“Does Uncle Cillian know about this?” Phoenix has the audacity to ask. He sees right through me.
I grit my teeth. “He’ll know soon enough.”
“Jesus, Kian!”
I smile again. “Hey, kid,” I say, “in case this thing goes south, I want you to know… you did good in your time here. You’re a credit to your father. And to me.”
“Kian, I swear to God, if you fucking—"
His voice dies at once as I cut the line. I stand still for a moment, savoring the night air. Then I walk back over to my men. My phone rings again as I cross the distance, but I ignore the vibration this time. I don’t need any more distractions.
“They’re coming,” Collin informs me when I approach.
I check my watch. “They’re early.”
I feel strangely calm, given the risk I’m taking in agreeing to this at all. I’ve already given orders to all my men to stop the attacks on the Greek haunts. None of my soldiers protested, but I could see the disappointment in their faces.
It doesn’t make sense to them. Why quit when we’re ahead? Sure, we’d lost Renata Lombardi, but we have the Greeks pushed to a corner. Even if they banded together with the Marianis and the scattered Lombardi loyalists, victory is all but guaranteed.
But they don’t see what I see. They don’t feel what I feel. For the first time in my life, I feel torn.
I feel…
And then it hits me.
Maybe one day, you’ll understand. That’s what I told Phoenix. That’s what Cillian told me all those years ago when he was forced to choose between protecting Saoirse or loyalty to the Clan.
And what I’m feeling now is what he was feeling then. He chose Saoirse. When I was younger, a part of me had always resented him for it.
But I get it now. I finally understand.
“Boss! They’re here.”
I spot the black jeep pulling up outside the empty lot next to the basketball court. With a nod of my head, my men and I move in.
The broken concrete is covered in a fine layer of sand. Every step, every puff of breeze sends it spiraling away into the shadows beyond the lot.
The back door of the jeep opens. Rokiades steps out in a gleaming grey suit. He’s flanked by four men, two on either side, and I can tell from the bulk of his chest that he’s wearing a bulletproof vest.
“I’m flattered you dressed up for me,” I call ahead. “Not necessary, though. I’m a cheap date.”
Rokiades spits on the earth but says nothing. All his men fan out around him, forming a loose V that’s designed to enclose around him if gunfire breaks out.
The fucker’s nervous. That’s good.
I move forward a little. My men shadow me. “Where’s Renata?”
“Eager to see her, are you?” he asks, his tone menacing.
“Are you a man of your word, Rokiades?” I ask loudly. “Because if not, I can’t see how you can convince your own men to follow you, let alone the Italians.”
His expression falls for only a moment before he tries to rearrange his features. “Don’t worry,” he scoffs, matching my mocking tone. “I have your precious little whore. Bring her out.”
A figure is wrestled from within the jeep. The woman is wearing sweats and a dark hoodie pulled over her head so that her face is completely hidden from view. Two men have her restrained on either side, but she still struggles furiously, thrashing and screaming.
I grit my teeth in fury. If I were the kind of man who didn’t pay attention, I might have fallen for the ruse. But I have been paying attention. And when it comes to Renata, despite how little time has passed since we crash-landed in each other’s lives again… I know her.
I know her body. I know her mannerisms. I know her screams.