Page 122 of Silent Schemes

Then he stops, not looking back.

"Your father’s operations are hindered at the moment, but get out of here—go be free, Sienna."

"What about you? Are you free?"

He does look back then, and his smile is sharp as the knife that marked me. "I'm the King of Vancouver. Freedom isn't in my vocabulary. Just empty thrones and cold beds and the knowledge that I had everything for a moment and let it go."

Then he's gone, melting into the shadows between the trees like he was never there at all.

Only the taste of him on my lips proves he was real.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Varrick

Five Years Later…

The war room in my father’s house is the only thing left that smells like him: old smoke, raw oak, sweat, and leather.

Korrin is already here, boots up on the table, a Bowie knife rolling in slow, hypnotic circles between his fingers.

Cyrus stands at the window, backlit by a strip of dead neon and the sick city light that seeps through the distillery’s frosted panes.

They’re both waiting for me, but neither says a word.

I close the door behind me, let the latch catch loud.

On the wall, a butcher-paper map of Vancouver is stabbed with so many red pins it looks like a murder scene.

Every pin marks a loss—bar, dock, warehouse, every whorehouse or betting den that used to pay us now pays Cross.

The pins cluster like tumors, spreading outward.

The only clear zone is the four blocks around the distillery.

The last safe place.

Korrin knocks the knife’s point into the wood, leaving a crescent. “You’re late.”

“I was visiting Will,” I say, mulling over the visit to the cemetery.

The name lands sharp, but the echo’s dull.

Cyrus turns, hands in pockets, tie undone.

He moves like a schoolmaster who’s given up on discipline. “He would’ve liked to see this.”

I shrug. “He always preferred to see the plan after it was over.”

Cyrus smiles without humor. “He preferred results to process. Most people do.”

Korrin scoffs. “You two miss him like he was a puppy. He got what he wanted—a clean death.”

He’s right.

Will went out on his feet, two shooters down before his throat opened.

If there’s an afterlife, he’s probably still gloating about it.