Chapter 177: The highest bidder

Chapter 177: The highest bidder
Solomon moved instantly. "We need to go, Catherine. Now."

Catherine didn't even have time to freeze and question what was going on. She grabbed the pre-packed bag by the door with one hand and hoisted Chiara onto her hip with the other. There were no tears, no trembling questions.

She stepped toward Kieran, grabbing the lapel of his jacket and pulling him down for a fierce, bruising kiss. "Don't you dare die," she whispered against his lips.

"I won't," Kieran said, his voice rough. He leaned down and pressed a quick, hard kiss to Chiara’s curls. "Get out of here. Go with Solomon."

Solomon ushered them toward the back room, the sounds of his heart hammering in his ears, but before they could reach the window, the shooting stopped.

The silence that followed was heavier than the gunfire. It wasn't the silence of a reload; it was the silence of a ceasefire.

Kieran held up a hand, signaling Solomon to wait. He moved to the window, peering through the slats, then frowned. He holstered his gun, adjusted his cuffs, and unlocked the front door.

"Kieran!" Solomon hissed.

"Change of plans. Stay here with them," Kieran ordered, stepping out onto the external walkway. “If you hear another shot, go.”

Solomon kept his body between the fire exit and Catherine, watching as Kieran walked to the railing, looking down at the street like an annoyed landlord rather than a target.

"We ain't shooting, Karakatsanis!" the man shouted back. His hands were empty, raised to shoulder height.

Kieran didn't lower his gun. "Then why is there a dead man on my sidewalk?"

"Because this idiot shot us!" the man replied, spitting on the corpse. "We just want to talk."

Kieran leaned on the railing, looking down at the dozen men surrounding the black SUVs. "How did you find me?"

The mercenary shrugged, gesturing vaguely toward the building. "We didn't find you. We tracked your British friend. He's got a heavy footprint for a guy trying to be invisible."

Solomon, listening from the doorway, felt a cold knot of guilt tighten in his stomach. He had led them here.

"He ain’t fucking British," Kieran said, proceeding to ignore the jab at Solomon. “Let me guess… Gabo isn’t paying.”

"Word is he skipped town. Left us holding the bag with the Feds closing in. We figured... Why work for an asshole who doesn't pay when we can talk to the man who owns the city?"

"Smart," Kieran said dryly. "And you want what?"

"Employment," the man said.

"I can do better than that," Kieran said, his voice flat, business-like. "I’ll match Gabo’s rate. Double it if you clean up the mess you made on my sidewalk and vanish until I call you."

The tension on the street evaporated instantly. It was just a transaction.

"Done," the mercenary called back.

Kieran turned and walked back into the apartment. He looked at Solomon, his expression unreadable regarding the "tracking" comment, then turned to Catherine.

"Pack everything. We're leaving now."

Catherine immediately set Chiara down and started throwing clothes into a suitcase. "Why did they leave? What did they say?"

"As we know, Gabo is gone," Kieran explained, grabbing a stack of cash from a hidden vent in the wall. "He isn't paying his dogs, so they turned on him. They want to work for me."

"Do you trust them?" Catherine asked, zipping up the bag efficiently.

"Obviously not," Kieran scoffed. "I'll probably have to kill them all eventually. They're liabilities. But for tonight, they don’t need to, and it saves me from a shootout while you're in the room."

"Daddy," Chiara whined, tugging on Kieran’s pant leg, completely oblivious to the fact that her father had just negotiated with a death squad. “I’m sleepy.”

Kieran stopped, his face softening as he looked down at her. He crouched, brushing a curl from her forehead. "I know, principessa. I know. You can sleep in the car, okay? We're going to a hotel in the city tonight. A nice one. You can order whatever you want from room service tomorrow."

"Pancakes?"

"And waffles," Kieran promised. He looked up at Catherine, his eyes serious. "It will all be over soon. I promise."



The drive into the city was tense but quiet. Kieran drove, his eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror, while Solomon sat in the passenger seat. Catherine and Chiara were in the back; Chiara had fallen asleep, and Catherine was staring out the window, her hand resting protectively on her daughter’s knee.

They pulled up to the service entrance of a high-end hotel in Midtown—one of the few properties Kieran held through a shell company that remained untouched by the wars.

"I’ll take them up to the penthouse," Kieran told Solomon as he put the car in park. "Wait in here, I’ll be right back."

"Where are we going?" Solomon asked.

"I need you to go see Christopher. If Gabo’s men are defecting, Christopher will know more about their plans. And he likes you better."

Solomon nodded. He helped Catherine and Chiara out, and Kieran escorted them into the private elevator. When he returned to the car ten minutes later, Solomon was still in the driver's seat, engine idling, staring straight ahead at the brick wall of the alley.

Kieran opened the passenger door and slid in. "They're safe. Catherine has the guards posted at the door."

"Good," Solomon said. He didn't look at Kieran. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white.

"Now. Before you go to Christopher's..."

Solomon stiffened.

"You were saying," Kieran said, his voice low and dangerous. "Back at the apartment… You said Allegra gave you information. You said it wasn't about Gabo, it was about me. And that's why you went to see your father."

Solomon took a breath. "Allegra gave me files from her father’s private safe. Old leverage he kept on everyone. Including you… And your mother."

“My mother?” Kieran glanced at him. "What kind of leverage?"

"Your father," Solomon said quietly.

Kieran let out a scoff, shaking his head with dismissive irritation. He stared out the windshield, his expression bored. "You know I don't give a fuck about this at this point of my life, right? I know I'm a fucking mafia bastard. I made my peace with that when I was fifteen. I really don’t care."

"But I do," Solomon said, his voice cutting through Kieran's indifference.

Kieran turned to look at him, confused by the intensity in Solomon's tone. "Why?"

"Because your father is none other than Ernest Vance," Solomon said, the words heavy and absolute. "Your father is my fucking father, Kieran."