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"That’s the gate to their compound. If you can see, the way it’s been forced open… only one of the locks was engaged. Not all six."
Scowling at the image, I held it up to the light and squinted at the two sides of the damaged gate that, if memory served, Da had rammed with his customized Range Rover. The bull bars on there would take down a fucking Mack truck, never mind a gate.
I hummed though, when I saw the way the two sides of the gating had been ripped apart. "There would have been a lot more damage if more locks had been engaged."
"Correct. So, when I looked at that, I started to wonder what else was off about the narrative we’ve been fed."
"I can understand why you’d look deeper."
"Don’t ask me how…" She peeped up at me. "...I managed to get access to some of Jurkavic’s bank accounts—"
I arched a brow. "As easy as that, huh?"
Her smile nearly blew me off the sofa. "Not everyone sees through the airhead act."
Grunting, I muttered, "Men are fools."
"They are for a pair of tits and a short skirt," she agreed, which made my blood pressure surge some more. "Anyway, this was his personal account. Look at where I’ve marked."
She shoved some documents at me, and reaching out with my left hand, I drew them closer and found large red rings circling some dates.
"Are you a southpaw?"
The question jarred me from what I was looking at. "Yeah, I’m left-handed."
As she hummed, I read the documents, forcing myself to focus on the dates, times, numbers, and names, which were, to be frank, a nightmare.
Slowly, I stated, "These are flight receipts."
"They are," she said brightly. "He was in Italy when Paddy…died."
The repercussions of that rammed themselves home. As hard as if my dad’s old Range Rover, a beast that was long since a burnt out shell in a scrapyard somewhere, had done the deed for me.
"No one ever said he was in Europe. I’d have heard."
"I know."
The Albanians didn’t go for a crap without Jurkavic’s approval, and if he was out of the country, that meant… Shit. That meant quite a few things weren’t as cut and dry as we’d come to believe.
"That doesn’t mean he wasn’t behind Paddy’s murder," I muttered.
She scoffed. "Your father didn’t target another Albanian. Not saying others didn’t die in his attempt to reach Jurkavic, but once he took him out, that was it."
"They instigated those little spats afterward," I mused, thinking back to the past. "Not him. But he went in hard and stomped them out." Reaching up to rub my forehead, I frowned. "His men didn’t give him an alibi."
"And with a sword sticking through his belly, I don’t think Jurkavic had much of an opportunity to explain what happened to him, do you?"
No.
He hadn’t.
Da had told me the story.
Jaw working, I rasped, "Da said the compound was minimally guarded. They took out security, then infiltrated the house. He said it was easy, but he’s a cocky piece of shit. He’d think it was easy because we were so well-trained, not because the Albanians were trying to get rid of their leader."
"Jurkavic was asleep, wasn’t he?"
I nodded. "How did you know that?"
