“Shut it, Rex.”

  “You should look into this,” Maxwell murmurs, still staring at the photos. He hands them to Elias.

  I snatch them back. “No way. I’m in more danger with him,” I eye the mobster, “than a random SUV when everything could be a coincidence, anyway.”

  “Give them to me.” Elias snaps his fingers.

  “No.”

  His eyes turn glacial. “I won’t ask twice.”

  “Or what?” Because I have no sense of self-preservation, I step close to him. “You’ll tie me up and rip the papers out of my hands?”

  Elias’s eyes flare, a sharp hitch of breath to follow. He doesn’t respond, but stands still, towering over me, his throat rippling as he swallows.

  I struggle an inhale, my nerve endings lit up like sparklers.

  He leans down.

  “Don’t tempt me,” he whispers, so softly only I can hear.

  A shudder moves through my traitorous body. Why am I reacting this way to him? I shove the papers at him.

  “Fine. Look all you want. It’s nothing, guys. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

  Not waiting for a response, I storm out the door, eager to escape the suddenly stifling heat.

  And I swear, the asshole’s dark chuckles follow me out of the room.

  Chapter 6: THE STẠTUS QUO

  She bolts out like she’s fleeing the apocalypse, and the smile slips off my face.

  But before I face the men, I breathe her in—intoxicating roses. Sweet and unforgettable, just like that rainy day a lifetime ago when I was someone else.

  One second. One small moment of indulgence. I’ll deduct this from my twenty-eight-minute quota tomorrow.

  “So, what do you think?” Maxwell asks, his tone sharp. “Is this SUV a credible threat? There’s not much to go on.”

  Slowly, I turn back to the brothers who’ve become my good friends over the years, even if they don’t know they’ve invited a fox into the henhouse. This friendship will end when I join The Association, the very people they hate. Invisible ropes cinch around my lungs. I shove the feeling down.

  The papers rustle in my grip. I scan the letter and images. Illinois plates. Tinted windows. The SUV kept showing up where she was. My jaw tightens, red misting my vision. How did I miss this?

  Coincidences don’t exist in my world. If they’re circling her, she’s on a list, and they want something from her. And The Association’s lists only end one way.

  Any other assumptions will get you killed sooner.

  Dread coils low in my gut.

  “Illinois,” I murmur. Chicago is the headquarters of The Association, but they don’t know that. “Out-of-state plates. Sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s—”

  “A warning,” Rex finishes. “They want us to know she’s being tracked.”

  He straightens, all traces of humor gone. He, like his brothers, has experienced The Association’s brutality. Last year in Monaco, their bullet almost ended him.

  “They don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Maxwell paces in front of the fireplace. “I’m tired of being threatened. It’s time to do something.”

  “Legally, Maxwell? Or my methods?”

  The eldest Anderson levels his icy gray stare at me. His jaw tics. “Who am I to stop a certain mobster from protecting his friends? A favor for a favor, right, as you say?”

  The intelligent asshole, wording his request with plausible deniability.

  I stride to the wet bar and pour us a drink. Top-shelf whiskey in hand—pricier than our family’s monthly grocery budget when I was a kid—I return and hand him a glass.

  “You saved me in the alley ten years ago. I never forget.”

  A ghost of a smile curves his lips. He understands that’s a yes from me. I’ll look into this, exact violence, and he doesn’t have to worry about a thing.

  He clinks his glass with mine and takes a sip. “You’re a good man and a loyal friend, Elias. We both know real criminals hide in plain sight—the very people in this club. I’m glad Ryland and I found you that day.”

  The hollow spot beneath my rib cage aches, but I ignore it because guilt has no place in my life. That day in the alley—they have no idea what happened.

  It’s all a game of chess, and I’ve been several moves ahead.

  “Mister brooding mobster likes to think he’s the big bad shit, but we see you, Eli.” Rex grins, winking at me.

  “Call me Eli again and I’ll share photos of you with your wife. The Rose floors vintage.”

