Page 135 of Nocturne

His words strike a chord—justice. It’s what I sought when Virginia West first hired me, what I still seek despite knowing the full, terrible truth about Elizabeth’s murder. About my unwilling role in it.

“Cohen is protected,” Lena points out. “He has police, politicians, judges in his pocket.”

“Which is why conventional methods won’t work,” Konstantin agrees. “But unconventional ones?” His smile reveals the barest hint of fang. “That’s where our unique abilities come into play. He doesn’t know I’m a vampire. He doesn’t know we even exist.”

Abe pushes away from the mantelpiece, expression thoughtful. “Ezra might be interested in such a venture. Adonis and Valtu too, if they ever return from their gallivanting.”

I glance at Lena, finding her already watching me, something speculative in her gaze. Taking down Cohen would provide closure, especially for her. It would also, I realize, align perfectly with Abe’s suggestion of our new professional direction.

“We’d need details,” I say finally, neither accepting nor rejecting the proposition. “Specifics. Proof that this isn’t another trap.”

“Of course,” Konstantin agrees readily. “I have extensive documentation on Cohen’s operations. Financial records, blackmail material, evidence of judicial tampering. Enough to destroy him a dozen times over, if placed in the right hands. Next stop, Alcatraz.”

“And what do you get out of this?” Lena asks.

Konstantin considers her question with apparent seriousness. “A clean slate. A city free of Cohen’s influence. And perhaps…allies, where once I had only employers.”

The offer hangs in the air between us, unexpected yet strangely fitting. The detective in me recognizes the strategic value of what he proposes. The vampire in me senses bothopportunity and danger, a challenge worthy of my newly integrated nature.

Lena steps closer to me, her shoulder brushing mine in silent communion. “We’ll need time to discuss this,” she tells Konstantin. “Privately.”

“Of course.” He withdraws a card from his jacket pocket, placing it on the coffee table. “My direct line. Available day or night.” He turns to leave, then pauses, looking back at us. “Cohen fears what happened to the Ivanovs, though he doesn’t understand it. Fears it might happen to him next. He’s right to be afraid.” His strange eyes meet mine directly. “We could make that fear a reality.”

With that, he nods to Abe and walks out, steps fading as he returns to the front door. We remain silent until we hear it close behind him, the implicit threat and promise of his visit lingering in the air.

“Well,” Abe says finally, “that was unexpected.”

Lena moves to the windows, watching as Konstantin’s sleek black car pulls away from the house. “Do you think he’s telling the truth? About wanting to take down Cohen?”

“Partially,” Abe replies thoughtfully. “With the Ivanovs gone, he needs new alliances. This is as much about securing his position as it is about justice.”

“But he’s right about Cohen,” I say, joining Lena at the window. “As long as he’s in power, he’s a threat—to the city, to us, to everyone who knows too much about what happened to Elizabeth Short. He’s all that’s wrong with this place.”

“So, we’re considering this?” Lena asks, turning to face me. There’s no judgment in her expression, just genuine inquiry. “Partnering with Konstantin? Going after Cohen?”

I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. Three months ago, I might have rejected the idea outright, clinging to some abstract notion of legal justice. But I’vechanged. The world has changed. And sometimes justice requires methods beyond what human law can provide.

“I think,” I say carefully, “that if anyone deserves to face consequences for their part in the fall of Los Angeles, it’s Cohen.” I pause, considering my next words. “And I think we’re uniquely qualified to ensure those consequences find him.”

A slow smile spreads across Lena’s face—not her stage smile, practiced and perfect, but something wilder, more primal. The smile of a predator scenting prey. “Vampire justice,” she says, the words both question and statement.

“Something like that,” I agree, feeling an answering smile form on my own lips.

Abe watches us with pride in his bright eyes. “I’ll contact Ezra in San Francisco. Send word to Adonis and Valtu in Greece. If we’re doing this, we do it properly. Together.”

The future stretches before us, uncertain but full of possibility. A new home in Silver Lake. A new purpose in vampire society. A new target in Mickey Cohen. And through it all, the unshakable certainty that whatever comes next, we’ll face it as we’ve faced everything since that first night at The Emerald Room.

As one.

EPILOGUE

LENA

20 years later

Golden Gate Park vanishes into the fog, a patchwork dreamscape of visible and invisible. Pathways appear then disappear, the massive trees fading into ghostly silhouettes, their uppermost branches consumed by the rolling mist. It’s a perfect San Francisco summer day for vampires—fifty-five degrees and foggy in July.

“Higher, Mommy, higher!” Olivia demands, her chubby three-year-old legs pumping as I push her on the swing. Her laughter cuts through the fog, bright and clear as a bell.

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