Page 5 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)
CHAPTER FOUR
Kasey
Screwing with any visitor is fun enough, but hacking two of the most prominent crime families in the country is an absolute blast. And forcing them to play a children’s game for hours?
Best. Day. Ever.
I know the Consolis and Morenos are dangerous, but my skill set makes me just as much of a threat. Still, I can’t just walk into a meeting with them without taking the proper precautions.
Step one: research.
Knowing what I’m up against isn’t just about their resources—of which there are many—but also about their dynamics.
Gabriel Consoli led his family for nearly three decades. Logan replaced him after he and his youngest son, Mason, died unexpectedly three months ago. This is interesting for two reasons.
The first is that Logan isn’t Gabriel’s oldest son; Damon is, and traditionally, that’s who should be named heir. The second is that—though I can’t find a particular reason why—the alliance between the Consoli and Moreno families immediately followed Gabriel’s death.
It seems unlikely that it’s a coincidence, and it makes me wonder what kind of foul play was involved.
The only other notable discoveries regarding the Consoli family are that their mother, Maya, was murdered seventeen years ago, and the youngest of the children, Elise, shared the same fate as a teenager.
And then there’s the Morenos.
Unlike the Consolis, who have ruled in their respective territory for decades, Joshua Moreno created the fifth major American Mafia family only a few years ago.
His father, Marcus Marsollo—known as the West Coast Conqueror for how many bases he established in his reign—led the Marsollo family for several years.
Upon his death, the family broke in two, with half of them following Joshua to become Morenos and the other half remaining Marsollos.
The fact that the majority chose to follow Moreno—the youngest boss of any family—is evidence enough that he is not someone many would want to cross. He has quickly become one of the most feared and respected leaders in the country.
Uncovering all of this was hardly a chore, but the connection between the families remains a mystery.
Step two: spying.
I have no qualms about digitally invading privacy, but I try to refrain from hacking live video or audio.
It’s less about morality and more about convenience.
The odds of hacking the right device at the right time to hear the right information are small. Besides, people lie. It’s easier and more reliable to trace their digital activity and get hard facts than it is to trust the word of the type of scummy people I tend to work with.
But messaging with Logan has fascinated me enough to break the pattern.
Knowing he was the one messaging me was a well-educated guess. The clipped and demanding responses mirrored all the emails I’ve scanned over the last few hours.
Getting the visual and audio running from Ford’s desktop takes about ten minutes, which is longer than it should be—a testament to their current security measures, which are good.
But I’m better.
I relax into my chair as the video comes through with perfect clarity, showing the bland decor of Ford’s office. The walls are a shade of beige that matches the stained couch pushed against the far wall.
Four men fill the office, and it takes a moment to process what I’m seeing.
I knew that the Consoli and Moreno families were working together, but that doesn’t make me any less surprised to see Joshua Moreno staring intently at the screen as he plays the game.
He has dark, sharp features that give him an effortlessly menacing edge, even though all he does is stare at the game.
He wears a dark green T-shirt, contrary to the pristine suits of the other three men.
I can barely see past Moreno’s head to where Jace Ford is lying on the couch with an openly hateful expression.
He has a large frame that makes him look better suited to be a bodyguard than a cybersecurity capo, and thin blond hair cropped short on his head.
His suit is wrinkled, and I can’t imagine how that attire is practical for sitting in that dingy office all day long.
It makes me grateful for the soft leggings and sweatshirt I wear now.
The man to Moreno’s left is undoubtedly James Consoli.
While the twins may be identical, the differences between them easily set them apart—even to someone like me, who’s only seen them via a handful of pictures.
His relaxed posture and somewhat unruly hair, which falls just below his ears, give him a charming look.
He has pleasant features—a lightness about him—even if he’s currently glaring at the screen.
Then, there’s Logan.
His hair matches his brother’s in color, but it’s shorter, just barely showing the natural curl that gives him a sharp, professional appearance.
Even leaning back in his chair, tired and frustrated, he holds his shoulders back with sure confidence.
There’s a scowl glued to his face, drawing his brows together and emphasizing the tick in his tightly gritted jaw.
Someone doesn’t like losing control of things.
But it isn’t his hair, posture, or expression that makes it difficult to pull my eyes from the Consoli boss.
It’s his eyes.
They’re green, with hints of gold and a blue hue lining the iris in the dim lighting of the office. Right now—thinly slitted and burning with anger—I wonder how many have run screaming from that very stare. The eyes of a man capable of inflicting torment without flinching. The eyes of a killer.
And yet, they’re magnetic.
“It’s not going to work,” James says through a sigh, dropping his head back and rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.
Moreno throws his hands up. “What do you suggest?”
“Anything but the traditional way. It’s time to think outside the box.”
Moreno shoves the keyboard in front of James. “By all means, be my guest.”
Logan ignores them both, pushing away from the desk with a huff to pace back and forth.
A few seconds later, James nods to himself and plays the game with resolve visible in his concentration. When Moreno watches the screen with an annoyed curiosity, I look at my second monitor, which displays the game as James plays it.
He’s running into every ghost on purpose.
I laugh so hard that Kane wakes up from his nap just to glower at me.
“What are you doing?” Moreno asks, voicing the question for me.
James doesn’t look away from the game as he mutters, “Maybe we need to tag the ghosts in a certain order? Or maybe we need to hit the same ghost several times in a row? Is it possible to kill all the ghosts at once?”
That makes me laugh harder.
“I don’t think that’s it,” Jace mumbles from the couch.
“Well, I don’t see you making suggestions,” James snaps.
When no one answers, James gets back to trying out each of his theories—where he learns there is, in fact, not a way to kill all the ghosts at once.
Thirty silent minutes pass.
Jace has gone still on the couch, and I’m willing to bet he’s asleep. Logan still paces the room, features never relaxing from their fixed glare. James plays the game with a determination that wanes with each passing minute, and Moreno is on his phone.
While they stew in their frustration, I simply watch them.
And by them , I mean Logan.
He’s fascinating even in his measured strides as he turns from one side to the other. His hands rotate from resting in his pockets to crossing over his chest to rubbing his temples like he has the world’s worst hangover—which I suspect he’d prefer to his current predicament.
I’m so engrossed in his movements that I jump along with the others when Logan suddenly exclaims, “I think I get it.”
As he approaches the desk, I can almost imagine it’s me he’s striding toward with that level of absolute confidence.
I don’t pull my eyes from him as he braces one hand on the desk and claims the keyboard from his brother, so I don’t miss the glimmer of earned pride in those cunning green eyes as the pleasant chime indicates my game has been beaten.
James’s eyes go wide. “How did you—”
For the first time, a small smile touches Logan’s lips. “I want Cam to work with me. In his eyes, that’s walking right into enemy territory, or in our case, the ghost respawn box.”
Logan Consoli is going to be a very interesting client.