Page 35

Chapter thirty-five

Hunter's Residence, London

Hunter

"Stand for the master,” Russell hollers as he strolls into my office in the early hours, Connor and Damon behind him, both shaking their heads like weary parents. “You’re going to worship at my feet today.” He tosses a thick manila envelope onto my desk, crosses his arms, and steps back. His chest is puffed out like a rooster that just got lucky, and grins.

I glare up at him, still exhausted from yesterday’s mess. I’m still in my shirt from the wedding that wasn’t. Lifting my arm, I sniff my armpit and grimace.

“Fuck, I need a shower.”

“You’re going to want to see this first,” Connor says, leaning forward and tapping at the envelope like it might vanish.

Damon stands silently between them, calm and composed as he always is. Since leaving the force and sorting his shit out at home, he has become the immovable center of our group.

As I pick up the documents and start thumbing through the papers, Harrison appears. I look around at the men in the room, my men, and it hits me how much has changed. Before, they were never welcome here—it was my place and my place alone. Now, it’s almost normal. My house feels less of a fortress, and more of a home to be enjoyed by myself and those I love. That’s a sensation I never thought I’d have.

“Have you told him the good news?” Harrison says, almost jovial. That’s rare for him at this time in the morning. Usually, he’s half-way out the door, desperate to get back to Violet and his daughter. Meetings outside normal working hours aren’t as welcome as they used to be.

“Lombardi’s power is splintering,” Russell begins, obviously bored waiting for me to read through the intelligence in my hands. Messages and photos show unrest within his family ranks, his nephew’s moving in to take power now his wedding didn’t go ahead. “There is no legitimate heir.”

“I can see that,” I say, waving the papers at him. “They’re all trying to create their own allegiances.”

“There are four nephews,” Connor interrupts. “All of them working within the family, every one of them with their eyes on the prize. The fallout from the wedding hasn’t only caused us some issues.”

“This could be good for us,” Damon says, walking around to stand behind me and looking over my shoulder at the messages. “Infighting means the Lombardi family could collapse. They’ll be so busy killing one another, they’ll have little time for anything else.”

Harrison clears his throat. He’s been pretty much silent since his arrival, just listening to what the others have to say.

“Someone has already tried,” he announces, stepping forward. “Domenico himself is in the hospital as we speak. When he returned to Italy late last night, someone spiked his drink. The old bastard isn’t only battered and embarrassed after yesterday, he’s fighting for his life.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Russell grunts, clearly pissed at being outsmarted by better information. Harrison taps his nose and smiles.

“Contacts, Chase. I have contacts.”

“You didn’t just humiliate him, Hunter,” Damon says. “You exposed his weakness. And now, the sharks are hungry for blood.”

“Hopefully, they’ll all eat each other,” Connor mutters.

I sit back in my chair, brightened by the unexpected gift.

This is how empires fall. Not with bullets, but in the silence between them. Family plots, allies turning, the old lion dying while the vultures circle. And I didn’t even have to get my knife dirty.

“Perfect,” I say. “He’s bleeding out. Let’s not stop him.”

“Shall we get a drink to celebrate?” Harrison suggests.

The guys stand, and I watch them with a smirk. Even though life has changed irreversibly for us all, we’re still the band we once were. Eager to share both congratulations and commiserations. Still down for chaos. Still here for each other.

“It’s six in the morning, too early for drink,” I mutter, and all eyes snap to me.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Russell goads. His assessment is true, there is always time for a whiskey at an opportune moment. Harrison begins to move as if to leave.

“Where are you going, Waite?” I shout to his retreating back.

“I have a bottle of my best in the car. You know I always have one in the icebox, just in case” he calls over his shoulder. “This morning calls for gold. Nothing less.”

In the corner of my office are two large leather sofas sitting in an L-shape. The rest of us relocate to there, throwing ourselves down in exhaustion. I know no one has slept. After the chaos of yesterday, it was all hands on deck to ensure Lombardi wasn’t going to attack amongst the fray.

Damon lies his head back on the headrest just as his phone beeps.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles, digging around in his pocket without opening his eyes.

