I try that too. Nothing.

  “Ink Least.” Scarlett holds up her paper. “Does that mean anything?”

  “No.” That combo doesn’t work. I slide the letters back into the original position.

  ELIAS KENT

  “It’s something else, something—”

  Then suddenly—clarity.

  I slap my forehead.

  “What?” That can be Rex or the girls. I don’t know because my quaking pulse eclipses all sounds.

  “I’m so stupid,” I whisper, more for myself than for others. “He told me who he was all along.”

  My fingers tremble as I rearrange the letters once more.

  The most obvious answer.

  KIAN LESTE

  “Holy shit. He’s your Kian? The guy you dated in Chicago in high school?” Rex asks.

  Click.

  I nod, a sob wrenching out of my throat.

  A tiny compartment pops open at the bottom.

  A micro SD card tumbles out.

  “Let me get my laptop.” Scarlett scrambles off the seat.

  “Elias Kent was always Kian Leste,” I whisper.

  It’s so obvious and yet well hidden. An anagram. How did I ever miss this?

  A laptop appears before me, and I glance up.

  “You’ve got this,” Maxwell says.

  I slide the memory card into the slot, and a folder appears on the screen.

  In it are thousands of files.

  Photos. Ledgers. Videos. More folders sorted by the names of politicians, CEOs, and world leaders. There’s something here on everyone.

  I snap the laptop shut and yank the card free.

  I won’t risk them. The fewer people know about this, the better. The info will put a target on their heads.

  “I have to go.” I bolt out of the booth, hand fisting the items.

  “Hold on. What’s on the drive? Where are you going?” Maxwell hollers as I dash to the exit.

  “I’ll explain later. Go home. Protect your families.”

  Turning at the threshold, I flash them a wobbly smile. “I love you all. Stay safe.”

  Outside, sleet pelts from the sky. John opens the car door.

  “Back to the house,” I tell him. The engine roars to life.

  I make a call.

  “Special Agent Clarke.”

  “I might have what you need,” I murmur. “But I need your help right now.”

  “I’ll meet you at your place in twenty,” he answers and hangs up.

  My heart beats a rickety rhythm. I unfurl my fist, staring at what the Shadow King left me.

  Elias gave me his black book of secrets.

  His leverage against the world.

  Chapter 55: WOLṾES AT THE GATE

  A late-winter squall drums a war cry above The Syndicate Chamber in St. Michael’s catacombs.

  “You sure he’ll be there?” I stare at the blueprints of Chicago Memorial and the surgery schedule printed out by Aleksei.

  His fingers fly across the laptop, keys tapping a furious rhythm.

  “Aleksei?”

  Gaze snapping up, he halts. “What?”

  “Your intel. How confident are you?”

  Aleksei snorts, nostrils flaring. “What do you think?”

  When I purse my lips, he sighs. “One hundred ten percent, okay? If you want an audience with Edon Berisha at his weakest, it’s tomorrow after lunch at one. Gallbladder surgery. He told everyone it was next week, but they did a switcheroo.”

  “Paranoid bastards,” Sebastian mutters, twirling his penknife over his knuckles.

  I scroll through the emails on my phone.

  Edon has pushed all our meetings to next month, claiming he’s traveling. It’s consistent with Aleksei’s intel.

  “You aren’t the only one with enemies,” Sofia says as she drags one of the floor plans across the table. “I’m sure he’ll be heavily protected. Powerful men always are at their weakest.”

  “Distraction?” Sebastian furrows his brows, staring at the diagram we drew up. Roles are assigned. We’re just missing the entry plan. “Power outage is out of the question. They have backup generators. We can accost him in the room, but you’ll be passing through security cameras and people. Don’t even think about wearing strange masks.”

  “I can take out the cameras,” Aleksei offers.

  “Not going to work,” Sebastian replies. “It’s Chicago Memorial, not a hole-in-the-wall village clinic. Tons of witnesses.”

  The doors slam open, and Rafe strides in, hair damp, icy droplets clinging to his clerical collar.

