Page 28 of Savage Empire

Shifting my gaze away from Elio, I put the car into gear and press down on the gas pedal. I need to get away from this building before I make an excuse to go back up to the apartment. I told Rayna that I wouldn’t bulldoze my way into her life, so I need to give her space. For now.

Our drive begins with tense silence, for about two minutes.

“How many guards do you have surrounding their building?”

I shoot Elio a look, my cutting gaze meeting his dark brown eyes. Both Elio and Emilio didn’t inherit dad’s infamous blue eyes. They’ve always shared the same face, and the same deep chocolate-colored eyes. Though, where Elio has always remained sharper, and more intense, Emilio has allowed his appearance to become softer, and more welcoming. They’re identical twins and couldn’t be more different, at least from where I’m standing.

“Enough,” I reply shortly.

“Let’s see…” he trails off, humming. “We’re a ten minute drive from their place, five if you speed like a lunatic. So, I’m guessing. Five in the building, ten surrounding? How does Dad feel about you using Outfit men to keep her safe?”

“Keepthemsafe,” I correct, trying not to snap. Every little reaction I give him will add up. “Yordan is there too, and he’s the one that The Casa Nostra could try and retaliate against. Dad trusts my decisions.”

And it’s twenty, not fifteen.

“But you handled The Casa Nostra,” Elio argues, arching a brow. “Abramo agreed to give the siblings to The Outfit.”

“You and I both know that that doesn’t mean they’re safe from anyone who’s dumb enough to defy him for revenge. And we have no idea if there are other forces at play, especially because of their family.”

“Ahh,” Elio muses, nodding. “That’s right. Damyan Todorov, the traitor who pissed off what…three different syndicates at once?”

“Three?”

“His own little group of Bulgarians, The Casa Nostra, and The Irish.”

“The Irish? The Kelly Family?”

“Yep,” Elio confirms. “Damyan hired them with some of his stolen money, to put a few hits out. They caught a lot of shit fromthe Bulgarians because of it. They wanted to kill him themselves, but Abramo and his father got to him first.”

Why the fuck didn’t I know this?

We don’t do business with The Irish, mostly because we have no need for hitmen in our line of work. If we want someone dead, we handle it ourselves. There’s no reason to outsource for murder when all of your family is competent in the art of ending lives.

But I know Conner Kelly, the head of that family. I know him quite well, in fact. Some might even call us friends.

Sowhyhas he never mentioned this?

Ignoring the million questions jumping around in my mind, I settle on muttering a rhetorical question. “Jesus, who didn’t this man piss off?”

I’m irrationally angry that Elio knows something that I don’t, but I’m also content that he’s telling me without making me work for it.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who wanted him gone.” Elio shrugs. “Rats have this uncanny ability to spread their disease everywhere they go. And they sure do like to scurry around, don’t they?”

I grunt in agreement.

Damyan was the definition of a rat. A treacherous conceiver. He didn’t simply steal from those around him for monetary compensation. He didn’t just trade secrets for power. He betrayed hisfamilyforhis own benefit.

He betrayed his family name, too.

Because while the Bulgarians are a small group, The Todorov name was once a respected part of our world. Damyan’s own father was known for his cunning yet faircharacter, and all of that history was tarnished in the blink of an eye. It only takes the actions of one man, one cowardly, thoughtless man to ruin the good memory of his familial history.

Elio checks his phone and smiles softly.

“What?”

“Yordan made us a group chat,” he says, beginning to type. “That kid loves us already, man. He’s such a little brother, don’t you think? He reminds me of a less cracked out Matteo. I give it a month before Dad considers adopting him.”

I ignore the comparison to Matteo, because I don’t see it at all. He’s excitable, and jovial, but he’s only sixteen. Many of my brothers were similar to Yordan at that young of an age.