Precious Legacy (The Notorious Legacy #1)

Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

K eeping a handle on my anger is usually an easy task for me; using the gym as my outlet helps me rein in my emotions. Well, killing perverted assholes also helps. It gives me the opportunity to unleash all my pent-up rage and aggression, allowing me to focus on what needs to be done, rather than letting my emotions become the driving force of every decision I make.

Unfortunately, I didn’t expect to be standing in front of a burning building at eleven o’clock at night, watching my gambling den collapse into nothing more than ash and rubble. My anger is currently simmering beneath the surface so intensely that I’m finding it difficult to think straight.

“Sorry, Ro,” my Uncle Cillian offers, resting a hand on my shoulder.

My jaw tenses as I watch the flames engulf Black Jack. The heat blazes across my face, and all I can manage is, “Fuck!”

I got here as soon as my uncle gave me the news. Thanks to our mole, who gave him the heads up, he was able to get here to confirm his intel before calling me. It wasn’t enough, though. We needed to know sooner, so we could ensure no lasting damage was caused.

“Anyone hurt?” I dare to ask.

“Not as far as I know,” Cillian confirms. “My guy says they weren’t out to hurt anyone. Just sending a message.”

“And what’s the message?” I grumble, rubbing a hand over my tired face. We’re the ones still waiting for an answer to when we can meet with them to discuss the docks situation. I found it odd that they hadn’t replied since Milo was supposed to deliver that message after Varo visited him last week.

Once again, the Russians are pushing our boundaries, testing limits they have no business testing.

“I don’t know the details of that. From what I can tell, the Federovs are just trying to make you sweat.”

“Well, it’s fucking working,” I snap, swiping moisture off the back of my neck. The heat emanating from the flames is suffocating.

“Relax,” Cillian chuckles, turning to lean against his Harley. “We can get ahead of this. We just need the right intel.” He’s pretty calm considering everything, which tells me he’s confident in the guy spying on the Bratva brothers for us.

Alvaro’s words still sit in the back of my mind as me and my uncle stand on the sidewalk, observing the fire engines that work tirelessly to put out the blaze. No doubt, the fire chief will provide me with some lame excuse for the cause, but we both know what really happened.

“Who is he?” I ask my uncle. Up until now, the identity of our mole never bothered me because I trusted Cillian enough to handle it. I figured the fewer people who knew about him, the better. It works in our favor to keep his identity a secret, but after Varo voiced his concerns that our mole might be Milo, I have more reason to know who our mystery guy is.

Cillian turns to me, brows furrowed. “Who?”

“The person you’re getting intel from.”

He exhales loudly through his nose, pulling a cigarette from his leather jacket and lighting it up. He offers me one, but I shrug him off, still focused on the blazing inferno ahead of us. “I thought you didn’t care?”

“I don’t” I mutter. “I trust your judgment, but I need to be sure we’re not dealing with who I think we are.”

“It’s not Kyrovsky, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” he smirks.

“How—”

Shooting me a knowing look, he takes a drag of his cigarette, the glow from the end lighting up accentuating his features. “I’m good at what I do, remember?”

“I remember,” I murmur. Turning to face him, I pin him with a glare. “Is there anything we should know about Milo Kyrovsky?”

“Other than Varo drooling over the guy?” he chuckles before shaking his head. “No.”

His words take me by surprise. I know my uncle takes his role seriously when it comes to casing people. He’s observant to a fault, and that’s what makes him the best. Nothing gets by the guy, so I guess I can’t be surprised that he’s picked up on the tension between Varo and the Russian. At least Cillian has confirmed Milo isn’t the mole, but maybe knowing who it is might ease the worry.

“You really want to know?” Cillian asks. “You said so yourself, the fewer people who know, the better.”

I grunt out an inaudible response. My uncle is right; this person’s identity relies solely upon discretion. He needs to stay under the radar, not just for our sake, but for himself. He’s already risking a lot by helping us, and I don’t know what his motives are, but I need to respect the confidentiality.

At least I can reassure Alvaro that it isn’t his wannabe boyfriend, though I can’t decide whether he’ll be pleased with that or not. Maybe he’ll quit moping and faking the attraction that is so evident between them. Maybe he’ll stop resisting and just get to fucking the guy. That is if he hasn’t already.

My best friend is more than comfortable with his sexuality, and it’s no secret that he prefers guys. Just because he leads one of the notorious crime families doesn’t mean he’s suppressed. Being attracted to the enemy is probably what pisses him off the most about the situation, because he knows he can’t ever trust him enough to let down his guard. Varo prides himself on loyalty, but there’s a fine line when it comes to fucking the enemy—I, of all people, should know, since Alanis is now technically working for the police.

Milo seems just as into him, though. He’s not even remotely perturbed by the fact they should be enemies. As much as we’re all attempting to remain professional, the elephant in the room is that we shouldn’t be getting into bed with the Russians at all. Figuratively. As for Varo, me and Haldon are secretly rooting for him to get into bed with Kyrovsky just because it might improve his mood. And if it doesn’t, well, at least it’s one less person to worry about, because Milo will probably be six feet under.

