Page 22

TEN

L eone

I step through the mansion’s doors with Milo behind me, We dropped Rocco to the hospital on the way and Dr Stevens is taking care of him though he wasn’t too happy about it.

My temples throb with the beginnings of what promises to be a spectacular headache, and there’s no time for that.

Not when there’s an unexpected presence in my home, and especially not when my security team failed to alert me.

I find Nathan pacing my sitting room like a caged animal. His hair sticks up in tufts where he’s been running his hands through it, and his shirt is wrinkled, half-untucked.

“You look like shit,” I tell him as I lower myself into my favorite leather armchair. I don’t invite him to sit. “I told you to wait at home and I would call you when I knew more. Where is Emma?”

“At home. You weren’t answering your fucking phone and this is urgent.” Nathan’s eyes dart around the room, never settling on one spot for long. “I heard from her.”

“From who?” I ask confused.

“From Rebecca, she called me.” I lean back wondering why the woman who abandoned this man and his daughters years ago, only to resurface now in the most inconvenient way possible is now reaching out. I keep my face impassive, inside, my mind is panicking about Fallon.

“When?” I ask, my voice deceptively soft.

“This morning. She called me from a number I didn’t recognize. Said she couldn’t talk long.” Nathan’s hands tremble as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. “I wrote down exactly what she said. I didn’t want to forget anything.”

My fingers itch to snatch the paper from him. I remain still. “And what exactly did she say?”

“She’s with Fallon. She was talking about.” His voice cracks on his daughter’s name. “She said she didn’t have time. Just that she needed to get a message to you.”

I snatch the paper from him and read it.

Do you remember the cabin? The one with the blue door. Where the trees reached so high it felt like they touched the stars… how the lights were too bright in the barn window?

I pause wondering what the heck I’m supposed to do with this? “What is this? Am I supposed to understand this riddle?” I snap at him thinking he has wasted my time.

“No, she is talking about the cabin! The one my mother owns in the mountains. I think she is trying to give us a rough location of where they are.”

I stare at him. Nathan runs his fingers through his hair. “She said you need to find the cabin, that she would get Fallon out. I think she is going to help Fallon escape.”

I glance at Milo who has remained silent letting me handle this. I hold the paper out to him, and he moves closer taking it.

Nathan’s eyes light up with a desperate hope that makes me want to slap him. Hope is dangerous. Hope makes people stupid. And he could be playing into the one thing that could get us all killed.

I narrow my eyes. This feels too convenient, too easy. “And you think after all this time, she just decided to give you their location?”

“She was scared, talking fast. I think she was taking a risk even calling me.” Nathan goes to take a step toward me, then thinks better of it when he sees my expression. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I know Rebecca loved our girls, she would never hurt Fallon.”

“How exactly did this call end?” I ask Nathan, watching his face closely for any sign of deception.

“She said something about don’t hate them because of what I did.” Nathan’s eyes are wide, pleading. “I think this is our chance. If Rebecca is helping us from the inside?—”

“Rebecca left you and your daughters years ago,” I remind him coldly. “And now she’s suddenly Mother Teresa? Working against her new husband to help the family she abandoned?”

Nathan flinches as if I’d struck him. “People change. Maybe she regrets?—”

“People don’t change,” I cut him off. “They just reveal who they really are, and this could be a trap.”

Milo steps closer handing the paper back, his expression giving nothing away. I catch his eye and nod slightly. He understands what I need without words.

“This cabin,” I say, turning back to Nathan. “I’ll need the address. Every detail you can remember about the property, the cabin, access roads, terrain. Everything.”

Relief washes over Nathan’s face, aging him backwards by a decade. “Yes, of course. I can even take you there if you want.”

Shaking my head, I stand, straightening my cuffs. “Milo will get our people to check it out. You’ll stay here until we’ve verified this information.”

“I should come with you?—”

“You’ve done enough; you need to wait with Emma,” I say, the finality in my tone making him shrink back. “If Fallon is there, we’ll bring her back. If she’s not, we’ll keep looking. Either way, you’re staying put.”

Nathan looks like he wants to argue, but doesn’t. Smart man.

As Milo leads him away to another room, I pour myself two fingers of scotch and stand by the window, gazing out at the manicured grounds of my estate. The night is clear, stars visible despite the city lights in the distance.