  “Dude, not cool. That was before I met her. And where do you think the nickname ‘Rex-a-Million’ came from? Had to earn those million orgasms somewhere.”

  I snort, turning away before a smile betrays me.

  “You love us, Eli. Eli. Eli,” Rex needles and slaps my shoulder.

  “You’d think marriage and fatherhood would make you grow up.” Maxwell shakes his head. Rex and Olivia gave birth to twins recently.

  “And becoming boring farts like you all? No, thanks.”

  The brothers bicker and laugh. Such warmth and love. Things that don’t belong in my life.

  A weight presses down on me as I slip toward the door. Before I can leave, it suddenly swings open and in barrels Belle, Maxwell’s wife, balancing their preschooler, Levi, on her hip.

  “Elias!” She beams and squeezes my arm. “You’re a hard man to find. Dinner next week at our place, okay? Don’t be a loner.”

  The invisible chasm throbs behind my sternum. “I don’t do family dinners, Belle. Last I checked, I’m not an Anderson.”

  “Nonsense. You’re one of us now, especially after helping us so many times.” She winks, then turns to her son, who Lana claims is her favorite nephew. The beguiling woman has stars in her eyes whenever she’s around her nieces and nephews. She’d be a wonderful mother someday.

  And a wife to a lucky bastard. Never you. Of course not. You hate her.

  Belle asks, “Levi, we want Uncle Elias at the dinner, right?”

  Levi gives me a toothy grin and nods.

  “We shall see.” A lump forms in my throat.

  My phone buzzes, and I glance at it.

  Bishop Seb

  Case closed. Gas leak from busted pipe. You’re clear. The chessboard is ready. Time for step two?

  Step two—join The Association, the dark side. I bite my cheek, relishing the lash of pain, and type a response.

  Rook Elias

  Yes.

  “Just give it up, Eli, step into the light, come to the dinner,” Rex hollers.

  Without answering him, I nod at Belle, barely mustering a smile. She stares at me expectantly, her gaze trusting. Levi hands me the piece of paper he has in his hand.

  It’s a crayon drawing of a T-Rex holding a lighter and a little boy. The words “Unkle E” are scrawled on top.

  Red crayon. His favorite.

  “Maxwell said he was meeting you here. Levi insisted he wanted to draw you something.” Belle kisses her son’s face.

  I ruffle his hair, my chest on fire.

  For a moment, I’m reminded of my childhood, my parents smiling at each other—their love steadfast and unshakable—Dad playing peekaboo with little Beatrice.

  Before The Association burned it all down.

  Sliding my hand into my pocket, I grip my lighter and leave the room.

  I glance at my watch to see how much time has elapsed.

  Twenty-eight minutes of lies. In another life, this might’ve been my future. Family. Kids. Light.

  Just not this one.

  Chapter 7: TERMS OF DAMNATION

  One Week Later, Chicago, Illinois

  “The infamous Elias Kent graces us with his presence. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  Edon Berisha waves me into his office on top of the eyesore that is Berisha and Sons Corporation headquarters, a gaudy skyscraper in the shape of a fucking gold dildo, built smack center of Michigan Avenue.

  The building is tasteless and vulgar, just like the family themselves—criminals dressed in luxury, rotten to the core.

  Oh, he’s prepared for me. Three men flank him like dogs at heel—his sons, heirs to his multi-billion-dollar empire.

  Agron, the eldest and COO, levels a stare at me, his eyes sharp and calculating. Ilir, the middle son, lights his father’s cigar with the smugness of an Ivy League lawyer. Dritan, buzz-cut and built like a soldier, has one hand inside his jacket.

  I’d bet anything they’re armed, ready to empty their clips into me at any second.

  I scan the room. Gold everywhere—lamps, chandeliers, even the doorknobs.

  Three windows, one emergency exit, two security cameras. Plenty of blunt objects to block projectiles. A circuit breaker a foot away. Pour water on it, and everything goes dark.

  Boom! As Aleksei would say. Everything’s better with a boom. The man should be an explosives specialist, not a hacker.

