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Callum already knows what I’m looking at.
“The watch was mine, the clock is Riona’s, and the hourglass is Nessa’s,” he says.
“What do they mean?” I ask him, not sure if I even want to know.
“My grandfather passed them down to us when we were born. He said, ‘All we have is time.’”
“Were you close to him?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Callum nods. “Closer than anyone.”
Fuck, I hate feeling guilty. Why did I grab that fucking watch? If I’d never touched it . . .
I wouldn’t be here right now, I guess. Looking at Callum’s lean, handsome face.
“I’m . . . sorry about that,” I say.
Callum shakes his head, like he forgot it was even lost.
“That’s in the past, Aida. Let’s concern ourselves with tonight.”
20
Callum
As we start hunting down the Butcher, I have to admit, I’m pretty fucking glad I’ve got Aida’s brothers on my side. My father might have been right that I was too arrogant, too sure of our dominance. I’m spread thin, trying to secure deals, whip up votes, and put a lid on Zajac, all at the same time.
Funnily enough, I’m quite enjoying having Aida on my team, too. When she’s not setting our library on fire or chucking my most beloved possession over a railing, she’s actually pretty fucking helpful. I use the license plate number she spotted to track down one of Zajac’s men, the one who owns the Land Rover used in the drive-by. His name is Jan Kowalski, but everybody calls him Rollie.
I call Dante and Nero so we can run him down together.
We find him at a used-car dealership in East Garfield. The Butcher owns several car dealerships and repair shops. He can kill two birds with one stone, laundering money through car sales, while chopping up and reselling the cars stolen by his minions.
Nero goes around back while Dante and I walk through the front door looking for Rollie. I already know what he looks like, having had minor dealings with him in the past. Thanks to his idiotically public social media, Dante and Nero have also had the pleasure of scrolling through pictures of Rollie getting smashed at the pub, Rollie showing off the new pair of Yeezys he probably stole, and Rollie receiving the world’s worst tattoo of a pair of praying hands.
So, we recognize him fairly easily in the service bay of the dealership. He’s wearing coveralls. A filthy bandana ties back his longish sandy-colored hair. As soon as he sees Dante’s bulk in the doorway, he chucks away the oil pan from the F150 he’s servicing and tries to sprint out the bay doors like a fucking jackrabbit.
Unfortunately for him, Nero is already lying in wait behind a stack of tires. If Rollie is a rabbit, Nero is a greyhound—lean, swift, and utterly ruthless. He hooks Rollie’s legs with a tire iron, then pounces on his back, pinning him to the ground.
Meanwhile, Dante knocks out the manager with a brutal right cross, and I do a quick sweep of the shop to make sure we haven’t missed any other employees.
I find a mechanic crouched down behind a BMW. He’s older and lacks any of the usual markers of the Polish mafia—tattoos, gold chains, and gaudy rings—so I assume he just works on the cars and isn’t one of the Butcher’s soldiers.
I search him anyway, then lock him in the office after ripping the phone cord out of the wall.
Dante and Nero are already tuning up Rollie. It doesn’t take much to get him talking. He gives us the phone the Butcher uses to contact him, as well as several locations where Zajac “might” be.
“I don’t care where he might be,” Nero hisses. “Tell us where he is right now.”
“I don’t know!” Rollie shouts, swiping the back of his hand across the bloody nose Nero already gave him. “I’m not, like, one of his top guys.”
“He sent you to shoot up the construction site last night, though,” I say.
Rollie darts his eyes between Nero and me, licking his lips nervously.
“I didn’t know who was there,” he says. “I didn’t know I was shooting at you guys. He told us to spray the lot, to hit the cops and make a ruckus.”
“Horse shit,” Dante growls, his voice rough as gravel. “You knew that work site was ours.”
