Page 105 of Devil's Iris
She’s safe now. But next time she might not be. I can’t leave it to chance. I’ll paint this entire goddamn city red if that’s what it takes to make every low-life scumbag understand that my wife is off-limits. Permanently.
“Pull every name,” I tell Sandro, already dialing the best hacker I know. “Street rats, old debts—start with the ones who hate me most. No one makes a move like that without someone backing them.”
Michael picks up on the second ring, and I turn away from Sandro. “I need CCTV footage from the Southern District courthouse parking lot,” I say without preamble. “Send me the feeds starting from two hours ago.”
He doesn’t waste time with questions. The urgency in myvoice tells him everything he needs to know. Questions can come later, after he delivers what I need.
After our call, I log into my laptop and check my own CCTV feeds—around my compound, the gates, and surrounding streets.
Someone had been watching my house, then trailed Leni to the courthouse. That’s the only plausible explanation, because her trip there wasn’t planned.Ididn't even know about it.
It doesn’t take long to find my culprit.
Four hours and a trail of favors, bribes, and threats later, I have a name:
Mikkel Verona.
My pulse drops to a steady, dangerous rhythm. Finally, I reach for that tumbler of scotch, gripping the glass tight as I take a controlled sip.
The same bastard who killed her father.
The same bastard who’s been in touch with Amelia recently.
“Track him,” I order Sandro. I’ve had someone watching him the past few days, so it shouldn’t be hard.
Sandro winches. “He ran. Bart lost him an hour ago—probably bolted the second he heard the hit failed.”
Of course he did. Cowards never stay around to finish what they started.
“Good,” I say, voice cold. “Then he’ll be easier to flush out. I want access to every camera, every alley, every burner phone he's ever touched. I want to know exactly what sewer he’s hiding in.”
Because the next time I see Mikkel Verona will be the last time he draws breath. But not quickly. Not cleanly. First, I’ll make sure he and everybody else in this godforsaken city understands what it means to put their hands on something of mine.
“What about the piece of shit who fired the shot?”
“The men are already taking him to the inn,” Sandro answers.
“Perfect.” He was just following orders, but he’s still going to pay. Before that, though— “Bring me Amelia.”
Sandro’s brows hike up, and he studies me with obvious concern. “Are you sure? You’re not in a good mood right now, and you might do?—”
The glass shatters in my hand before I realize I’ve squeezed too hard, spilling the rest of the scotch across my desk and laptop, the alcohol burning my palm where the shards slice into my skin. “Fucking bring her to me.”
“She’s still your wife’s mother,” Sandro says carefully, like he’s talking to a rabid dog. “No matter what, I don’t think she’d have had a hand in this. Take it easy with her, Romero.”
I give him a look that could strip paint, and he curses under his breath as he storms out to fetch her.
I’m well aware that as Leni’s mother there’s only so much I can do to the darned witch. That’s why she’s coming to my office instead of joining the shooter at the inn. I just want to talk. See how much she knows—if she knows anything at all.
The insistent bite in my palm cools the worst of my anger, so I leave the shards where they are for now, letting the pain ground me.
When Amelia walks into my office, her eyes go straight to the mess on my desk—broken glass, spilled liquor, the blood dripping from my clenched fist. Then she looks at me, and whatever she sees in my face makes her flinch.
“The shot today was meant to kill Leni,” I start coolly, and she flinches again.Good.“Want to guess who made the order? Your good friend Mikkel Verona.”
She blanches. “What–no, you must be mistaken, you must?—”
“Verona gave the order,” I repeat, harsher this time. “Iunderstand you’ve been in touch with him.” It’s not a question, but she rushes to answer anyway.
