Old Boston mansions. Private galas. Charity foundations.
Men in tuxedos standing beneath crystal chandeliers with the casual arrogance of people who had never once been told no in their lives.
Then came the symbol.
“What the fuck?”
“What now?” Salvatore asked.
The symbol was the black obsidian circle etched with a silver serpent consuming its own tail. The very same one that Violet wore around her neck. And it was the same symbol used as a seal on every shipment.
My eyes locked on the name beneath the symbol on one of the shipments.
THE OBSIDIAN SOCIETY.
Cold settled beneath my ribs as I leaned forward slightly.
“What is it?” Salvatore asked again.
I scanned the attached intelligence brief.
“This society is old money.” My voice came out low. “For fuck’s sake, they’re politicians, congressmen, cardinals, princes…”
Boston Brahmins. Political dynasties. Banking families. Judges. Industrial heirs. Generations of wealth so entrenched it functioned above the law entirely.
“Michael… The guy that stole our shipment did say the rich and powerful own the Obsidian Society. It seems he wasn’t lying,” Salvatore grumbled. “I kind of wish he was.”
The Obsidian Society had allegedly existed for two centuries, originating among elite Boston families during the Gilded Age. Publicly, they were philanthropists, patrons of the arts, donors to universities and hospitals.
Privately?
Power brokers. Fixers. Predators.
They didn’t dirty their own hands. They funded people who did.
Entire criminal networks operated like extensions of their will while they attended galas and sat on charity boards pretending civilization existed because of them.
“This is more than organized crime,” Salvatore said grimly.
“It’s organized power,” I declared, staring at the serpent symbol glowing against the screen. “And as long as Dick Freud is alive, this Obsidian Society will be a threat to my family.”
TWENTY-NINE
VIOLET
After I returned to my bedroom, the short encounter with Amara played on repeat in my mind. My heart demanded I protect my child, but my conscience and years of training insisted I also help Amara.
God, how was I to do that and still keep Aria’s well-being at heart? After all, my daughter came before anyone and anything else, including myself.
I should seek out a professional who could treat Amara while I made sure my daughter was taken care of. I couldn’t be objective here, and I didn’t want to be. All I cared about was my daughter, and that wasn’t fair toward the poor woman who clearly needed help well beyond the clinic where she was stashed away in the past. Yet, she couldn’t remain locked up in this house either.
I opened the windows, the early April air cooling the room and my heated skin. I knew Lykos was next door; I heard his door shut after he walked me to my room and was tempted to go to him, curl myself into his body for comfort.
I was starved for human touch. Hell, I could do with simply talking to someone and sharing my fears, needs, and wants.
But I couldn’t do that to him.
I lay down and slid under the covers, my eyes locked on the ceiling while my mind whirled like a tornado.
