After weeks of digging, traveling, and hunting, I finally have my hands on someone who might actually be able to give me what I need to protect our fis and our territory.

  I motion with the bloody instrument over my shoulder toward his friends. “Do you know why I killed them and not you?”

  The man groans and slowly lifts his head, a trickle of blood pouring out of his mouth. “Because you're every bit the sadistic fuck everyone says you are.”

  I bark out a laugh and pat him on the back of the head. “Cute, and yes, I am. But there's another reason you're still breathing while your friends are not.”

  Examining the screwdriver under the harsh overhead florescent lights, the blood shimmers. I’ve never felt more at ease than with an enemy’s blood on my hands, and even though lately, Tarek’s behavior has added unusual stress, a grin still draws across my lips at the familiar sight.

  I point it at the man I’ve chosen for this auspicious role. “Not necessarily my weapon of choice, but I'm always ready to use whatever's within reach.” I squat in front of him and roll the handle of the Phillips-head between my palms. “I chose you because you seemed smart. You seemed like the one who would understand the situation and be most willing to do what needs to be done to save your own life.”

  The man releases a snort-laugh that makes him wince—no doubt the broken ribs I've already given him a harsh reminder not to do that again. “You're not going to let me live.”

  I let a cold grin spread across my face. “See”—I tap the side of the screwdriver against his head—“smart.” Pushing to my feet, I step back, twirling the make-shift weapon in my fingers. “You're right. I won't. I can't after what you and your boss have done, but what I can do is offer you a release from this agony, or”—I spread out my hands—“I can search the warehouse for other fun things we can play with because the screwdriver just isn't cutting it.”

  In one swift motion, I jab into his opposite thigh. He jerks and cries out a second time, a litany of curses falling from his lips.

  “What is it you had hoped to achieve here?” I motion behind me to the pile of crates. “Did you think we wouldn't find out what you were doing? That we wouldn't ensure that it stopped? Did you think the Morinas would just let you walk all over us and wave happily from the sidelines, wishing you luck in your endeavors?”

  The man coughs up blood and spits it to the side. “Of course not.” He locks hard black eyes with mine. “But we thought we were ready for you and could stand against anything Tarek could throw at us.”

  I grin at him and raise my eyebrows. “Bit of miscalculation on your part, isn't it?”

  Chuckling, I wander back through the bodies on the floor. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven men guarding one warehouse, and I managed to take out all of them and get you in this position without even breaking a sweat. Giant miscalculation on your part, so I think it's time for you to tell me what I need to know.” I spin back to face him. “Unless you want to keep playing. “Which”—I twirl the screwdriver in my hand again—“I'm more than happy to do.”

  It gives me a much-needed break from being in that house, the dark cloud that always seems to hover over it, the one that has only gotten heavier over the years and especially over the last few months.

  The information about what the Gashis were doing in our territory that brought me here tonight couldn’t have come in at a better time for my sanity. Getting my hands dirty helps keep my mind from wandering to what’s been happening.

  Tarek’s increasing brutality and secrecy, including what’s going on with his mysterious new bride-to-be.

  Even the blood on my hands and the two weeks that have passed doing Tarek’s dirty work can’t shake the surprise of him announcing she was coming or his refusal to explain why. Nor can I forget that look in her green eyes, the almost fear when he leaned in and whispered to her while her red hair darkened in the rain. Another woman throwing herself at Tarek, perhaps underestimating what he’s capable of.

  But something is going on between her father and Tarek, something he doesn’t want me to know, and his keeping me in the dark makes my job even harder. This type of work usually gives me exactly the outlet I need. A way to work out the anger and frustration, to use my skill set to ensure this family remains on top, but that’s getting harder and harder.

  Still, it’s what I have to do because it’s my job. It’s my role as his kryetar and as his brother.

  I wander over to the workbench at the side of the warehouse where I originally found the screwdriver and examine the haphazard contents strewn across it. “Look here…” I grab a pair of bolt cutters and hold them up. “This—this is one of my absolute favorite toys. You would be amazed at what you can cut off with one of these things.”

  My victim’s face pales even more, the blood still remaining in his body draining away as my words register. “I can't tell you because I don't know.”

  “I don't believe that. Saban trusts you more than he trusts anyone else. You’re an integral piece of the Gashi organization. Don't tell me he wouldn't keep you in the loop about when his next shipment is coming in or inform you who his supplier is.”

  The man snarls at me, the remaining energy he has only coming from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, struggling desperately to keep him alive. “All I know is what happens here at the warehouse. The inventory comes in and I send it out when I'm supposed to. That's it. Anything else is above my paygrade.”

  “Again, I'm in a position where I don't believe you.” I make my way back over to him slowly, opening and closing the bolt cutters. “Which means…we’ve come to an impasse.”

  I shrug slightly and stop in front of him.

  “That's okay because I always get what I want eventually. No matter how hard it might be. Or how painful for anyone else…”

  I’ll get my answers from him, and I’ll get my answers about what Tarek is keeping from me.

