Page 17 of Lady of Darkness
This wasn’t a flash, spur-of-the-moment kidnapping. It was a well thought-out plan, probably in the works since we killed Armin.
I now have no doubt they knew it was us all along.
Somehow, somewhere, we fucked up, and we exposed ourselves.
Luka meeting Gemma wasn’t a coincidence–he planned it as a diversion. He wanted to make Harlow believe he would hurt Gemma, so that we used our resources to protect her. Then, he planned to strike, taking Harlow when we were looking the other way.
I’m now fully convinced it was Luka who killed Brenda.
They’ve been after us for weeks, it seems. Tearing down the walls I so expertly put up.
Not good enough. I wasn’t good enough to figure it out.
They still got her.
Acadia was prepared to fight us, to take us on. Vengeance for killing their leader, or perhaps just for power. They were foolish for doing so–everyone knows not to fuck with us. But I suppose they snapped when we killed Armin, especially for seemingly no reason. I’d be pissed off, too.
Did they know she killed him? Likely not, unless she tells them.
Fuck, I hope she’s okay.
I refresh my server, scanning the long lines of text and numbers. I’ve been trying to hack into Acadia for a few weeks, and just recently made progress getting into their email system. The problem is, they hardly ever email; instead opting to text with burner phones they changed out every week. It was nearly impossible to hack those.
They’re smarter than I originally thought.
Every few years, someone attempts to fuck with us. Someone, somewhere–usually a newer order–tries to take us down.
One thousand years.
We have onethousandyears of history behind us.
One thousand years of winning the war.
It always fails, and we continue our reign as the oldest and most powerful crime syndicate in the world. Most of that power resides in respect. Respect for our order, for what we do, forwhowe are.
I can’t wait to show Acadia who they’re fucking around with, because I plan to make it hurt for every single one of them.
An email comes through their server, located in their deleted files. I download it before they can scrub it, which they do. They read emails, and then they delete them permanently seconds later. Grabbing the file, I open it up and smile when I realize what it is. A one-way plane ticket for Luka Jovovic, and his wife, Sofia Jovovic. London to Podgorica, Montenegro’s capital. Though I know they’re probably headed to nearby Cetinje, the historical, cultural center of the capital, and the home base for Acadia.
Me: Got them. 23:55 Heathrow to Podgorica.
Gideon and Sterling have already pre-empted their moves, and they’re on their way to Montenegro in our private plane. I stayed back in Blackwell with Alaric, who is keeping watch over the cameras in the various houses in case Acadia attempts any more shit. I upped the security for all of us, which included activating the trackers we all have inserted just under the skin in our arms. Ifanyof us move past the boundaries I have set up–accounting for the flight Gideon and Sterling are currently on–I’ll know immediately. We’ve had them for years, but tonight is the first time we feel the need to use them.
We’d have to put the tracker in Harlow once we got her back.
I was sure as fuck never going to let something like this happen again.
Alaric: I booked us on the 05:40 to Podgorica.
Me: That’s nearly seven hours away.
Alaric: We could take the other jet, but two private jets coming into Podgorica airspace might alert them that we’re on our way. I’m sure the air traffic controllers have already been paid off–if not before, then definitely after tonight. They know they hit a vein by taking her, and they know we’re coming after her.
Alaric and I don’t always agree, but he does usually offer a differing perspective, and right now, I know he’s right. In fact, I have a new idea.
Me: Sterling, where are you guys?
Sterling: Somewhere over Italy.
