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“Because I know you, and I know what time it is.”
“I could have just woken up early,” he protested, scoffing. “You don’t know everything.”
“So then nothing is wrong?” I waited a beat or two, met with only silence. “Spill, Kill.”
“Okay, fine. Something might be wrong. But I’m not exactly sure.”
I stopped, frowning. “Why aren’t you sure? What’s going on?”
“Can you meet me at Wen’s place?”
Dragging a hand down my face, I tried to contain my annoyance. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“I’ll order us some dumplings.”
He hung up, and I slid into the driver’s seat. Wen’s place wasn’t exactly half an hour away, but I knew there would be traffic, like always. I parked along the sidewalk, making sure to lock the doors before heading into the run-down Chinese restaurant. It was dark inside, the only light coming from the red Chinese lanterns hanging along the walls. Dark booths lined the walls while heavy scents of ginger, coriander, and spicy seitan wafted from the back kitchen through a sliding serving door along the back wall.
Killian was already seated at the back booth with Wen, the owner of the restaurant. When I’d first met Wen, he’d only known me as Rowan, one of my fake aliases over the years. I’d been trying to grow my contact list before stepping out into the spotlight, and Wen was the best there was. He knew everyone and everything.
“There he is.” Killian lifted his glass of beer as I slid into the booth beside him. He clinked his glass against the one that sat before me, untouched. “Ganbei!”
“Why are we here?” I demanded. I was dealing with a ghost of a psycho, a disrespectful wife, and a tyrannical father, while Killian looked like he was enjoying open taps.
“Chill for a second, will you?” Killian rolled his eyes, and I seriously had to hold myself back from knocking him out.
“Wen?” I turned to my old friend.
Wen grimaced. “I already told your brother everything I know.”
Killian glared across the table as I turned to fix him with a scowl of my own. “Thank you, Wen. Leave it to me, I guess. Who cares if he shoots the messenger, right?”
“Just fucking tell me, Kill. I already have a headache. I really don’t need you to add to it.”
“Fine, fine.” He held up his hands defensively. “Just remember I’m your brother, alright?” He must have seen the murderous look in my eye because he quickly went on. “Look, I heard something while out last night—” He glanced at the clock on his phone screen, “Or, actually, this morning.”
“Heard what?”
“I’m getting to it! Just wait a damn second, Jesus.” Killian took a sip of his beer, intentionally drawing it out just to piss me off even more. “Wen and I were out at the usual places when we heard a rumor about the Snake. Apparently, there’s going to be an attack on one of the families. And soon.”
“Wait—” I frowned. “One of the families? Not the Rosanias?”
Killian shrugged. Wen shot me a sympathetic look. “No specific name was mentioned,” Wen replied.
“It could really just be a rumor. False.” My heart quickened at the uneven looks they exchanged.
“I don’t think it is,” Wen said quietly. “I had a few guys come in a day or two ago talking about the crates of weapons they were being paid to move by some secret boss. No one knew who it was. And the crates matched the same ones the Rosanias use in their own warehouses.”
Things slowly clicked into place. “The Snake didn’t just burn down their warehouse. They took the weapons they needed from inside it, first.”
Killian nodded sullenly. “I’m assuming it was a cover up.”
“Fuck.” I ran my fingers through my hair. Catching sight of the beer glass in front of me, I chugged it. Who wouldn’t after hearing their wife’s weapons were stolen for an attack that could be on any mafia family in New York?
“Do you understand how totally fucked Sienna is if the Snake’s guys attack another mafia family? It could cause a war. They’d know it was hers. The Rosanias mark their weapons,” Killian prattled on.
“I fucking know, thanks.”
This was bad. Worse than bad. The Rosanias did mark their weapons, but only so they knew their shipments had been delivered to the right person. A tracker was inside each and every one of those guns, set to deactivate once it reached its intended location. Anyone could take the gun apart and find the tracker, and it would be easy enough to trace it back to Sienna and her family.