  3

  REA

  Footsteps in the hall, barely audible with the plush carpet absorbing them, tense my entire body. I hold my breath until my lungs burn, waiting for the knob to turn. It rattles slightly, and the sound vibrates in my chest. I shift back against the headboard, dragging up the covers like a shield against whatever or whoever is coming through that door.

  Tarek said he would be gone for a few days, but I wouldn't put it past that man to come back early just to torture me more. To let me get a false sense of security for a few days just to rip it away by showing up unexpectedly while my guard is down.

  All I want is to bury myself under the covers farther, but I can't close my eyes without reliving the horrors that have already occurred.

  All I can do is wait…

  The door swings open, and the familiar large frame and dark head of hair steps into the dimly lit room, and strong, wide shoulders tense, as if he’s in a bad mood.

  That’s going to make this so much worse, so much harder.

  Closing my eyes and pretending this isn’t happening seems like a good idea, but something about the way he walks, the way he examines me on the bed, makes something flutter deep in my gut. And it isn't fear.

  This isn't Tarek.

  It’s Konstandin.

  It's there, just below the surface of his gaze. That tiny hint of something different I saw the day I arrived and haven't seen since.

  He stops at the end of the bed and assesses me, his hard, dark eyes sweeping over my body covered in the comforter and zeroing in on my face with a frown. “Why are you awake?”

  Why are you coming in if you thought I’d be asleep?

  It’s what I want to ask, but I don’t dare. Not when I know the reputation this man holds proudly. Konstandin is an attack dog, an assassin, a killer who works at the whim of his brother. It didn’t click initially when I arrived. I was too distracted by what awaited with Tarek to consider what his brother was capable of. But the Morina brothers didn’t get to where they are without the kind of violence most people can’t even fathom.

  Swallowing thickly, the truth sits on the tip of my tongue, and I almost bite it back. But something about the way he’s looking at me makes it tumble from my lips against my own better judgment. “I don't sleep anymore.”

  One of his dark brows rises slowly, like my answer is the last thing he expected to hear. “How come?”

  I focus on the white bedspread, so pure that covers something so tainted, then lock eyes with him, trying to convey the truth without having to say the words. Instead, I squirm under the intensity there, like he’s unraveling everything inside me and setting the truth free. I can’t handle the force of it, and I relent.

  “Because of what Tarek does when he comes.”

  It's only there for a split second—so brief, I could almost miss it. I probably would have if I hadn't been looking for it, searching for some sort of confirmation of the feeling I’ve had since I first saw him that day.

  But it was there.

  The tiniest flinch.

  A wince.

  A reaction to what I said his brother does.

  And it sends a little flutter of hope through my chest, one I probably shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t allow myself. Because hope isn’t what keeps people going in these situations. It’s acceptance. It’s finding a way to go on while living in a world designed to tear you apart and shatter your will.

  Konstandin shifts uneasily, almost as if he can feel the same thing I do. A tension between unspoken words. “Well, he's gone now. You have a temporary reprieve.”

  “Temporary” being the key word.

  Tarek will return, and with him…my living nightmare. But his brother is here now, not wherever Tarek is.

  “Where have you been? I thought he said you were in charge of making sure I didn't get into any trouble.”

  He raises that dark eyebrow at me again—a hint of something I might even mistake as humor dancing in his dark eyes, made even darker by the room. “You're not going to cause any trouble.” He squares his shoulders, making himself appear even larger as he looms over me. “Not when you know what it means if you do.”

  His reproach sends me shrinking back against the headboard again because he's right. It's what has kept me compliant this long—what Tarek would do to me and the threats Father made against Mother. What I know will happen to her if I don't make my fiancé happy.

  Konstandin raises a hand and runs it through his hair. Dark-red splotches across his shirt sleeve, just barely visible in the lighting, catch my attention.

  I shift forward slightly. “Oh, my God, are you bleeding?”

  He freezes and looks at me, then glances at his arm and lowers it. “No. It's never my blood.”

  His words send the same icy chill through my veins that his brother’s do. There may be something different about Konstandin, but he is every bit as dangerous as Tarek. Maybe even more so.

  Because these tiny flickers, these infinitesimal hints that there might be something behind all the brutality, are likely all just part of a game to get me to do or say something Tarek can use against me.

  It’s brilliant, really. Use his brother as an olive branch of sorts, someone who might offer some glimmer of potential…something more than the terrors that happen in these walls, only to have him tell my tormentor every word I say and every move I make.

  Konstandin's gaze roams over me, taking in everything exposed above the comforter. His jaw tenses, and a muscle there tics. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides, tension and anger controlling his body, making it seem even larger, harder, more oppressive. “Don't ever ask questions like that of my brother. I just gave you a pass, but you won't get another one from me. And you won't get any from him.”

  There it is.

  The warning is clear. I'm here for one reason only. And if I try to involve myself in anything else, ask any questions about their business, things will get worse for me.

  Even though it feels like that's not possible, it definitely is.

  These men are notorious for their brutality and for torturing their enemies. Decimating anyone who stands in their way or dares to question them.