  “Honor walk,” he says. Our heads swivel in his direction.

  “What’s that?” Sofia asks.

  He rakes his fingers through his dark hair, a shadow crossing his eyes. “It’s when a living donor declared brain dead is pulled off life support for organ donation. Anyone available gathers in the hallway for a send-off. I’ve taken part a few times after praying with the family. There’s one scheduled at ten.”

  “You’ll draw everyone in the vicinity away from where Berisha is.” Sebastian cocks his brow, a smile curving his lips. “Brilliant, Rafe. Remind me, what’s in this for you? You know we’re killing someone tomorrow, right?” He shrugs. “Probably multiple someones.”

  “Seriously, Sebastian,” Sofia shakes her head, “we really need to work on your reactions. A poor soul’s being pulled off life support, and you’re smiling like a hyena.”

  “Not about the patient.” He levels his dead stare at her. “It’s an assessment of the plan. Excellent strategy by our good priest here.”

  “Not a priest yet,” Rafe mutters. “Transitional deacon. That’s my title.”

  “All the same to me. Everyone calls you ‘Father’ anyway.”

  Sofia sighs. “Try to at least look sad.”

  Rafe turns toward the crucifix again and makes the sign of the cross, murmuring unintelligible words under his breath.

  “Great. He’s praying for our souls again.” Sebastian snickers. Then he stiffens. “But you said the walk is at ten? Isn’t Berisha’s surgery at one?”

  “Aleksei?” I stand and stride to the far wall, where a lone monitor sits.

  CCTV of the front of the cathedral flickers on the screen.

  Showing the woman I love.

  My chest tightens as I trace Lana’s face on the screen. She’s holding a red umbrella, much like the one she had when I first met her. A frown creases between her brows as she speaks with a nun, who’s shaking her head like she doesn’t understand her question.

  No one knows we’re down here except Rafe.

  “Stubborn woman,” I murmur.

  Lavender wafts to my nose—Sofia’s calm-day scent.

  “I had my doubts about her. A princess raised in a gilded cage, never experiencing poverty or hardship. So many doubts,” she says, staring at the screen. “Not anymore. I like her for you. A lot.”

  “You really should let her in,” Rafe says, joining us. “Strength is in numbers. Love is power.”

  “Oh please, stop with all the ‘love thy neighbor’ crap.” Sebastian snorts in the background. “Emotions are liabilities. Pollute your mind. Make you illogical. Thank God—”

  “Yes, you have no emotions, got it. Now will you shut up?” Aleksei snaps and stands. His face is blotchy, and he heaves out a heavy breath. “Sorry. Stress is getting to me. I shifted Berisha’s case up by three hours and spoofed a new anesthesia log. They’ll prep him early. I’ll be in the server room if you need me.”

  He folds his laptop shut and gathers his gadgets. “Don’t touch my computers.” With lips flattening, he glares at Sebastian. “I’m looking at you.”

  Then he storms out of the chamber.

  “What? No ‘boom’? No ‘I’m a genius’ comment?” Sebastian hollers after him, then turns toward us. “See? Emotions are a hindrance.”

  “What’s gotten into him?” Sofia frowns. “And where’s Ren?”

  “He said he’s chasing something down,” I reply.

  “Something’s going on with Ren,” Sebastian muses, echoing my sixth sense. “He looks…off. And this is purely objective.”

  I pull out my phone.

  No messages from him. My last text bounced—undelivered.

  Ren didn’t say much, but that’s par for the course. He seemed troubled when he stopped by my Ashbourne Heights safe house this morning. When I asked him why, he only shook his head and told me to send him the final plans.

  “Anything from the Carusos or the Berishas?” Rafe asks. “Do they suspect?”

  I shake my head, watching Lana walk away, shoulders slumped, the red umbrella shrinking on the screen.

  She turns before getting into the car, gazing straight into the camera.

  For a moment, my heart stops.

  It’s like she can see me.

  She grips the handle tightly. Even on the grainy footage, I can make out the dark circles under her eyes.

  She looks too pale, too unsteady. She shivers.