I down the scotch in one swallow, feeling it burn a path to my stomach. If Rebecca is indeed trying to help, it means she knows Fallon is in danger which now has me more on edge.

The glass makes a soft clink as I set it down on the marble side table. One thing’s for certain: I don’t trust convenient coincidences or sudden maternal instinct. But I’ll use this lead all the same.

I hear Milo return, his footsteps measured and familiar.

“What do you think?” I ask without turning around.

“I think the man’s desperate enough to believe anything,” Milo replies. “That doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”

I laugh, a sharp sound with no humor in it. “The woman who abandoned her own daughters? Suddenly develops a conscience when she’s neck-deep in shit with Mikhail’s people?” I shake my head. “No. She’s trying to leverage something. She would have her own agenda. Or she’s setting us up.”

Milo’s eyes narrow slightly, his version of agreement. “Nathan seems convinced.”

“Nathan would believe she shits diamonds if it meant getting his Fallon back.” I toss back the scotch, feeling it burn, pleasantly. “Get Vince and Carlo. I want scouts at that cabin within the hour.”

Milo pulls out his phone, his fingers moving quickly over the screen. I watch him, grateful not for the first time that I have him. In a world full of idiots and traitors, Milo is the closest thing to certainty I have.

“Tell them to check it out,” I continue. “No engagement. I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with before we make a move. We need to deal with this shipment.”

I stare at the harbor map spread across my desk, the shipping lanes marked in red, drop points in blue.

Mikhail’s ultimatum hangs over me and I need to sabotage Santos’s shipment or face consequences.

The Russian thinks he has me backed into a corner, forced to choose between crossing the Mexican cartel or inviting his wrath.

What he doesn’t understand is that men like me don’t accept binary choices.

We create third options, preferably ones where our enemies eliminate each other while we watch from a comfortable distance.

“The shipment arrives tomorrow night,” Milo says, appearing at my side with a glass of water and two pills, painkillers for the headache that’s been building behind my eyes all day. I take them without comment.

“Santos has been a reliable partner,” I say, tracing the route his trucks will take from the docks. “Mikhail is wanting to start a war for some reason.”

Milo’s face remains impassive, yet I catch the slight tension in his jaw. “If we cross the cartel, we lose access to their supply chain. If we cross Mikhail?—”

“He’ll kill Fallon,” I finish.

I drum my fingers on the map, focusing on the industrial district that borders our territory and that of the Seventh Street Gang—Diego Reyes’s crew.

They’ve been a thorn in my side for years, constantly testing my borders, trying to siphon business.

More importantly, they’ve had run-ins with Santos before—bad blood that goes back years.

“Get me a meeting with Reyes,” I say. “Tonight.”

Milo raises an eyebrow, the equivalent of shocked surprise from anyone else. “Reyes? He’s been trying to muscle in on the east side for months.”

“Exactly.” I fold the map precisely along its creases. “And he hates Santos almost as much as he wants what we have.”

Understanding dawns in Milo’s eyes. “You’re going to offer him the shipment.”

“I’m going to offer him the opportunity to steal it,” I correct. “With information that ensures he’ll be caught in the act; we won’t have to cross Santos, alliances remain safe, and we get rid of a mutual pain in the ass.”

Milo’s lips quirk, the closest he comes to a smile these days. “Elegant.”

“Set it up. Neutral ground. The old distillery on Canal Street.”

Four hours later, I’m sitting in the abandoned manager’s office of what was once the city’s premier bourbon distillery.

The building still smells faintly of charred oak and fermented grain, though it’s been closed for a decade.

Diego Reyes sits across from me, his muscled frame draped in designer clothes that try too hard—Versace belt, Gucci loafers, a diamond-encrusted watch that catches the light every time he moves and that stupid hat he has on backward like he is some prepubescent boy instead of a nearly thirty-year-old man.

Milo stands behind me, silent and watchful. Two of Reyes’s men flank him, trying to match Milo’s menace and falling short. They look like boys playing dress-up next to the real thing.

“I have to say, Leone, this invitation was… unexpected.” Reyes leans back in his chair, at first glance you would assume in arrogance, but his eyes are sharp, calculating. He’s smart enough to be suspicious of sudden overtures.

I offer him a thin smile. “Business makes for strange bedfellows.”