His tone turned drier. “Unfortunately.”
“Tell me.”
He let out a quiet exhale. “They indulge in… eccentric tastes. Power attracts that sort of thing. Strange parties. Stranger habits. But that’s not your problem.”
“Maybe it is.”
“It isn’t,” he said firmly. “Because they don’t touch our world. Not yours, not mine. They steer clear of organized crime. They’ve always kept away from it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Then they wouldn’t have hit my shipment.”
“I’m telling you that’s not their style. Too crude. Too visible,” Mateo said without hesitation.
Salvatore shifted slightly.
“Then someone’s trying to make it look like them,” I said.
“Or,” Mateo countered, “someone wants you looking in the wrong direction.”
I rubbed my jaw. “If you hear anything—anything at all—you call me.”
Mateo laughed quietly. “Careful, Lykos. That almost sounded like a demand.”
“It’s a request between two old friends,” I replied.
“You got it.” He let a beat pass before he said, “Lykos?”
“Yeah.”
“Whoever took your shipment… they’re either very brave,” he said, his voice cooling, “or very stupid.”
The line went dead and I lowered the phone slowly.
Salvatore pushed off the desk. “Well?”
I looked at him and summarized the call. “He doesn’t think it’s the Obsidian Society’s style to dabble in the criminal world.”
“Then who?”
“Someone who wants me chasing shadows.”
Salvatore nodded once. “And what do we do about that?”
I slipped the phone into my pocket and threw myself into the seat behind my desk. I had a shit ton of work to do that had nothing to do with this cursed society and the havoc they brought to my doorstep.
“We drag them into the light,” I said.
TWENTY
VIOLET
My gaze darted around my bedroom for what had to be the hundredth time. Yesterday, in between my bickering with Lykos and my visit to his wife, every last item had been brought in from the hotel and arranged like I’d always been here. I should have been outraged that someone had invaded my privacy, but the anger never came.
All I could think about was what I had seen both times I visited Amara. The image clung to me, sharp and unrelenting. And then Aria. I had finally met her, spoken to her, and made a promise to her.
Night had settled fully over the house. The walls held their silence, but my thoughts refused to follow suit. They surged and clashed, loud as a storm breaking against the rocky shore.
Over and over, the same thought played: Lykos’s wife had tried to kill Aria and Dimitros.