After the flames have died and the fire chief confirms what we expected—a suspected electrical fire—he condemns the building and offers up his unimpressed sympathy. We both know who is to blame, and since he’s on Haldon’s payroll, he doesn’t let it slip to anyone else that foul play was involved. This is something I’ll need to discuss with the guys before we push forward with retaliation. I sense Alvaro will be the one to lead, since he’s already raring for an excuse to draw some blood.

Saying goodbye to my uncle, I head back to Varo’s with the plan to pack an overnight bag. I'm exhausted and can't wait to crawl into bed, but Lani's place is where I want to be. I’ve been staying at his sister’s a lot recently, and going back every morning to change is getting tiresome.

As soon as I push through the door to Varo’s apartment, my phone buzzes. Haldon’s name flashes on the screen with a message. It’s a link to a news article, and my heart kicks up a notch with nervous energy as I open it.

Haldon: This have something to do with the other night?

Opening the link, I’m taken to an announcement of Ashton Greedy’s disappearance. I scroll through the page, scanning the information for anything that might link back to me. The only details are his last known whereabouts; a discreet cafe in Hell’s Kitchen where I assume Cillian picked him up from.

Sighing with relief, I open up his message and hit reply.

Me: The less you know, the better.

Haldon: Judging from the mess you left, I’d agree.

A smile curls my lips as I type out my reply. What I did to Greedy was a lot worse than just pain. I can still remember his screams echoing around me; the way his skin peeled from his muscles. Every pound of flesh I took from him was delicious. Every hour I spent dishing out his torture was symbolic. It represented the same amount of time Alanis suffered through the ordeal; a lifetime.

Me: Did you expect anything less from me?

Dropping the phone onto my bed, I haul out my gym bag and start throwing clothes in. My gaze snaps to the doorway when I hear a creak, Alvaro leaning against the frame wearing just a towel. His arms are crossed, and I don’t miss the faint bruise on his chest. It’s unmistakably similar to a love bite, but I suppress the urge to comment, instead continuing to pack my bag.

“You heard about Ashton Greedy?”

My gaze snaps to his. “I did,” I answer with a tone of indifference. “Haldon sent me the news article about his disappearance.”

“Uh huh,” he lilts, stepping further into the bedroom. “You know, I swear I saw Cillian heaving some guy out of his trunk the other night. Looked suspiciously like the vanishing MMA Fighter.”

“You here for my confession?” I huff. It’s been a long night and I’m not in the mood for his games.

Varo must sense it because he chuckles back, eyes dark with accusation. “This isn’t church,” he mocks. “What’d he do?”

I clench my jaw and rummage through my drawer absently. It’s all I can do to think up a reason as to why I killed the fucker. I can’t exactly spill about what Greedy did to his sister, so I come up with the only logical explanation. “He owed me money,” I mumble.

“I didn’t know that,” Varo states suspiciously.

“Well, now you do.”

We lull into silence as I grab a spare pair of gym shorts and a tank top. I don’t know how long I’m planning to be at Lani’s, but I’m gonna need a suitcase by the time this conversation is done.

“Leaving already?” Varo remarks, nodding to my almost full bag.

“Sorry, bro.” I smile sarcastically. “It’s not me, it’s you.”

He chuckles to himself as he perches on the edge of my unmade bed. “Heard about Black Jack,” he mentions, leaning back on his hands.

“The Russians are getting impatient. We need to hold a meeting and confirm they can use the docks before things get out of hand.”

“So your mole came through?”

I nod affirmatively, because that’s what we were waiting for. We wanted to be sure our mole was on the right side and he delivered—sort of. I’m still pissed that we didn’t get the leak about Black Jack sooner, but in a way, he’s done me a favor.

“Black jack is rubble and ash,” I state, stuffing some boxers into my bag. “I was planning to relocate, anyway.”

“Anyone hurt?”

Shaking my head, I zip up the bag and throw the strap over my shoulder. “This was just a warning, but it’s not one I’m taking lightly.”

“Alright,” he agrees. “So we meet with the Russians and tell them they can use the docks. Then what?”

“I don’t know, Vee,” I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face. “I guess we let our mole feed more information back to us. If the Russians are bringing anything else but liquor into the city, there’s going to be a problem.”

“I’ll organize a meeting, then.”

I step forward, smirking as I glance at the ridiculous love bite he’s failing to cover with his biceps. “You can call your boyfriend.”

He groans loudly, falling back onto my bed. “He’s not?—”

Kicking his foot, I cut him off and offer him a consoling look. “He’s not our mole.”

The relief that follows my words comes out in a loud exhale. Varo almost looks defeated, like he wanted Milo to be our mole. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier for him. Fucking the enemy is definitely up there with what Lani’s doing right now.

“Don’t tell me you wanted him to be?” I laugh.

He pushes up from the bed, his brows knitting together. “It would make this a lot easier.”

He disappears into his bedroom, probably to call his boyfriend or scream into a pillow. I don’t really know at this point, because even though he denies the attraction between him and Milo, Varo is still clearly wearing his mark.

Varo isn’t the type of guy to go searching for a distraction, especially when it comes to sex. Whether he’s prepared to admit it or not, he’s fucking the enemy, and that spells trouble.