24: The Chaos
KILLIAN
My lips were still tingling from the kiss, but I didn't let it show. I kept my expression unreadable. I pretended to be casually amused. I didn't want to admit that I might have just shattered a thousand invisible barriers between us. It was cowardly, but there was no time to dwell on that.
I'd noticed the sleek black car parked across the street a long time ago. I had stayed behind, lying to myself that I was simply offering Alexa emotional support. But even that was only half the truth.
The car had tinted windows, and the engine was still running. I knew it was Vincent who was sitting behind the wheel.
The bastard thought he could hover in the shadows and not get caught. But I'd seen the glint of his ring on the steering wheel. I'd recognized that smug little tic he had, drumming his fingers when he thought he was winning.
So I kissed her.
Not because I lost control.
But because he needed to see what control looked like in my hands.
Alexa still hadn't caught her breath. Her lips were swollen and her pupils were wide. But then, she tensed, her eyes darting to the side. She must've felt it.
The predator's gaze.
Her survival instincts were kicking in again.
Good girl.
"You feel it, don't you?" I murmured, brushing my thumb over her lower back in a way that could easily pass for affection, but was nothing short of a stake to the chest for the man watching. "The eyes are on you."
She nodded slowly, with unease, her body moving closer to mine almost instinctively.
I leaned down and whispered softly. "Let him look."
Then I slid my arm fully around her waist. She stiffened slightly, then melted into my side so easily, it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world.
Let Vincent choke on the view.
Although I wanted to bask in this small victory, my mind was already shifting gears.
Vincent knew where to find her too easily. That wasn't a coincidence.
Someone's feeding him breadcrumbs. Or worse... he planted something on her.
A tracker.
The thought made my blood boil.
If he put his hands on her again, I'd make sure the next time he watched her, it'd be from inside a coffin.
The only reason he wasn't dead yet was because he was a sneaky chameleon who was particularly excellent at playing hide-and-seek. Bastard.
"Come on," I said to Alexa, lowering my voice. "Let's go home."
Alexa glanced at me. Then she nodded.
I led her towards the waiting SUV, the one with reinforced bulletproof glass and cameras that I knew would capture every inch of Vincent's pathetic attempt at subtlety.
She slipped into the seat, and I followed, letting my hand trail over her thigh just a second too long before shutting the door behind us.
The engine hummed to life.
I didn't look back at Vincent's car.
But I smiled because I knew that this game was only about to get more thrilling.
...
The next day, I was heading to the base when I sensed the chaos closing in. I lived for moments like this.
The first bullet hit the front of the convoy just as my men and I turned off the main road.
I didn't flinch.
Glass cracked and tires screamed. The SUV in front of mine jolted to the side, metal crunching against metal.
We were boxed in. Two unmarked cars had flanked us, one ahead and one behind. Sloppy work.
"It's an ambush," Ethan muttered beside me, already reaching for his gun.
"No shit," I said, adjusting the collar of my coat as I checked my watch. "They're late. I expected this an hour ago."
Gunfire rained down from the rooftops. My men ducked for cover, their weapons drawn.
I opened the door and stepped out, my boots hitting the cracked pavement.
The wind bit through my coat as I walked towards the center of the gunfight, unbothered. Bullets whistled past. One ricocheted off the SUV beside me.
Cowards always shoot from a distance.
"Killian!" Ethan barked from behind and ducked low behind the car door. "Get back!"
I didn't answer.
A man broke from cover near the building across the street. I saw the shake in his hands even before he raised his pistol.
I pulled my gun and fired once.
It was a clean shot straight through the eye.
He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.
Silence rolled in seconds later, the smell of smoke and blood hanging heavy in the air.
I turned to look at Ethan, who was now standing beside me, his jaw tight.
"Stupid move," I muttered. "This wasn't a hit."
He frowned. "Then what the hell was it?"
"A message," I replied, sliding my gun back into its holster. "They wanted to rattle me."
"Did it work?"
I raised a brow at him and smirked. "You tell me."
Ethan didn't smile. He looked at the body. "Orders?"
"Find out who sent them," I said, brushing invisible dust off my sleeve. "And tell them I got the message."
I paused and turned my eyes back to the blood on the street.
"Now it's time for mine."
...
Back in the car, Ethan sat across from me, calmly wiping a smear of blood from his cuff.
"You're getting reckless," he muttered dryly, his eyes scanning the road as the SUV peeled away from the scene.
I leaned back, unbothered. "You're getting sentimental."
He huffed through his nose. "No, I’m just tired of cleaning up your goddamn statements."
That made me smirk.
Ethan Armanetti had been with me since the beginning. Childhood friend turned consigliere. Half lawyer, half executioner, and somehow the only person left who could still talk to me like I was human.
He wore his loyalty the way he wore his custom suits. Constant.
While my temper ran hot, Ethan's burned cold. He preferred logic, leverage, and blackmail. I preferred pressure points and body bags.
It made us a good team.
"Don't worry," I said lazily, "I didn't waste a bullet."
"Don Marcello's men?" he asked.
"Maybe. Or one of the other bastards who think they're entitled to my ledger."
He didn't look surprised. "You mean 'the' ledger?"
I nodded.
The black book. The one they all whispered about. It definitely had enough secrets to set the entire underworld on fire.
Ethan straightened, his expression tightening.
"We need to talk about that. You've held onto it too long."
"I always hold onto things too long," I said idly, reaching for the decanter in the armrest minibar. I poured a splash of whiskey and swirled it.
Ethan didn't touch his.
"You're poking too many sleeping monsters, Killian. You already control more than half of the city and most pipelines. The other dons are getting twitchy."
"Let them twitch."
He sighed. "Marcello's going to offer again tonight. Bigger number. Cleaner terms."
I downed the whiskey in one swallow and met his gaze. "And what do you think I'll say?"
Ethan didn't hesitate. "You'll smile, wait until he gets too comfortable, and then break his nose with a teacup."
That made me chuckle. I liked that he knew me that well.
"Not the nose," I murmured. "This time I'm aiming lower."
...
The meeting was held at a neutral club in the Upper District. One of those old-money places with velvet chairs, dark wood, and the faint scent of cigars.
Don Marcello sat at the private table already, flanked by two of his guards in gray suits that were tailored enough to look harmless. That is, if you didn't notice the bulges under their jackets.
I arrived with Ethan at my side.
"Killian," Marcello drawled, rising to greet me with a show of false warmth. "You look well."
"Liar," I replied casually, sitting without offering my hand. "You heard about the little mess on 5th. You expected me in a coffin."
His smile didn't waver, but his eyes twitched. "I was... concerned."
"Concern noted. And filed."
Ethan remained standing behind me, his arms crossed.
A waiter appeared with crystal glasses. I waved it off.
Marcello tried to look unbothered. "You know why I asked to meet."
"You want to buy something that isn't for sale."