Ethan glanced back at me. "Gabriel won this car in a game of poker from Sonny DiCaprio."
I frowned. "I don't know the name."
"Sonny DiCaprio was what you might call a well-connected man," Luc said. "He had a pretty nice establishment in Chicago in the eighties. Larceny with a side of protection racket. He also ran an illegal poker game downtown."
"Gabriel wasn't yet in charge of the Pack," Ethan said, moving to stand beside me. "His father was, and he was friends with Lou Martinelli, Sonny's arch enemy. Gabriel thought he'd show his old man a thing or two and arranged to join Sonny's game one night. He was just about out - having lost a lot of money and some of his father's territory - when he went all in on the final hand. He came away with a lot of money and Sonny DiCaprio's 1957 Mercedes."
"DiCaprio let him walk away with it?" I wondered aloud.
"They called DiCaprio the 'Gentleman's Mobster' for a reason," Luc said. "And that's probably why he didn't last much longer. He was taken out in a turf war a few months later."
Whatever I thought I knew about Chicago - or its supernaturals - there was always more to the story. Of course, having seen Gabriel shuffle and deal, I wasn't surprised to learn he was a cardsharp.
"That's quite a history," I said.
"Mm-hmm," Ethan agreed. "Did he mention why he's letting you drive this particular car?"
"Because we're friends?"
Ethan made a sarcastic sound. "You may be. But that's not why he's letting you drive it." He leaned forward and flicked a bit of dust from the clear coat. "He's doing it to piss me off, because I've been trying to buy this car from him for ten years."
Luc whistled. "That's quite a burn."
"Indeed," Ethan said, glancing at me with a dubiously cocked brow. "But I'm sure Merit had no knowledge of that, did you?"
"Of course I didn't," I said. "Not of the specifics, anyway."
Ethan gave the car one last, long look before gesturing toward the door. "Now that we've ogled, shall we get back to work?"
"Are you sure you can leave her here unattended?" I asked.
Ethan grinned. "I have no intention of leaving her here unattended . . . or letting her leave this House again."
"Let the battle begin," Luc said, clapping Ethan on the back, both of them clearly thrilled to have a different kind of battle to wage.
Boys and their toys, I thought, and followed them back into the House. But before we got to the Ops Room, Ethan stopped me in the hallway, a hand on my wrist. I glanced back at him.
"You're okay?" he asked.
I smiled up at him, and at the sweet concern in his expression. "I'm fine. Mallory, I'm less sure about, but I'm good. They didn't get that close."
Unless you considered "close" to be two supernaturals surrounded by humans with chips on their shoulders and weapons in hand. In which case it was significantly closer. But that would only worry him.
Ethan didn't seem to buy the lie, but he nodded anyway and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Good. I was worried."
"It's your job to be worried," I said lightly, squeezing his hand. "That's why we pay you the big bucks. Which you are apparently going to hand over to the NAC in order to keep that car in the garage."
"Never fear, Sentinel. I will still be able to keep you in bacon."
"Damn right," I said. "You know your priorities."
Ethan rolled his eyes and slapped me on the butt.
-
The Ops Room, along with the training room and weapons storage, was located in the House's basement. Luc already sat at the end of the room's giant conference table, his booted feet propped up and a mug of coffee in hand.
The room's border was marked by vampires working at computer stations, mostly temps he'd hired to fill out the staff after our ranks thinned - and the first round of interviews produced really crappy candidates.
The official guards - Kelley, Lindsey, Juliet - were assembled around the table. Together, they looked like models from a beauty ad: Kelley had thick, dark hair and exotically slanted eyes; Lindsey was blond and wore a stylish ruffled coat; Juliet, a redhead, was delicate and dreamy.
Ethan and I took seats beside them.
"We've got the Ombud's office on the phone," Luc said. "Ombuddies - saddle up."
"It's Chuck and Jeff," my grandfather said. "Catcher is seeing to Mallory."
He must have gone to Little Red to check in on her.
"Hi, Grandpa," I offered.
"You're all right?"
"I'm fine. Things got a little heavy, but Mallory and I were both fine." At least until I left her with the shifters. I didn't think Gabriel would do her any harm, but given the closed-door conversation, I also wasn't privy to everything between them.
"And just when we thought it was safe to go back in the water," Lindsey said.
"As safe as it ever is, anyway," Luc said. He leaned over to tap a tablet in front of him and pop images up on the overhead screen. Pictures of the rioters with weapons aloft competed with the charred remains of a building.
"Forty-seven rioters," Luc said. "The Bryant Industries building sustained damage to sixteen percent of its square footage, including damage to its electrical and HVAC systems. They've got backups for the utilities, but the physical repairs are expected to take a few weeks."
"I've spoken with Detective Jacobs," my grandfather said. Arthur Jacobs was a well-respected CPD detective, and one of the few city officials who didn't have a vendetta against us.
"They've arrested twenty-three rioters, but no one's talking. They all asked for lawyers."
Luc looked at me. "Do you want to press charges for the damage to your car?"
"There was damage to your car?" my grandfather asked. I guess he hadn't gotten all the details from Catcher.
"Relatively minor. Gabriel's got a guy, and he offered to arrange for the repairs when I dropped Mallory off. And I definitely don't want to press charges. That would make Cadogan House a specific target. There's no need to make it personal. The rioters were chanting 'Clean Chicago,' and they made it pretty clear they believe we're the thing that needs cleaning."
"As if there's anything clean about hatred," Lindsey said. "But that gives us a place to begin the mocking. What rhymes with clean? Jean? Green? Scene? Bean?"
"'Mean Chicago' works intellectually," Jeff said. "But it's not that snappy."
"Nope," Lindsey agreed. "And we need something snappy to put the little shits in their places." She chortled. "Can you imagine how pissed they'd be if they knew vampires were sitting around mocking them?"