Page 12

We left the car hidden in the shadows and proceeded on foot. I kept Larissa between my driver and myself, one hand firmly on her arm.

“If you scream,” I murmured against her ear, “you'll get us all killed. Including yourself. Understand? They won’t recognize you from a distance.”

She nodded, her soft hair brushing my jaw with the movement. I caught a whiff of her shampoo, fresh and floral, and I felt my heart stammer in my chest.

It was just the adrenaline from our expedition, or so I told myself.

We approached the warehouse cautiously, staying under cover. The loading dock was busy as hell. Men moved back and forth, carrying crates from a truck into the warehouse. From this distance, it looked like ordinary work—just another mid-afternoon delivery.

This was their trick, I knew. They moved shipments in broad daylight because the authorities wouldn’t believe anyone would have the courage to break the law while the world was wide awake.

Guts. It took guts.

I guided Larissa to a stack of shipping containers that provided cover while offering a clear view of the operation. We crouched behind them, close enough to see but far enough to remain hidden.

“Watch,” I whispered.

For several minutes, nothing happened that would seem out of place. Men unloaded crates. Others checked papers and shouted orders. Ordinary dock work, except for the armed guards positioned at strategic points around the perimeter.

Larissa shifted beside me. “I don't see anything wrong. They're just—”

“Wait,” I cut her off, my eyes fixed on a new arrival—a tall man with silver at his temples. Larissa must have recognized him, too, because she tensed, leaning forward slightly.

“You know him?” I asked.

“He… yes. He’s some sort of manager. He drops by the house sometimes, though we’ve never spoken.”

Good, I thought to myself. This was confirmation enough for her that I had indeed brought her to Gastone’s operation.

We watched as the manager spoke to the foreman, his gestures sharp and angry. Something had clearly gone wrong.

The foreman called over one of the workers, a thin man who looked like he wanted nothing more than to avoid the manager’s attention. There was an argument taking place, with workers all around watching. Then, the thin man raised his hands in supplication.

“What's happening?” Larissa whispered. “Why is the manager angry?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered back. “Just watch.”

The manager nodded to one of his men, who stepped forward and grabbed the thin worker by the arm. Another worker tried to intervene, only to be restrained by a second guard.

“No,” Larissa breathed, seeming to sense what was coming.

The manager raised his hand, and the dock fell silent.

He spoke again to the first worker, who was now on his knees.

Whatever the man said, it wasn't what he wanted to hear.

He nodded to one of the guards, and a gun came into view.

Beside me, Larissa gasped and moved as though she wanted to intervene from all the way over here, but I held her in place.

The gunshot cracked across the area, followed an instant later by a second. Both workers collapsed, dark pools spreading beneath them.

Larissa made a choked sound beside me, her hand flying to her mouth. I clamped my arm around her waist, pulling her back against me to keep her from bolting or making noise. Her body convulsed in a silent sob, her eyes fixed on the scene below.

On the dock, work resumed as if nothing had happened. Two men dragged the bodies away while others continued unloading crates. The manager walked away.

“Now,” I said quietly, my mouth close to her ear, “tell me again how your brothers don't hurt people.”

But when I looked down at her face, I saw something I hadn't expected.

Not denial. Not anger. But rather pure, unadulterated shock—her skin was devoid of color, her eyes wide and glassy, and her entire body trembling against mine.

This wasn't the reaction of someone confronted with a truth they already knew.

This was the reaction of someone whose world had just been shattered.

“Larissa,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Larissa, look at me.”

She didn't respond, her gaze still fixed on the dock where her brother’s manager stood casually smoking now while men cleaned up the blood of his victims.

Something cold settled in my stomach—realization, soon followed by a peculiar sort of dread. She hadn't known. She truly hadn't known, and from the way she was breathing—gasping and panting for air—I could tell she was experiencing a deep, worrying panic.

“We need to go,” I murmured to my driver, who nodded and began moving back toward our exit point.

I tried to help Larissa to her feet, but her legs seemed to have lost all strength.

Without thinking, I lifted her into my arms. She was light, I thought to myself.

Had she been eating? Why the hell didn’t I check on her more?

Her eyes remained vacant and shocked as I carried her off.

For once, she didn’t put up a fight, and for once, I wished she would have.

That would have meant that today didn’t entirely break her. I was responsible for this, and a strong wave of guilt washed over me.

“I've got you,” I said, the words coming without conscious thought. “Don't look back. Just breathe.”

I carried her to the car, keeping in the shadows and when the driver opened the door, I placed her in the back seat. She adjusted herself to sit, but looked away from me. I got in on the other side, my chest constricting as I saw her trembling form.

As the car pulled away from the alley, Larissa finally moved, turning her head to look at me. Her face remained bloodless, but her eyes were red.

“They killed them,” she whispered. “Shot them like... like they were nothing.”

I didn't answer. What could I say? It was what it was in our world.

“You knew,” she continued, her voice hollow. “You knew what they were.”

“Yes.” There was no point in lying. Not now.

A shudder ran through her, and suddenly tears streamed down her face. My chest tightened with an unfamiliar sensation: worry for her, a feeling I had never felt before.

When I should have been satisfied for proving my point and showing her the truth about her precious brothers, I felt guilt.