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“And it’s not going to stop until…” she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. The killing wasn’t something she could accept as justifiable. No matter what.
How had she allowed herself to enter such a dangerous situation with an even more dangerous man?
“It’s not going to stop,” he repeated, “until I kill him.”
14
They’d run out of leads.
Vincent was certain they’d find Krill Laker at his family’s home in the Northside of Philadelphia. It hadn’t been the best of their leads, but it was the last one. He and Marco sat in his car outside of that family’s home and stared at the house. So long as they found him before the next charity event, Vincent would have been satisfied, but the longer he went without catching Krill, the more danger Kiera faced, both from Krill and the mafia leaders.
“If I wouldn’t have blown this fucking task on that first day,” Vincent started, slamming his fist into the steering wheel of his car, “then none of this would be a problem.”
Marco didn’t speak as he reclined the seat further back and stared at the ceiling. Marco was never quiet—especially not when it came to a mission—but he’d been working around the clock to pay for and arrange his friend’s funeral. Vincent noticed the bone-deep exhaustion in Marco’s eyes. The blame and hatred. The rage.
“We don’t have another lead,” Vincent repeated for the fourth time, mostly in doubt. He’d never run into a cold trail like he did with Krill, and it terrified him.
If he couldn’t find the man in the next few days, he’d send Kiera away—so far away that nobody would ever be able to find her. He recalled the art school she’d been trying to save for in California and made a mental note of it. That school would keep her far away and safe, hopefully.
Pangs of dread shot through him at the thought of giving up the woman whom he’d firmly claimed as his, but he’d rather see her across the country than dead.
Marco didn’t speak for a long moment. “He’s dead because of us, and I can’t let anyone else die.”
“Me either,” Vincent acknowledged.
Marco continued. “He wasn’t just the best boxer. He taught half the classes at the gym. He won enough money to keep us legally open for business. He was the best man I’d ever known.”
Vincent couldn’t reply to the raw emotion in his friend’s voice, so he said nothing. He sat in comfortable silence as Marco brooded. He wouldn’t admit it, but he felt the same fear and devastation when he considered what could happen to Kiera. Vincent almost said something when Marco’s phone chimed, and he checked the message, his brows bunching at whatever he read there. He sat up in his seat as his eyes widened.
“Krill got new plates at the DMV,” Marco said, his words running together as he spoke quickly. “The plates are on a car parked in a garage across the street from the gym.”
Vincent didn’t hesitate, throwing his car into gear and storming down the street. He couldn’t risk missing their new lead because he didn’t drive quickly enough. Vincent sped down the streets, running three red lights. It didn’t matter, though. His plates were temporary and not registered to his name or address. Hewouldmake it before Krill left the garage.
“Vincent, he’s in the garage beside the gym,” Marco repeated, holding the handle above the window to keep himself steady.
“I hear you.”
“Why would he be there?” Marco asked, his voice hitching. The trauma he’d endured had wrecked him, and Vincent knew he considered the other boxers who worked at the gym—the other potential casualties.
“We’ll stop him before he can do anything to anyone else.”
Marco nodded as they neared the parking garage. They each scanned the streets and the sidewalks diligently, forcing themselves to keep their attention on the task. They’d planned on doing It neatly and ensuring no witnesses saw Krill’s death, but too much sat on the table. They risked too much by waiting. Too much rode on them succeeding to care about public image.
They were in the mafia, and if Philadelphia knew that their organization had been the cause of Krill’s death, so be it.
“Hold on,” Vincent ordered, whipping his car into the garage and up the levels.
“Dark blue Camry,” Marco claimed, looking at his phone. “Luca said the fourth level.”
Vincent raced up the winding tunnel and flew onto the fourth level. He saw the car immediately. The navy Camry sat toward the back of the three vehicles on the level. It felt too easy. Why had the car been parked on the fourth floor when plenty of spots remained on the first three? Why hadn’t he made even the slightest effort to hide it?
“Call Luca,” Vincent demanded. Marco didn’t hesitate to dial the call and put it on speaker.
Luca answered almost immediately. “Marco, what’s up?”
Vincent didn’t allow time for pleasantries. “How long has this car been here?” Vincent asked.
“Vinny, it’s nice to talk to you, too,” Luca said lightly.
