Page 4 of Treasured by Them (Rose and Dagger #3)

Edmund

T hree days ago, the Vorsongs killed Jon outside of Danica’s old house. It’s hard to believe we were inside at the time, partying with her old roommates, completely unaware.

The Vorsongs left a note—a phone number, that’s all. Nothing incriminating. After calling Caleb Morraine to figure out the clean-up, I arranged another ride. Troy and I escorted Danica back to the penthouse. Then we went straight to Rendsell.

If my father was sad about Jon’s death, he didn’t show it. I only saw anger. I’m not sure if that was because Jon died, or because the Vorsongs have the upper hand.

Grandfather made the phone call and set up a meeting place and time—the docks at Mirarosa, eleven p.m. Now we’re here, waiting.

Our speed boat is tied to the dock, the engine silent. We rock gently in the water. If the situation weren’t so tense, it would feel peaceful.

All lights on the boat are off as we watch the dockyard beyond.

Of course we’ve got several guys hidden. Eyes are everywhere. We’ve reviewed past security footage to make sure there are no booby traps, no suspicious strangers milling about during the day.

This should be a talk. Nothing more.

Why they had to kill Jon to arrange it is beyond me. My guess is they wanted to get our attention.

They fucking got it. They would’ve had it without killing Jon. The fact they were less than fifty yards from Danica has my hackles raised. They knew we were there. They know who she is.

She thought moving in with Troy and me was temporary.

She’s never moving back to that house, as far as I’m concerned.

I flick a glance at Troy. “See anybody?”

“Nope.”

“If this is a fucking trap...”

“It’s no trap, Edmund.” It’s my grandfather who speaks. “They’ll be here. They’re doing their own reconnaissance. Just give it time.”

On land, long shadows are cast by buildings and ships backlit by the bright security lights. I’m not worried about the shadows—our soldiers are in those shadows.

“There.” Troy jerks his chin toward the dockyard entrance—a rattling gate in a chain-link fence.

Two figures walk through the gate. Completely alone. Bold of them to feel safe enough to do that. My father was ready to tear off heads in retribution for Jon’s death.

My grandfather is more practical. He wants to see where this leads.

The two men get closer, their footfalls thudding hollowly on the dock.

Troy steps out of our boat and walks over to “greet” them.

He pats them down for weapons and wires.

He’s a full six inches taller than their bigger guy and has at least forty more pounds of muscle on him.

I hope they’re shitting their pants with fear.

“Clear.” Troy’s voice sounds extra loud in the darkness.

I step off the boat first, followed by my grandfather.

The two Vorsong assholes smile in greeting. But we all know the friendliness is faked.

“At long last,” the taller guy says. He has a big, gray mustache and pinched, dark eyes. “I was wondering when you would finally respond to my request.”

Finally respond? Were there other attempts to arrange a meeting? I don’t dare look at my grandfather. The Vorsongs shouldn’t witness any confusion or dissent in our ranks, especially not between my grandfather and me.

But now I’m wondering how much my grandfather is hiding from the rest of us—particularly from my father and me.

Grandfather clears his throat, dismissive. “You’re Allen, aren’t you? Perry and Cressilda’s boy?”

The taller guy with the mustache offers a short nod.

Perry might be the leader, but we’ve learned that it’s Cressilda who makes all the decisions.

“Good. You can bring this message back to Cressilda.” Grandfather doesn’t even pretend that Perry is involved in the process.

He smiles, but there’s no humor or kindness in it.

“We have nothing to say to each other. Your organization is trespassing on our established neighborhood. We have been tolerant, but that tolerance ends now.”

His English is even more crisp and polished than usual. The implication is probably lost on the Vorsong men, but I know what it means. He’s in command of everything and everyone here. Every last detail, including his clipped and precise vowels, is under is control.

“Cressilda’s dead. Perry no longer runs things.” The other man, more muscular and more heavyset than Allen, speaks up. “Everything comes to me, now.”

Cressilda and Perry were in charge of the gang. Now it’s this guy? Seems like it should be Allen, their son.

“And who are you, then?” Grandfather’s mouth turns down for a fraction of a second. He isn’t pleased that our intel on the Vorsongs was out of date.

“Tate Vorsong.” The man adjusts his cuffs like he’s thoroughly bored.

I shuffle through my mental files on their family. Tate Vorsong isn’t anywhere...until I realize he’s the son of Cressilda’s affair partner. Allen’s half-brother.

