Page 86 of The Devil's Thorn
Kellan watches me carefully. He knows me too well to ask for specifics. He just nods once and says, “Then we’ll keep eyes open.”
Ash smirks. “As always.”
I sip the drink, the burn sliding down slow and sweet.
“Romano’s just the beginning,” I murmur. “He thinks he’s watching me from above. But you know what people never do when they’re in power?”
“What’s that?” Ash asks.
“Look up.”
The dagger presses tighter against my thigh as I move. Not a threat. A reminder. If Rafael wants to test me, he better be ready tolose.
Because I’m done pretending to play his game. I’m going to show him what it looks like whenIset the rules.
I down the drink in one swallow. It scorches its way down my throat, but it’s not enough to burn away the irritation crawling beneath my skin.
The glass hits the counter with a quiet, decisive clink.
“Let’s go.”
Kellan stands without a word, adjusting his cufflinks. Ash stretches once, rolls his neck, and follows. No questions. No protests.
They know when I’ve made up my mind. And tonight, my mind is a blade.
The hallway outside my penthouse is silent, the polished floor catching glints of light as our steps echo down to theelevator. My heels hit the marble in perfect rhythm. Me, in front. Kellan and Ash behind me—silent shadows in tailored suits.
As the elevator doors slide open, I feel the hum of it begin.
The shift. The stillness before chaos.
My reflection stares back at me in the mirrored walls—dark dress, darker eyes, and that look on my face that used to scare my instructors.
Controlled. Cold.Focused.
No one would guess what I’m carrying under the fabric. No one would dare.
We descend into the garage. Kellan’s black Maserati sits alone in the far corner, sleek and low and growling even when it’s turned off. The kind of car that announces power without screaming it.
I slide into the back seat without a word. Ash takes the passenger side, already syncing the comms into his earpiece. Kellan climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. The growl fills the silence like a warning.
The moment the tires leave the garage, I let the city swallow us whole.
“Do we know how many factions are expected tonight?” I ask, eyes fixed on the passing skyline.
Kellan’s voice is smooth. Controlled.
“Bratva, obviously. Italians, Albanians, and some whispers about scattered Balkan syndicates wanting a seat at the table.”
“Security?”
“Heavy. Armed men posted throughout the estate. Most of them won’t be allowed into the actual gathering, but they’ll be close enough to start a war if someone sneezes wrong.”
Ash adds, “We’ve got floorplans from a recon two years ago. Doubt it’s changed much—Calderone’s the type who doesn’t like renovations.”
“I want eyes on exits. Cameras. Dead zones.”
“Already mapped,” Ash says. “And I’ll be in your ear the whole time.”