  I step toward the door, every atom in my body begging me to go to her, to draw her into my arms and kiss away the pain in her eyes.

  But I don’t. Instead, I curl my hands into fists at my sides, watching her image.

  So close, yet so far away.

  Lana moves her lips, whispering words I can’t hear.

  But I see them. I understand them.

  I love you, Elias.

  A pained breath scrapes out of me, invisible talons digging into my heart.

  A sad smile curves her lips. She shakes her head and mouths something else.

  I won’t give up.

  Clutching my chest, heat sharpens behind my eyes. I throttle out a deep breath, then another, until the pain eases.

  Until it’s bearable.

  She presses her fingers to her lips, releasing a kiss into the wind and sleet. Then she gets in her car and disappears.

  “She knows you’re watching,” Sofia murmurs.

  A soft smile crests my lips. Lana knows me well.

  The feed blinks, the precipitation thickening until the world becomes white and gray. My gaze drifts to the crucifix on the wall.

  If there is a God, please take care of Lana. Protect her. I don’t care what happens to me. I’ll trade a thousand lifetimes to keep her safe.

  A weight settles on my chest, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. I reach for my lighter, then stop, belatedly realizing I don’t have it anymore.

  Because I gave it to her for protection. If I don’t make it out alive, she’ll have everything she needs to keep my enemies at bay.

  “Easy there,” Rafe murmurs, his hand at my back. “Things aren’t hopeless. They never are.”

  Something in his voice—pain or sorrow—draws my gaze to him.

  “Why do you help us?” I echo Sebastian’s earlier question.

  Decades. I’ve known him for decades, and he’s never revealed his story. Why would he help monsters who clearly weren’t destined for eternal salvation?

  His gaze softens and flickers between Sofia and me. “There’s always a place for you here. And there’s always light even in the darkest night.”

  Not answering my question, he pivots toward the door.

  He pauses at the threshold.

  “Atonement,” he says. “We all have something to atone for.”

  Then he disappears.

  Silence lingers, thick with sorrow and regret.

  Someone whistles. A chair squeaks.

  “Well, that was strange.” Sebastian shrugs, rises from his seat, and buttons his three-piece suit. “I’d ask you to translate, but from the look on your face, you have no clue either.”

  He winks, cold amusement in his eyes, no doubt from sadistic pleasure at the impending showdown. “A few doctors are on the Irish mob payroll. I called them. They’ll direct stray people out of the way.”

  Sebastian tips his fingers in a mock salute and strides out, leaving Sofia and me in silence.

  “Well?” she asks, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “You okay? You got this?”

  “Always,” I murmur. I glance at her and smile. “We Lestes always survive. But now…”

  I stride back to the long table and stare at our options.

  “We plan.”

  Ten a.m. tomorrow. This all ends.

  Chapter 56: THE ALLIANCE

  Tristan shifts in his seat and loosens his tie. He eyes the floral displays in front of him at Arcana & Bloom.

  Scarlett is in the middle of swapping hydrangeas for peonies in time for spring.

  The flowers smell too sweet—sickly sweet today.

  “I could’ve chosen the place,” he mutters.

  “Too girly?” I smirk.

  The FBI agent rolls his shoulders, his discomfort obvious.

  I used to be the one smoothing PR crises in boardrooms. Now I’m in love with the king of the underworld.

  As his queen, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.

  My first meeting with Tristan was on his turf.

  This time, it’s on mine.

  And in negotiations, making the other party uncomfortable gives me an edge.

  Elias would be proud of me. An ache presses on my lungs. I miss him and I worry about him.

  Scarlett slides a mug in front of Tristan. Her gaze drifts toward me, and I give her a subtle nod—proof I’m holding strong.

  “I didn’t order anything.” He eyes it, brow cocked high. “Is this a thing with you guys? Free drinks?”

  “You need it. Trust me.” Scarlett grins and tosses her red hair over her shoulder. “And the café’s closed. Consider it celebrity treatment from me.”

  I snicker and sip my hot toddy—lemon balm, chamomile, and a whisper of spice. “You’ll get used to it.”

