Page 92 of Inheritance

Luca sat with his legs crossed, one arm draped lazily over the back of the chair like this was just another meeting, another deal to weigh. But his eyes flicked to mine as I entered. Sharp. Ready.

Damien leaned against the far wall, silent. Clean now. He kept his word and quit using after a week.

I didn’t sit. Just dropped the folded note onto the center of the table.

“One address. Upper East Side. A hotel suite. Room 417.”

Angelo raised an eyebrow. “And the body?”

“Clean. No ID. No digital trail. Professional. This was a hit.”

Luca leaned forward, lacing his fingers. “And the note was all he had?”

I nodded. “No bag. No supplies. Nothing stashed in the woods either.”

“Then it’s bait,” Angelo muttered.

“Or it’s a lead,” Luca countered. “If they’re sloppy enough to leave a trail?—”

“They’re not sloppy,” I cut in. “This was deliberate. Whoever hired the assassin wanted us to find it if the plan failed.”

“Then why not spring it right away?” Angelo asked.

No one had an answer.

Luca studied the note like it might say more. “So what’s the move?”

The room stilled. Even Damien looked up.

I didn’t answer right away. Just studied the paper. Room 417. Upper East Side. Too public to get in, kill and get out.

“We talk,” I said finally. “Find out who did this, figure out their connections, then we get revenge, on everyone even remotely aligned to them.

They waited.

Angelo crossed his arms. “And who do we send in? He will need to be someone cordial. Cunning. Detached enough to stay calm, but not so far removed they don’t understand what direction to take the conversation. You and Damien are too close. Luca and I are too far. So who?”

I glanced at Damien. He was already grinning.

“She,” I said.

“What?”

“She, will need to be cordial. Cunning. Objective. In control of her temper. Among other things.”

Angelo narrowed his eyes. “You have someone in mind?”

Damien laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Angelo. We’ve got the perfect girl for the job.”

They wouldn’t expect her.

And I trusted her more than anyone.

She was family, even though her ring still sat in my pocket.

Gabriel

The walk back to the office felt longer than it should have. Maybe it was the weight of what came next. Maybe it was the thought of her, still sitting in my chair, her pen gliding steady over the page like she’d done this a hundred times. Maybe it was both.