAC system will fail at ten fifteen. It’s not enough of a charge to blow the roof off the place, but it’ll light up the insulation and cause a massive amount of smoke. It should drive everyone towards the exits within minutes limiting the danger to any civilians. The street crews will be in position to close off every escape route and drop Kirill as soon as he peeks his head up.”
“It’s clean, if we can avoid the police that will be responding,” I say.
Constance studies the plans then asks, “Where did they leave my gun?”
Enzo lays his finger on the blueprint, but before he can say a word, I slap my hand down on top of his. “I’ve already told you no, Constance.”
“And I’ve told you that there are reasons for me to be the one to go inside,” she replies evenly. “You need eyes on Kirill to know which way he runs if you want a real chance of catching him.”
I stare at her, willing her to stand down. Trying my best to intimidate her. It doesn’t work. “You’re just going in there to be our eyes, and to let us know which way he bolts when the fire starts, understood? I’m not risking you for anything more than that.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “You would rather risk sending someone who doesn’t know him by sight? Someone who might hesitate or lose him in the chaos? I’ve studied every photo, every scrap of the plan, Maximo. I’ve etched that bastard’s face into my brain. You know I can spot him before anyone else could.”
“You’re asking me to send you into the one place I can’t protect you. I promised you vengeance, but tonight isn’t your fight,” I tellher.
“Every night has been a fight since they murdered my father,” she shoots back. “If it were you, you wouldn’t hesitate. You would demand to be the one to pull the trigger.”
I fucking hate that she’s right. I hate even more that a part of me knows that she’s the best option for this portion of our plan.