  “Didn’t expect a welcome party,” I murmur and take a seat across from Edon. “I’m flattered.”

  “Nothing less for the person who’s ruined so many of our plans.” Edon smiles thinly, his eyes flat. An average person would think he’s your regular billionaire—short man, thinner than he appears on camera, gray hair meticulously combed over.

  But I know better.

  The Berishas are the newest of The Six—the only family to have joined The Council in the past few decades. The other five are founding families of The Association. It takes ruthlessness to climb to the top. You don’t step over bodies. You make them.

  “It’s just business. No hard feelings.” I turn the lighter in my hand, feeling its reassuring weight.

  “Our deals with the Andersons,” a curl of smoke slithers in the air, “you’ve come in between us. Hard not to have any ‘hard’ feelings.”

  “They weren’t going to pan out. I saved you time and energy.”

  When The Association threatened the Andersons in the past, I assisted my friends—whether with intel or reinforcements. Back then, I didn’t realize how tightly locked down The Association’s kill ledgers were.

  How there was no way for me to find the man behind my family’s murders unless I became one of them.

  A miscalculation on my part.

  The grandfather clock in the corner chimes four times. The room thickens with smoke and silence.

  “Color me curious. What are you doing here, Kent? Do you need a favor from us? What is it you do again…a favor for a favor? A secret for a secret? Because the answer is no.”

  Edon sucks on his cigar and releases a plume in my direction, his eyes goading.

  “Cutting to the chase. I like it.” I click my lighter once, twice, then snap it shut. “I have a better one for you.”

  Swallowing the acid rushing up my throat, I lean in.

  “I want in.”

  The sons stiffen.

  Agron speaks up first. “In? Our properties, our clubs?”

  “The Association.” I want to spit out the words, but I rein in my disgust. Anything for revenge.

  Edon arches his brow, his mouth parting to respond, but I hold up my hand.

  “Do me a favor and don’t pretend you aren’t part of The Six. Yes, I know about it. Let’s skip the denial dance and tell me your demands.”

  The man studies me, his gaze inscrutable. “Why the sudden interest? Your loyalties…shifting.”

  “A man like me doesn’t have loyalties.” I spin the lighter across my knuckles. “I want power. That means The Association. Word on the street, your family’s losing its grip. The others in The Six aren’t happy with you.”

  Edon’s eyes flash with anger, but it disappears in an instant.

  The old, sly fox.

  Smirking, I lean close. “The Association doesn’t like weakness. You’re the newest family. I could only imagine what they’d do to you. You need me on your side. What happened with the Andersons? Just appetizers. Inconsequential. Now imagine what I could do if I were your enemy.”

  The men shift, the atmosphere hostile in an instant.

  Dritan unbuttons his jacket, flashing me the gun at his waist. A warning.

  “Easy,” his father murmurs and looks at me with renewed interest. “You’ve got nerve. Walking in here with no backup and only threats.”

  “A man like me always has backup. And I’m worth more to you alive than dead.”

  I reach into my suit pocket.

  Dritan and Ilir both draw their weapons. Two gun barrels point at my face.

  “Relax. I didn’t come here without gifts.” I smile despite my pulse quickening.

  Negotiation is a game of chicken. Let’s see who blinks first.

  I pull out a white envelope and slide it over the desk. “A belated birthday present, Mr. Berisha.”

  Amusement glitters in the old man’s eyes as he examines the documents inside. His gaze snaps to mine. “How did you get this?”

  “I won’t bore you with the details. You want that land on the north side, but it’s an Irish stronghold. Here’s the deed with your name on it. I even threw in a port for free. Will come in handy with all your personnel…relocations.”

  Human trafficking. The fucking bastards.

  Edon hums under his breath and hands the document to Ilir, who slowly lowers his weapon. As the chief legal officer, he brokers the most brutal deals, leaving his opponents with pennies to their names, if they’re lucky.

  Strange disappearances are more apt.

  Ilir scans the pages, a frown creasing his forehead. He hands them back to his father.