  Being engaged to Tarek won’t earn me any quarter from that.

  His threat soundly delivered, Konstandin turns his back on me and stalks to the door without a glance over his shoulder, letting it slam behind him with a finality that seals my fate.

  4

  KONSTANDIN

  SIX WEEKS AFTER ARRIVAL

  I stare into the bottom of my empty drink glass, but no matter how long I keep my focus there, it doesn't miraculously refill itself, nor do the three—or maybe it’s four—Scotches I've already drank do anything to quell the throbbing headache between my eyes as I listen to Ferid rambling on about the current situation with the Gashis in Chicago.

  Squeezing the bridge of my nose, I let my eyes drift closed. “Just stop.”

  “They shot up…” he trails off. “Sir?”

  I wait a few seconds and slowly open my eyes to find his brow furrowed.

  He shifts restlessly on his feet in front of the desk. “Is, um, everything all right?”

  Not even fucking close.

  I wave a hand at him. “I know what you're telling me. Everything's going to shit.”

  It isn’t anything I don’t already know. I’ve been fighting the Gashis’ encroachment for months while Tarek disappears for days or weeks at a time. The fis that was once our ally has become our enemy. Our fathers worked together to secure Albania all those years ago, to remove the Sylas and anyone else who stood in our way, and both the Morinas and Gashis reaped the rewards. Rewards that followed us to the States and allowed us to set up shop here and bring in even more profits.

  Yet, it doesn’t seem to be enough for the Gashis. Any alliance we had has long since disintegrated.

  Ferid recoils slightly and clears his throat. “Um, not exactly. But the Gashis are definitely stepping up their game, probing at our borders to see how far they can extend before we fully retaliate.”

  Fully retaliate.

  That would mean wiping out the family that controls Chicago and the entire surrounding area. It would mean disaster for us, given everything going on with Tarek and whatever he’s doing back in Albania. We can’t have our focus split right now, and stepping up to take over the void removing the Gashis would create would be spreading ourselves too thin.

  I lean back in the leather chair in Tarek’s office above the bakery and sigh. “We can't let them take a fucking inch.”

  He offers me a hard smile. “I know, sir. But…”

  “But what?”

  His furtive glance out the open door displays his unease. “But your brother. He's…”

  “He's what?”

  “Does he seem a little…different to you?”

  Krishti.

  If even Ferid has noticed, it definitely isn't a good sign. I thought maybe I was overreacting, that I was seeing things that weren't there because of how close we are, that I was making it out to be a bigger problem than it actually is. But it seems things have gone too far not to be noticed. Which means it's time to do a little damage control.

  I fly from the chair and around the desk before Ferid can react, slamming him back against the wall, my hand at the base of his throat. He struggles slightly, his fingers tightening around my wrist, but I grab my gun with my free hand and force the barrel into his mouth.

  “Mbylle gojën! Or I’ll shut you up permanently!”

  He tries to mumble something about the gun, but it comes out as indecipherable, slobbery gibberish.

  “You don’t question what Tarek does. "A e kupton?””

  Tarek is distracted by whatever he’s doing back home in Albania and by his new “pet.”

  Even thinking about Rea in those terms brings a strange tightness to my chest, but I quickly brush away the foreign feeling. She isn’t the first woman to garner Tarek’s attention, not even the first he’s promised to marry. But there’s something different about her, the way he is around her. Something that is drawing him off his game. That could be deadly for a man in his position. Which is why he has me to watch his back and ensure his business is safe.

  Even if it means taking out our own men who ask the wrong questions.

  “My brother is well aware of what's going on and is committed to ensuring we maintain our stronghold here and reinforce our alliances back home.”

  Ferid nods slightly, mumbling around the barrel again, and I pull it from his mouth with a jerk.

  He gasps, sucking in several deep breaths, never taking his eyes from mine.

  I point the gun at him, not entirely convinced he knows to keep his mouth shut. “Tarek is doing what he needs to do. And I'm doing what I need to do in his absence.”

  “What do you want me to do about everything we discussed?”

  I lower the gun and scrub a hand over my face. If Saban Gashi thinks he has enough power and men to handle all of the Chicago area and step in to clear a path all the way to Philadelphia to create some massive territory, he has another think coming.

  Apparently, the message I left last month wasn't sufficient to get the point across. I spilled a lot of blood and killed a lot of his men. Left pieces of one scattered across the border we share. Yet, he still pushes and takes little jabs, attacking our shipments on the road and on the water, trying to hide who is behind it like we won't know it's him.

  “I'm going to discuss this with Tarek, and we're going to decide our next move.”

  “But, sir, if we wait—”

  I hold up my hand to stop him. “If we wait instead of lashing out in anger, we will come up with a well-reasoned, well-thought-out plan that can be executed perfectly without risk of rushing into something and having it backfire.”

  If my years in the Special Operations Battalion taught me anything, it’s to be as prepared as possible before making a move but also be ready to act at any time because you never know what’s coming for you. That seems especially wise given the fact that Tarek is keeping so much of his plan hidden from me.

 

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