TWO
Three months later
Anthea
Sunlight washed over me,the August heat baking me into the lounge chair on the deck outside the bedroom I’d claimed as my own. I felt completely, bonelessly relaxed for about five minutes—and then one of the Noble underlings came around the house and stopped on the lawn at the edge of the deck.
“Ms. Noble,” he said. “Ezra wants to speak to you in his office.”
I studied the guy, who couldn’t have been much older than me, through slitted eyes. A prickle of irritation ran through me that my brother was summoning me via minion instead of making the short walk down to my room himself, but he had appearances to keep up around the house. Familial fondness didn’t seem to factor into that.
Nodding to the lackey, I stretched my legs, and smoothed the skirt of my dress as I stood up. It was part of the new wardrobe I’d been collecting for myself, simple styles that covered much more skin than I’d been allowed to under Clyde’s rule, a retro style that appealed to the part of me that enjoyed a little glamor.
I didn’t look like any of the other women who hung around the Noble mansion, and that was entirely by design. I expected all the men here to remember that I was as far from being a groupie as they were.
As I went to the sliding door to make my way into the house through my bedroom, my irritation at the summons gave way to a twist of apprehension in my gut.
Since returning to the Noble mansion, I’d gotten away with doing not much other than lounging and poring over all the reference materials and scientific reports to my heart’s content. There was something to be said for being able to pursue my interest in murderous strategies freely. I’d put my knowledge to use a couple of times, once in offering my opinion on evidence Ezra’s men had turned up at a scene of a skirmish and once suggesting possible methods for dealing with a weapons runner who’d become a thorn in my brother’s side, but both instances had been brief.
Otherwise, Ezra had given me a long stretch of leisure in which to recover from my truncated marriage. I appreciated it. But I’d known all along that it could only be a brief respite.
The Nobles hadn’t gotten where they were in the criminal underworld by letting valuable resources go unused.
On my way up the staircase, I crossed paths with Wylder, my younger nephew. He shot me a typical cocky grin with a tip of his head that was more teasing than deferential. “Hey, Auntie Anthea.”
I resisted the urge to catch him and give his auburn hair a good rumpling the way I might have before I’d been shipped off to Clyde, when he’d really been just a kid. He was seventeen now, and he was the new heir apparent. He might still exude bravado, especially when he had his little crew of friends around him, but I’d noticed the extra weight on his shoulders right away.
His father wouldn’t be going easy on him. Ezra’s frustration over Roland’s betrayal and disappearance was echoing all through this family. I couldn’t exactly tell my brother to lighten up on his younger son—that was as likely to make things worse as better—but hopefully I could provide a moderating influence with similar subtlety to my methods of murder.
Ezra had taken over Dad’s former office, of course. I’d already met him there several times before. Stepping inside was somehow both reassuring and unnerving.
It was a relief not to see our father sitting behind that broad desk. On the other hand, Ezra had kept so many of the furnishings the same that it was hard not to slip back through my memories to such lovely moments as the one when Dad had informed me of my impending marriage.
My brother was poised behind the desk in Dad’s usual position, but at least the gaze he leveled at me wasn’t as chilly as what the former man would have aimed at me.
“Thank you for coming right away, Anthea,” he said. Dad would definitely never have offered gratitude for what he’d felt were his basic dues.
“It wasn’t any problem,” I said, and willed myself to relax as I sank into one of the armchairs opposite the desk. “Why did you want to see me? Areyoudealing with some problem you figured I could help you with? You know I’m always happy to lend a hand where my skills and knowledge will be useful.”
Ezra’s lips curved with a tight smile that sent my nerves jangling all over again. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his eyes intent on me. “That’s what I like to hear. I do have a task for you—a much more involved one than I’ve asked you to take on before. But I can’t think of anyone who’d be half as good for it as you.”
If he thought the compliment would butter me up and have me chomping at the bit to go to work for him, he didn’t know me all that well, but I kept that thought to myself. I folded my hands on my lap.
“Sounds important,” I said. “Whatdoesit involve?”
“Well… Do you remember the Hell Kickers?”
My stomach clenched up. I kept my expression impassive, giving a slight nod. “I’d have to be an amnesiac not to. I spent a couple of weeks at the Rosanos’ place in Brooklyn every summer from when I was ten until I was sixteen.”
“Yes.” Ezra rubbed his jaw. “I always thought Dad was planning on deepening our alliance with them by having you make a connection with one of the sons. Would have been a lot more age-appropriate than that bastard Hoffman. I’m not sure what changed there. Maybe he thought the alliance was as solid as it could be and Hoffman’s connections were a more useful acquisition.”
“No doubt,” I said with a shrug. He couldn’t have any idea how many little jabs his words had sent into me.
There might have been times when I’d had similar imaginings myself—well, about “connecting” with one of the brothers who were heirs to the Hell Kickers empire, not about solidifying alliances for Dad. But the summer when I was sixteen, it’d been madeveryclear to me that as far as they were concerned, I’d never reach more than groupie status.
“And it seems he was wrong there,” Ezra went on. “We had a deal set to go down with their people a week ago—a large one. Only one of the men I sent made it back, injured and empty-handed, saying their side opened fire on us. When I’ve reached out, I’ve been rebuffed, talked to as if I screwedthemover. They’re pretending the skirmish was our fault to justify keeping both the goods and the money.”
I frowned. That didn’t sound like the Rosanos’ usual M.O. The younger generation might have been made of jerks, and the current boss of the Hell Kickers, Marcel Rosano, had quite the wandering eye—he’d married his third wife during the years I used to go out there. But they were usually pretty reliable when it came to their business dealings. That was why Dad had valued the alliance with them in the first place.