Page 46 of Gilded

LUKA

I stand inside the cathedral at the doors to the Fiftieth Street exit, watching guests fill the pews, and check my watch. Still another thirty minutes until the wedding starts, but there are too many people wandering around socializing to initiate the kidnapping.

Jairo stands directly across from me at the cathedral’s Fifty-First Street exit.

Tarik is holding court in various groups, basking in the glow cast by Malia and her amazing work as a philanthropist, while Malia is guarded in the narthex, an area separated from the main church by walls of stained-glass artwork depicting various religious symbols.

Many of the wealthy and famous who attended the gala are here, and Simms is hovering near my exit out on the street. I have no idea what he thinks he’ll uncover here today, but his presence doesn’t concern me.

As soon as the church settles and guests are seated, the team will swoop in, grab Malia, and swoop out, with as little bloodshed as possible. The less kerfuffle, the better.

I tried to talk to Malia this morning, but she wouldn’t see me. She also didn’t return my texts. I admire the way she’s standing on her own, despite this nightmare. It would be easy to lean into me and ask me to get her out. But she certainly learned a hard lesson with Yari.

I turn my head to loosen my collar. It’s cool outside today, but I’m sweating and uncomfortable. I’ve never been this nervous during a mission. Since my family was killed, I haven’t had much to live for. I’ve been marking time until I could reap justice.

Malia changed that. And I’m going to do all I can not to lose her.

“The chick is in the roost,” comes from Malachi, staging at the northeast corner of the entire New York block belonging to St. Patrick’s, closest to the narthex holding the women’s restroom, where Malia waits for the wedding to start. “I repeat, the chick is in the roost.”

I release a slow exhale, and my shoulders come down an inch. Even though the rough stuff still lies ahead, I feel better knowing she’s in the building. Almost within reach.

Restless, I order roll call through my earbud.

“They’ve got four guys along the north border,” Malachi says.

“Two guys here, one of those standing outside her door,” Xavi adds from his place watching the narthex. “And Zeiger, pacing like a madman, barking at his guys just to hear his own voice.”

“Two at the 51st Street exit,” Jairo says.

“Two at the Fiftieth Street exit,” I add. “Plus Simms lurking. Tarik is schmoozing on the west side of the church.”

“One on the corner of Fifty-First and Madison and one on the corner of Fiftieth and Madison,” Diallo says from where he’s staging with a vehicle outside a café on Madison.

“Staging at Fifth and Fifty-First,” Roux adds, piloting the main getaway car.

“Just scratching my balls at VIP,” Swag says, his sarcasm exposing what we all already know, that he hates being kept out of the action while waiting for the guys to get Malia to the private charter helipad.

I shift on my feet and forcibly relax my jaw so I don’t break my teeth. I hate thinking about her in that room, facing this misery, all alone. I hate myself for letting my need get the best of me last night and taking what I wanted instead of giving her what she needed.

“Stay chill, dude,” Jairo murmurs over the line.

I shake out my arms and nod. The flow of guests has slowed to a trickle, and I look at my watch again. Still twenty minutes to wait. Jesus Christ.

“Someone just came in and pulled Zeiger aside,” Xavi says. “Whatever he said pissed Zeiger off. He’s headed toward you, boss.”

When I glance that direction, I see Zeiger charging down the aisle, his expression fierce and his gaze on me.

“Who was it?” I ask.

“It looks like one of the guys you fired in Nairobi.”

Fuck. Me. “Which one?”

“The one with the god complex.”

James.

I meet Jairo’s gaze across the church as he mutters, “Well, that’s not good.”

“No,” I agree.

But he stops before he reaches me, pulling Tarik out of a conversation with the mayor before they both head toward the back of the church and disappear into the narthex together.

My heart rate jumps. “Close in on that, Xavi.”

“Roger.”

“Malachi?”

“No change here, boss.”

“Hold tight,” Jairo tells me.

Under any other circumstances, I would. Even if a victim was at risk. But I can’t do that when it’s Malia. My skin is crawling. My mind is spiraling. I can’t stand the thought of them hurting her for some unknown reason.

“I’m on offense,” I say as I head toward the back of the church and the narthex holding the biggest threats.