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Evander Kazan, another one of my best friends, leans back in his seat, studying me. The big Greek man narrows his eyes, considering. He’s massive—easily the biggest guy in the place, maybe the biggest guy in the whole city—and he wears his size like a shield.
But Evander’s smart. One of the smartest men I know.
“Are you sure about that?” he asks, head tilted to the side, considering. “It seems like something you’d do.”
“We both know it would’ve been terrible if she came with me. The job just sort of appeared. I’m notthatconniving.” I take a long drink of whiskey, savoring the burn.
“Maybe you should’ve tried to bring her with you anyway.” Evander shrugs his big shoulders. “Could’ve been fun.”
I glare at him. “Fun? Putting her in danger? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He grins at me. “At least you know how you feel.”
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.”
“You like the girl. Maybe you love her, I don’t know. Look at you, twisted into knots over her. You ran away to Chicago rather than face the pain of being around her, knowing you can’t have her. That’s love. A sick kind of love though.”
I stare at him for a full five seconds. “Since when the fuck did you get so knowledgeable about relationships?”
“Since I fell in love myself and got married.” He holds up the wedding ring he wears all the time now. “Camille taught me some things.”
“Give my best to your wife then,” I grumble, flagging the bartender down for another drink. “Even if you’re right, what’s it change?”
“It helps to clarify your priorities.” Evander grunts, leaning toward onto his elbows. “Before Camille, my life was all about my family. The sacrifices I made. The sacrifices I kept making. But Camille letmebe happy.” He glances at me. “You’re not that different. Always sacrificing. Except you’re sacrificing for a dream you think you want.”
I whistle, eyebrows raised. “Fuck, Evander, what did shedoto you?”
He laughs loudly, shaking his head. “Ah, hell, I’m getting soft, I think. Wives, babies, families. It’s all fucking me up. The old Evander might’ve said to you, bring the girl anyway, fuck her, enjoy her, forget about consequences. Seems fun. Right?”
“You did say that,” I point out.
“Regardless, the old Evander would’ve been wrong.” He jabs a finger at me. “Find out what’s precious. Hold on to it.”
“This job with the Crowleys is precious.” The bartender returns with my whiskey. I’m tempted to ask for another right away but hold back. I really do have business with a couple clients—this trip isn’t all about moping around, feeling fucking sorry for myself. “It’s what we used to want, isn’t it? The next level?”
“The next level,” Evander repeats. He turns his glass in a circle before saying, “Gareth, I don’t think there is another level. And if it exists, I don’t want it.”
I stare at him, surprised. We’ve been talking aboutthe next levelfor years—everyone in the Atlas Organization is obsessed with it. There are tiers of power, and while we’re toward the top, there are still rungs higher on the ladder. We’ve been obsessed with getting higher, above our station, into where therealpower exists—the power to change the world.
Now Evander’s telling me the goal we’ve all been working toward for the last decade-plus isn’t real, or isn’t worthwhile.
“I’m trying very hard to wrap my head around that.” I sip my drink. Put it down. Lift it again to take another sip. “Tryingveryhard.”
He laughs, runs a hand through his hair, sighs. “Priorities, Gareth, priorities. When I was a young man, the dream of reaching the next level, of changing the world with you and our Atlas brothers, that kept me awake at night. Dreaming, wanting. That was always only a dream, however. Now I have Camille, I have my family to run, I have my children to father. My problems are real problems, generational problems. I can make a difference, maybe, but only here, in my little world.”
“Chicago’s a big world,” I mutter.
“The others are the same. Carmine’s got Brice. Ford’s got Kat.”
“I should pursue Fiona because getting married will make me give up on my other dreams?” I frown, wiping my face with my palm. “Doesn’t sound like a good deal.”
“No, you stupid fucking idiot,” he says, grinning. “You should pursue Fiona because it will make you realize that your dreams have been a waste of time until now.”
I blow out a breath, sip my drink, and think back to Orin in that office. Stressed, crumbling Orin, looking like a completely different man. The guy I wanted to work for exists only at that beach, only with his wife and children, but the real Orin, the man inches away from that next level, he’s a mess of a human being. The sort of mess I can see myself becoming one day.
“It’s hard to convince myself to give up on something I’ve always wanted.”
“You’re not giving up,” Evander says. “You’re changing your mind. There’s a difference.” He leans closer. “But what the fuck do I know?”
