Page 28

“Oh? Why Niko?”
“Because he has plenty of games and clubs to manage… why did he show up at mine… where two of his comrades are talking about a pig-load? Coincidence? The chances are one in eleven. Do what you want with that.”
“Detailed as always, Ghost. Makes me wish you never left.”
“Mm,” I grumble at him this time.
“If anything bad comes out of your move… we’re not associated.”
“As if you have to say it.”
“Goodbye, Ghost. Keep that paranoid head screwed on tight.”
“Yeah.”
xxx
I’m at the stage house ten minutes away from Quinn’s, where her father groans on the floor below me. I don’t know what he’s complaining about. I cleaned all his wounds and fed him a hearty breakfast this morning. Now for a late lunch.
As I descend the stairs with a wrapped-up hero from set earlier this afternoon—it’s a turkey or something with veg, whatever—I can’t help but think I’ve lost my mind. I used to always criticize the hitmen for their kinks—whether for their odd kill tactics or how they played with their food—but now here I am… bringing food to a prisoner while I pretend to be a bratva soldier.
Clnk. Clnk. Clnk.
The metal stairs make so much noise as my loafers hit each one.
“Who’s there?” Captain Patrick Dall shouts loud in hopes his voice penetrates beyond the basement. Hah… like I hadn’t thought of that. Soundproof doors and no windows. No neighbors for at least a hundred feet in any direction.
No one can hear you here, officer.
“It is time for your meal, comrade,” my inflection is careful and practiced.
Patrick shakes his head—still blindfolded—fidgeting in the chair I’ve tied him to. “I don’t understand. I went from slop sewage food to omelets and toast.What’s the meaning of this?”
“I told you already, some of the bratva don’t think it’s wise to feed a captain of homicide to our boss.”
“So what? You’re just going to keep me here? How’s that any better?” Patrick grits his big teeth.
I don’t respond to that. Everyone’s asking me too many questions. The cops, the don,Quinn. What do you want me to say? I’m a secret former mafia spy who’s infatuated with your daughter—
Just thinking about it makes my stomach turn.
The fuck are you doing, Aros?
“My God.” Patrick squeezes his fists tight. “You don’t have a plan, do you?”
I cut his hands free and drop the sandwich on his lap, making a show of tapping the silenced gun against a pole so he knows not to try anything stupid.
“The boss had a plan,” I say, knowing he already heard it when he was being beaten in the warehouse. “He would’ve shipped your fingers to the station one at a time. We’re trying to avoid that kind of reputation, hm?Now eat.”
After rolling a plastic water bottle to his feet, I pace, scratching my head.
“Don’t let them go after my daughter,” Patrick says lowly.
“She is no part of this transaction,” I say.
“She wasn’t, until you took me. Does the bratva even know there’s a rival sect at odds?” Patrick asks.
I remain quiet.