“Your last name isn’t Vorsong.” I finally speak. “It’s Karlsson.”

“It’s Vorsong,” he all but snarls.

I hold up my hands. “Okay, sure.”

My grandfather has become extra tense beside me. “Why did you want this meeting?”

“We wanted to tell you face to face.” Tate smirks. “You can start paying rent in our city, or you can leave. Feel free to pass that along to the Aseyevs. I understand your two families are especially close now.”

I hold myself perfectly still. I will not feel too much, I will not react.

“You have no authority here, Tate Vorsong .” Grandfather emphasizes his new last name.

“You’re wrong.” Tate grins. “We have the weapons. We have the numbers. We have your city. Best thing for you to do is get out. Take the Russians with you.”

They might have the weapons and numbers, but they don’t know this city like we do. They don’t have our connections.

They don’t have my ruthless father on their side. He’s already plotting against them. Because like he always says, blood answers with blood.

The two half-brothers turn around and walk away. I’m tempted to give a hand signal to our men, to destroy these two before they can return to San Esteban. An “accident” on the twisty road leading to the highway would be easy enough to arrange.

But I don’t. There’s more to think about than my family’s pride. Our family members. Danica’s family.

And Danica, herself. The Vorsongs know too much about her, too much about us. If we can avoid a war, it’ll be easier to keep her safe.

* * *

Danica

My parents don’t often entertain, but tonight their house in Fair Heights is full of people. I think they want to show off for Dad’s friend Malcolm and his girlfriend. Dad and Malcolm have always had a slightly competitive friendship.

“Danica, dear, I hear you’re engaged to be married.

” One of my mother’s country club friends, Ghyslaine, corners me in the dining room where I’m refilling my wine glass.

She usually stands way too close when she talks to me, and tonight is no exception.

I can see every individual strand of her blond hair and every one of her eyelashes. Her breath smells like too-sweet rosé.

“Yes.” I take a subtle step away from her. “The wedding is at the end of the month, actually.”

“Oh, that’s soon.” She lets out a trill of laughter and flicks her gaze to my stomach. “Is there a particular reason for the rush?”

Ghyslaine needs gossip like regular humans need air.

“No particular reason, just love—so much love.” The lie doesn’t taste as bad in my mouth as it would have a month ago. I do wish we weren’t rushing toward marriage, but I’ll do my part if it can keep my family safe.

Because the Aseyevs couldn’t keep Jon safe. I stifle a shudder. He was right there, just in front of my house.

The Aseyevs “cleaned it up” so no police were involved.

Elias had no idea a murder took place within view of his bedroom.

Porch and door cameras shouldn’t have caught anything.

Just in case, though, the Aseyevs went through and bought footage off the neighbors across the street, and the neighbors to either side.

Ghyslaine laughs again. It feels like she’s laughing in my fucking ear. I take another step back and bump into someone.

Turning, I see Malcolm.

“Oh, hey.” I give him a too-bright smile and try to telegraph the words save me with my eyes. I should’ve learned Morse code.

“Dani.” He grins at me through his dark gray beard. “And Ghyslaine, right? I think Kira was looking for you—did she ever find you? Something about a new wine she wanted you to try.”

“Ooh!” Ghyslaine spins away to search for my mother in the crowd of people.

I shake my head. “Did you just lie to Ghyslaine?”

“Guilty.” His dark blue eyes crinkle in humor.

When I was really little, I used to think I’d marry Malcolm, in that weird, grade-schooler sort of way. I outgrew it long before I hit puberty, although I wonder why. He’s still handsome, charismatic, successful. Maybe I figured out my dad’s best friend should be off-limits.

“Well.” I clear my throat. “Thanks for the rescue. I’m going to head out soon. I’ve made my obligatory appearance and now I can leave.”

“You don’t want to hang out with the olds?” He gives me a wounded expression. “I didn’t think we were that boring.”

“Edmund and—Edmund’s waiting for me.” Shit, I nearly said Edmund and Troy are waiting for me. That would invite awkward questions.

“Well, it was good to see you.” He takes a sip from his beer bottle. “Make sure you say a quick hello to Zora before you go—she loves talking about weddings. If you’re pressed for time, maybe you could show her a picture of your dress?”

“Uh...” I grimace. “I’m still working on that detail.”

“Your wedding is weeks away, isn’t it?” He laughs. “I hope you find something soon.”