LOGINThe warehouse sat on the edge of a derelict pier, a rusted skeleton of corrugated iron and broken promises. It was one of Bane Valak’s smaller operations. More of a transition point for high-end narcotics and clean weapons and that was exactly why I’d chosen it. You don't start a war by swinging at the king’s head. No, you start by cutting off his fingers, one by one, until he can no longer hold his sword. The air was thick with the smell of stagnant saltwater and my men moved like shadows through the gloom, killing the enemy, their mission the only thing on their minds. We hadn't come for the cargo. We had come to send a signal. I stepped over the body of a guard whose throat had been opened with surgical precision. He’d died with a look of pure shock on his face. Poor thing should have picked a better side. "Clear!" One of my soldiers shouted from the back of the bay. I holstered my weapon and walked toward the center of the warehouse. The floor was slick
The air in Sicily was too sweet. It tasted of citrus and I inhaled it deeply while my mind ran in different directions. I sat in the back of the black sedan as it wound through the mountain passes, the folded photograph of Amaya Vancouver neatly in my breast pocket.Her father, Victor Vancouver, unfortunately for her was a pathetic creature. A man who had once commanded legions, now reduced to selling his daughter’s life in a damp basement. He talked about "currency" and "legacy," but all I saw was a coward trying to hide behind my shadow while I handled the dirty work he was too afraid to."He’s desperate,Don Roman," my driver, Elias, said, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. Elias had been with me since before the exile. He was the only one who knew where the bodies were buried—mostly because he’d helped dig the holes. He was also the only person that still referred to me as a DON even if I no longer officially held that position.Regardless, I was still a feared man."A de
The safehouse felt smaller now that he was here. Even the walls that was nothing but damp concrete, seemed to sweat under the pressure of his presence. He was just so dominating.Roman didn't sit even when I offered him a seat; He didn't pace either. He simply stood by the narrow, barred window, watching me. He looked like a statue carved from volcanic rock.I watched him from across the table, while my fingers nervously drummed an uneven rhythm against the wood. I had spent my life around dangerous men. I had eaten with them, did business with them, and buried them. But Roman was a different breed. If Bane Valak was a shark; Roman was the deep water itself."You’ve been staring at me for twenty minutes, Roman," I said, my voice sounding thin even to my own ears. "I’m certain I have not annoyed you enough for you to want to kill me."Roman smiled. "I’m not looking to kill you, Don Victor. I just can’t believe you’ve been reduced this low in ranking?" He finally sat, his eyes
I sat behind my large desk in Sicily and stared at the grainy, long-lens photograph spread across the wooden table. In all my life, I have never felt more shocked, insulted and infuriated. In the photo, the sun was setting over a private stretch of white sand. A woman stood there, her jet black hair unmistakable even from a distance. She wasn't a corpse in a ditch. She wasn't charred remains in the ruins of Raul’s estate. My daughter, Amaya Vancouver. She was alive. And she was smiling at Bane Valak. "I thought she was dead," I said quietly, my voice a jagged rasp in the quiet room. "I mourned her. I burned a goddamn empty casket for her so the papers would stop hounding me, and all this time, she’s been playing house with this bastard?" Martin, my captain a man whose loyalty was more about lack of options than actual devotion shifted uncomfortably in the shadows. "The intel is solid, Don Victor. He’s been keeping her in the East wing of the Rome estate for months. Thes
The Tyrrhenian Sea was a dark, silent, beauty under the moon. It had a healing effect that nothing could ever compare with. I suppose hat was why I’d bought this place. No city noise, no sirens, no filtered reports from captains or underlings. Just the rhythmic crush of salt water against white sand. I stood on the glass-walled deck, a glass of vintage scotch in my hand. Behind me, in the open-concept living area, the soft, melancholic notes of a piano drifted through the air. Amaya was playing a tune. I recognized it from somewhere but I couldn’t place it. I enjoyed the piece all the same. She’d been different since we arrived. The irritated, annoyed young woman had been softened up by a quiet, almost ethereal curiosity. She spent hours walking the shoreline, letting the hem of her white dress get ruined by the brine, looking at the horizon. I heard the piano stop. A moment later, the sliding glass door hissed open. "The wind is changing," she said. Her voice was
I had a spring in my step as I made my way down the hallway that led to Bane’s office. Usually there was a crushing weight of dread that usually accompanied my walk there but today, that dread had shifted. For the first time, I was happy? Could you believe that? Me? Amaya Vancouver? Glorified prisoner of the Valak head, happy to see Bane Valak of all people? Who would have seen that coming? I pushed open the heavy oak doors without waiting for a guard’s permission. I don’t think they were even willing to deal with anymore of my shenanigans. Bane was seated behind his desk, the glow of the desk lamp casting sharp, geometric shadows across his face. He didn't look up as I entered. He was signing papers with a fountain pen, the scratching of the nib the only sound in the room. When he did look up he let out a small, exhausted sigh. Like a tired parent coming face to face with their hyperactive toddler. "I don't recall inviting you back, Amaya," he said, his voice as







