Page 101 of Precious Legacy

He seems on edge, which is unusual for Haldon since he’s always so calm. He’s the friend we turn to when we want the mood lightened, but his features are etched in worry.

“You okay?” I ask.

He nods, but it’s not as convincing as he might think. Before I can ask more, the door to his office bursts open, the wood slamming against the wall as an angry-looking Varo storms inside.

He makes a beeline for the liquor cart, pouring out a heavy glass of whiskey. The silence that fills the room is like a ticking time bomb; one wrong move and we’re all bound to go up in flames.

Haldon and I keep quiet as we watch our friend’s rage simmer. Varo is such a moody bastard that we can get away with teasing him about it most of the time, but now decidedlyisn’tthe time. His dark brows are creased together, his green eyes hardened as he throws back the entire contents of his glass. Only when he’s finished does he close his eyes and take a deep breath.

I glance at Haldon, and he’s wearing the same curious expression as me. When I avert my gaze back to Varo, I notice the red mark surrounding his eye. “What happened?”

“He’s a fucking traitor!” Varo snaps, turning around and pouring another measure of whiskey into his glass.

I have an idea of who he’s referring to, but with the way he’s acting, I need to tread carefully. I pace towards him, taking the glass out of his hand before he gets wasted. This isn’t like him at all, and we need to know what’s got him so wound up.

“Explain,” I demand.

Varo darts his gaze between me and Haldon, his jaw grinding with irritation. “It’s Kyrovsky.”

“What is?” I ask. He can’t be talking about the mole, because not only was my uncle very clear on that, it also doesn’t explain the black eye.

“Here,” Haldon says, appearing beside me with a glass of ice.

Varo takes it, pressing it against the side of his face where the bruising will no doubt appear soon enough. For a tense few seconds, he doesn’t say anything. His breaths are still erratic, like he’s continuously battling the rage inside. We have no choice but to give him a minute to calm down before we can get to the bottom of whatever has happened.

We all move to the couches and wait patiently for Varo to start talking. I hand him the glass of whiskey still in my possession, and he takes a careful sip before reclining into the leather.

“I got into a fight with Milo,” he announces, still clutching the other glass to his face.

I nod because I kind of expected that much. I’ve never seen anyone get under Varo’s skin quite like Milo does.

“What was it about?” Haldon asks.

Varo groans, rubbing his hand over his face and wincing slightly. “I confronted him about Prescott.”

“And?” I push for more details because the vagueness is starting to irritate me. Varo is never this closed-off about shit, but I know the complicated situation he’s found himself in. I don’t know how deep they’ve gotten themselves into, but I do know that fighting the attraction was always going to end badly.

“He was right…Milo’s a cop.”

THIRTY-NINE

Mosaique is quickly becoming my favorite nightclub. As much as I love the free drinks that come with being best friends with the Gambinos, the atmosphere here is what really sucks you in. The music is a cross between heavy metal and carnival, matching the interior and general theme of the place. Every now and then, the DJ throws in a random track to get the crowd hyped—like right now, he’s playing a remix of Britney Spears. Servers waltz around the club, scantily clad in black coattails and heels, a top hat finishing the ensemble perfectly. Every member of staff that’s walked past me wears eyeliner, smudged perfectly to give off a seductive vibe, and ruby red lips that make them look irresistible, and ringmaster outfits that leave little to the imagination.

The bar is teeming with clearly underaged patrons, but I sense the Russians don’t give a shit when it comes to the law, because nobody is getting ID’d or kicked out. Everyone is getting served quickly, so we don’t have to wait too long before Haven and I are ordering some crazy colored cocktails that looks like they’ll give us hangovers from one sip.

We’re gradually making our way through the drinks menu, apparently, because Haven has already lined up what we’re drinking next. We’ve been here for a few hours, and between the dancing and drinking, we’re working up a sweat. It feels good to let off steam after a long week. It’s been a hell of one.

“Here!” Haven sings, passing me a bright orange drink. It smells weirdly like sunshine and oranges with a minty tone that seems to clear my airways with one sniff. I eye it up dubiously, glancing back at my best friend, but she’s already sipping hers and humming.

“Haven, what is this?”

“Just shut up and drink it!” She shoves the straw into my mouth, giving me no room for argument.

I do as I’m told, taking a long sip and letting the orange and menthol burn my tongue. I wince for a moment, but then another taste invades my senses.Lavender?No, it’s sweeter. Whatever it is, it hides the alcohol, and I’m certain this’ll be the drink that has me on the floor. Between these and the shots we’ve been throwing back, it’s only a matter of a time, but I know I need this. I need to get out of my head and try to have some fun.

Since rescuing Prescott from Roman’s wrath, he’s been MIA. I don’t expect him to be launching into full training mode anytime soon given his current lack of sight, but every time I step through the doors to the academy, a strange feeling washes over me, like a sense of foreshadowing is trying to make itself known.

Haven says I’m being stupid, which is why she suggested we cut loose tonight. While I don’t hate her for bringing me here, I’m constantly checking my surroundings, which is enough to piss her off. It’s probably the reason she’s been plying me with so much alcohol—to stop me being such a killjoy.

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