“Is that your missus whipping your ass again?” Russell teases.

“I often wonder who wears the trousers in that house,” his brother chimes in.

“You two can’t fucking talk. Samantha has you on your knees like hookers,” Damon mutters. “And we all know Emma would beat my ass if I didn’t do as I was told. I prefer spanking hers.” Everyone laughs as Damon attempts to focus on the screen. “Greyson and Tilly have arrived in Bangkok. Mission accomplished.”

“Excellent news to toast to,” Harrison says, reappearing with a bottle in one hand and a white rose attached to an envelope in the other. “This was on your windshield.” He strolls over as if it’s completely normal for someone to leave a random rose on my car, placing it down on my desk. The word scrolled across the white paper reads Friends ?

“Rodion,” I say under my breath while considering how the fuck he got onto my property unseen. The bastard is bloody good at moving mysteriously. I look up at my men, who all watch intently to see how I’m going to respond.

Is this an olive branch or a threat? Can there truly be an alliance now the unrest has passed? We won’t know until one of us is asked to pick sides again.

I visualize him again, standing across from the church, a ghost in black. Yesterday he lifted his hand like a friend. Now he leaves roses as a symbol. But Rodion Anastasov doesn’t have friends. He has leverage. He was always a showman.

But the question is, is the message a token of respect or reminder of a debt? We’ll find out.

“He’s watching,” Damon says, cool as ice.

“Good, I’d be worried if he wasn’t.” With that, I point to the bottle still lodged in Harrison’s grasp. “Open that, Waite. Let’s drink before someone needs to draw their knife again.”

Connor grabs five crystal glasses from the sideboard, holding each one as Harrison pours then passing one to each of us. We stand in a circle, and gently clink them together. No one speaks straight away, waiting for someone to take up the role of speaker.

“To winning,” Russell says, louder than necessary like always. We all take a deep drink each one emptying their glass, Harrison moves to top us all up. I lift my hand to stop him.

“You boys enjoy your morning whiskey. I’ve got one more promise to keep.”

After placing my glass down on the table, I leave them to their drinks and find Isabella exactly where I expect to—in the living room with Kasia at her side. They both pore over the notes in front of them, the ones I deliberately left on her bedside table so she would see them as soon as she woke.

Harrison had given me the intelligence yesterday before the wedding. I’d kept it to myself, not wanting to interrupt the day ahead I knew would be eventful anyway.

The two women look up as I enter, beaming smiles on both their faces. But it’s when I look at my wife that I know I made the right choice. This is the path I want to be on.

For a moment, I don’t move. I watch them. Two women who should have been broken by this world but refuse to be., including the one I nearly lost forever. This is the only war I care about winning—the one that makes her proud to be my wife.

“You found them,” Kasia shrieks, jumping to her feet and running toward me. I’m taken aback by the open affection. Isabella steps up behind her, and, once Kasia releases me, wraps her arms around my neck.

“You have no idea how proud I am to call you mine,” she says.

Kasia’s family were found deep in rural Russia under the protection or capture of the Anastasov family, whichever way you look at it. They’ve been confirmed as unhurt by a mole on the inside. Money can make anyone talk.

With Isabella still in my arms, I turn to Kasia.

“The lawyers have what they need to bring them to London,” I say simply. “I’ve sent men to collect them. The deal is done, and they will be released as soon as we arrive.”

“Thank you!” she wails, slapping her hands over her mouth with the shocking news. Tears begin to fall, big and wet, running down her cheeks. Isabella leaves me and goes to console her, and they cry together, a mixture of pain and happiness about everything that has passed and what is to come now. “I never thought I would see them again. You didn’t have to.”

“No, but you gave Bella the truth when no one else would. Your family deserve to live and not be wrapped up in someone else’s war.” I reach forward and squeeze her shoulder. “I did this because I can.”

My wife returns to me and takes my hand in hers. The three of us stand in silence for a few moments, then Kasia makes her excuses to leave, muttering thanks as she disappears. Bella turns back to me. “Shall we go upstairs?”

“Careful, wife. I’ve been waiting all day for the invite.”