  “It’s legit. No loopholes.”

  “It’s a gift. No strings attached. Meaningless to me but everything to you.” The phone buzzes in my pocket, warning me I’ve been here for twenty minutes.

  Most deals are made within the first half hour. After that, I lose the advantage.

  Time to move things along.

  “Imagine what I could do only for your family. If I were part of The Association, that is.” I knock my lighter on his desk.

  Once. Twice. Three times.

  The words are unspoken, but from the sharpness in his gaze, he knows what I’m offering. Having my black book of secrets on his side will give him unprecedented power even within The Six.

  “And Agron,” I glance at the oldest son, who’s scrutinizing me like a pest under his shoe, “sweep your car more often. Trackers stick. Unless you want your wife to know you’re fucking her brother. Not to mention all the bad press you’re generating for The Association.”

  Agron’s jaw tics. “Y-You assho—”

  “Turp! Mbylle gojën!” Edon slams his fists down.

  Disgrace. Shut up.

  “Ilir, how remiss of us not to offer Mr. Kent refreshments. Not very hospitable. Go fetch the best Raki. To celebrate our new friendship.”

  “Wise choice,” I say, sliding my lighter back into my pocket.

  Ilir arches his brow and hands me a tumbler. I take a whiff—sweet. Hints of plums.

  As I bring it up to my lips, Edon says, “You know the rules of the Rite? No one gets an exception, not even you.”

  “A crime of your choosing, documented on video.” That’s how they control you—indisputable proof of your wrongdoing, but power beyond your dreams.

  “And?”

  My gaze snaps to his. “Once you’re in The Association, you can never leave.”

  Alive, that is.

  Unless I burn it all down.

  “Failure to follow the rules, betray The Association, and you and everyone related to you—your relatives, distant cousins, people you’ve never even met—will be hunted and executed.”

  My vision reddens. My parents. Little Beatrice. Their last screams.

  He expects me to bow to them. To submit. To kneel. That will never happen.

  I crush the images with a smile. “Naturally. I’d expect nothing less.”

  The old man grins, clearly pleased. “You know, I predicted this day might come. Someone like you can’t be content lurking in the shadows, trading secrets and blackmailing people. You have hunger in your eyes, something I recognize in myself. So I’ve prepared. I’ve contacted the Scheduler in advance.”

  Scheduler?

  There’s so much I don’t know about The Association, and I don’t like being in the dark.

  “All Rites are cleared through him. The bastard thinks he’s all-powerful.” He scoffs, disdain clear in his voice. “For your Rite, break into The Orchid vault and retrieve something for us. Lana Anderson’s box. That’s part one. Complete it on this date and time.” He slides me a piece of paper.

  Lana.

  Something rattles behind my rib cage. She was on a list—it was a hunch before but now confirmed.

  “Done.” I swirl my drink. “What’s part two? You said two parts.”

  “Accomplish part one first, then we’ll talk. Can’t expect me to reveal all my plans.” Edon’s eyes narrow as he lifts his drink. “You know…your relationship with the Andersons will end once they find out.”

  The damn knot forms in my chest again, but I keep my face impassive. “What relationship? There are only deals and games.”

  I down the alcohol.

  He laughs. “I like you, Elias Kent.”

  I’ll burn the world for the identity of my family’s killers, even if it means I burn myself with it.

  A flash of brown tresses appears in my mind. Soft laughter. Red umbrella. A gentle, untried kiss. Strains of Beethoven’s “Für Elise” linger in the air.

  “It’s my favorite piece,” she says, her eyes shining with warmth. “And next week, for my birthday, I’m getting it.” She points to the mahogany music box tucked away in the darkened corner of the antique shop. “Waiting makes it more special.”

  I shove those images away.

  No cost is too high.

  Not even her.

  Chapter 8: VAULT OF LIES

  The Orchid, Manhattan, New York City

  I stare at my cryptic text message exchange last night with the asshole extraordinaire as I stand in the lobby of The Orchid vault and concierge level.