  Tristan wanted to meet after I gave him some evidence from Elias’s micro SD card. I cloned parts of it onto a USB drive. There’s no way I’m giving him the drive itself.

  It’s too valuable.

  And it’s leverage—protection for Elias when we get out of this situation alive.

  And we will.

  “You’ve checked the evidence?” I ask.

  “Yes.” Tristan leans in, fingers trailing his jaw. “Called in a few favors. It’s legit.” He levels his sharp gaze at me. “You have more where it came from.”

  “The deal is immunity. Evidence on the Berishas is a finder’s freebie. I’m not giving anything more until you guarantee Elias’s safety.”

  Tristan sits back, his head dipping in a slow nod. “I underestimated you.”

  “Many do.”

  He pulls an envelope out of his pocket and slides it across the table.

  I open it and scan the pages.

  “Immunity for past and future crimes as long as he cooperates. But nothing for capital offenses. I can’t help him there.”

  Relief sweeps through me like a cool breeze in the Sahara. “Did you find anything on that Sable person?”

  It was one of the documents I gave him—a crematory log with the Lestes’ names on it. Tristan asked me who these people were, but I didn’t tell him.

  “The trail was pretty cold, but I traced the signature through our archives and consulted a handwriting specialist.” Keeping his gaze firmly on me, he taps his phone and turns it to me.

  On the screen are documents compared side-by-side, red circles pinpointing uniqueness in signature samples. He swipes to the next photo. A land deed filed fifteen years ago for a company, Sable Enterprises.

  The signature?

  Edon Berisha.

  My hand flies to my mouth as the truth unravels. This is why Elias left me.

  He found the man responsible for his family’s deaths.

  And he’s going to kill him and set off a war.

  That’s why he gave me his black book.

  The ache sharpens into a blade, twisting into my chest.

  Elias really doesn’t think he’ll survive.

  And the black book…it’s his way of protecting me after he’s gone.

  My eyes snap up, and Tristan nods. “Your Berishas rose to power quickly. I suspect these deaths have something to do with it.”

  “Do you know where the Berishas are?” I haven’t heard from them in ages. No press releases or PR projects. No dinners or galas.

  Tristan leans forward, his voice low. “I’m not stupid. I have a feeling Edon Berisha will end up floating face down in Lake Michigan very soon. I won’t lose any sleep over that, but I want to know why you’re asking.”

  At my hesitation, he adds, “Lana, I can’t help you if you don’t give me all the facts. Flying in blind will get us—or Elias—killed.”

  My pulse quickens as I hold his gaze, searching for tells—a nose twitch, a clenched jaw—any sign he’ll betray us.

  The Berishas—not to mention The Association—are powerful in the city. What if this is all a trap? What if Special Agent Tristan Clarke is using me to unravel Elias’s plans?

  But what options do I have? I can’t ask my brothers for help without risking them. I’m not a black ops specialist or anyone remotely familiar with this world.

  There’s only one move I can make.

  “The Berishas murdered his family,” I whisper, digging my nails into my palms.

  Please let my gut feeling be right.

  Understanding dawns in Tristan’s eyes.

  “The Lestes,” he murmurs. “I see.”

  He flips his phone, knocking it on the table a few times, then straightens, apparently deciding.

  “Edon Berisha is scheduled for gallbladder surgery at Chicago Memorial tomorrow at ten a.m.”

  I gasp, and he nods, clearly coming to the same conclusion.

  “Elias Kent will make a move then,” he says. “That’s what I’d do.”

  “Can you provide backup?”

  Tristan frowns, his eyes contemplative. “Like you guessed before, I’m doing this off the books. The Association’s too powerful. I’ve bent the rules for informants in the past, but never this far. If the director finds out, I’m finished.”

  A vein pulses in his temple. “I’ll try my best, but no guarantees. It won’t be easy to get into the hospital’s restricted areas, and the surgical floor is definitely one of them.”

  He sips his drink and nearly spits out the contents. He levels a glare at Scarlett, who’s busy wiping the counters.