“Someone in Crius’s organization messed with the wrong girl. Her father was connected to the Irish mob, and they weren’t pleased.”
“I see.”
“The girl’s father wanted to strike back at Crius by killing his son and had someone cut the brakes of his car. Unfortunately for him, Viktor survived.”
“That’s when Viktor decided to teach the mob a lesson?” I ask.
“Viktor lost someone important in that car crash. After the accident, the girl’s father sent an assassin after him, who failed. He survived long enough to spill the name of his client. Viktor hunted down the man who tampered with his car, slit his throat with a scalpel, and watched him bleed out.”
“Understandable, but that still doesn’t explain why he had to go to Seacroft.”
Thor’s expression dulls. “That prison is our way of stopping the mass destruction of families. With the four leaders mediating over large-scale disputes, matters get settled without major bloodshed. Anyone tempted to break the truce for a killing spree gets wiped out to keep the peace.”
“Does that justice also apply if the person who caused the dispute is a member of the Bestlasson family?”
His abrupt glance toward the windscreen tells me that Odin has committed someone in the fold to Seacroft. Perhaps it was a brother or another cousin.
My mind wanders to Phoenix, and how she’s faring with Odin. I knew Veer Bestlasson was interested in her, but she hadn’t once divulged that they were more than anything but friends.
Acid roils in my gut at the thought of that boy touching what’s mine. I exhale a sharp breath through my nostrils. He will not marry Phoenix. Even if I have to assassinate everyone with the last name Bestlasson.
The van stops in a narrow road of detached stone cottages, each standing twenty feet apart and surrounded by hedges.
All the better to muffle the sounds of screaming.
I raise my gun and reach for the door handle. “Let’s go.”
Thor grabs my shoulder, a gun already in his hand. “Wait.”
The driver and his companion exit the van and walk down the pathway leading to the cottage’s front door. My pulse thrums a rapid beat as we wait, and my muscles tense for action.
Moments later, one of them emerges from behind the hedge and beckons at us to enter.
Thor turns off the engine, and we both step out.
The cottage has a surprisingly cozy interior with a living room of stone walls, cream-colored settees and a fire crackling in a hearth. The men walk around the sofas and stare at something on the floor and out of my line of sight.
“Do you know her?”
A fist of alarm strikes at my solar plexus, and I stride forward. “Who?”
As I round the sofa, I find Mother lying on a blood-soaked rug. Red liquid flows from a gash in her throat that at first glance looks like a velvet ribbon.
All the color has leached from her features, and she gazes up at me through bleary eyes. Crius or one of his men has arranged her on this rug for me to find. It’s revenge for either failing or sabotaging the mission.
Every molecule of oxygen escapes my lungs.
The edges of my vision turn white.
It takes every ounce of self-control to stop myself from imploding with a mix of rage and grief. I need to hold it together for Mother.
“Call an ambulance,” I snarl.
“We already did,” replies one of the men at the doorway.
I drop to my knees beside her, and cringe as absorbent granules crunch beneath my bones. They did this on purpose to mirror what I did to the man who interrupted Phoenix and me in the playroom.
My throat thickens as I raise Mother’s upper body to slow the flow of blood. “What happened?”