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Maybe what? I shake my head and press the start button; the engine rumbling under me. Turning the heat to full blast, I drive home.
When I park, she stumbles from the car and rushes inside. Tonight, I will not chase after her.
Maybe a trip to the compound will do me good.
When I arrive, the team is working on finding the leaders of the Brotherhood. They’re coming at us with more force. We’re putting out small fires everywhere. I go through the files, knowing we’ve missed something. This feels more personal than a war for power. I go through every lead, but the list of enemies we’ve made along the way is huge.
Hayden finds me deep in thought in the conference room, perusing a file with no new information.
“We’ll find them,” he says resolutely.
I nod. Only a dead enemy poses a lesser threat.
He finds my eyes, and his determination should appease me. But yet again, we’re unleashing the monsters in us to protect what we have worked for.
“How is Violet?”
Fucked up but gorgeous, a breath of fresh air to my polluted being. “Adapting.”
“She’s quite a surprise.”
Oh, and what a surprise she is.
My attention is drawn to the television in the room. A news flash reports a building explosion near the port. A building that belongs to Cato.
Fuck.
He and Kieran storm into the room. I peel off my jacket. It’s going to be a long night of calming the press and assuring our associates that everything is under control.
***
City Hall is teeming with chaos. One meeting after another blend in my brain. The foundation on which I’ve built my career is being eaten alive by starving rats.
“We have the situation under control,” I assure one of the council members. I’ve repeated this sentence today so many times that I should tattoo it on my forehead. They fear what will happen to them if I lose my position. But it’s more than being a politician or part of a syndicate. The Brotherhood is getting closer, and I still don’t know who the leaders are.
Another one looks at me, lines of doubt crinkling the corners of his eyes.
“Have I ever given you any reason to distrust my power?”
They shake their heads, looking from each other to me. Still, I catch the fear etched in their expressions.
“That won’t change. Now, I have work to do so Boston runs smoothly.”
They leave my office with half-hearted smiles and handshakes.
Bright lights and a throng of reporters await me in the press room. Like the vultures they are, they’re ready to pounce.
“You assured us that this city is safe, but the explosion at the port contradicts that,” one of the bold journalists yells out.
“Everything is under control.”
I grit my teeth through the interviews, smiling and joking. But questioning me makes people think they can get to me. Give people a good narrative, repeat it a few times, and they will suck it up like it’s their very own belief.
The Syndicate may own some television executives, but not all of them.
An avalanche of questions and fake smiles later, I end the press conference. What I did or will continue to do for this city is no longer important. No one trusts a shady lawmaker. They prefer an image that’s clean cut across the board. And mine just got a huge dent.
On the way to my car, Lauren says, “You’re down in the polls.”
