The Syndicater (Dark Verse #6)

11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Tristan, Gladestone

He was going to buy a fucking jet.

No one knew this but Tristan was and had always been scared of heights. Given his choice of residence, one wouldn't have thought so, but that was the truth. Flying had always been something that put him off-kilter, which was why he had always tried to sleep through the journey whenever he'd traveled via the Maroni jet, which he most often had. Though he preferred being on the ground, using a car, or even better, his bike to go places, time was often of the essence in their line of work, and he'd needed to simply travel as soon as possible. The idea of being thousands of feet above sea level, hanging in the air in a metal can, made his stomach queasy, yet, no one could have suspected that from looking at him.

The penthouse had been the first real purchase he'd ever made for himself and also the costliest. Though he'd been investing in property for a while—thanks to the pain in the ass Dante—he'd been piss poor growing up with nothing to his name. It hadn't really mattered since he'd been living at the Maroni compound, getting all his physical needs met, and he hadn't really cared at the time. It had been Dante who had guided him into growing his wealth. Dante had the kind of generational wealth Tristan had never seen anyone else have, with a lineage of net-worth more than he even knew about. Tristan hadn't had a thing to his name; it was just a bank account with a 'salary' that was getting deposited and going untouched. Dante had had access to his information and had obviously looked him up, so he knew exactly how much Tristan was worth.

And because he was a good man—Tristan could admit that in the recesses of his mind but probably never out loud, or the man would get more on his nerves—Dante had advised Tristan to buy some property in the city, small stuff, so he could begin growing his portfolio. Money was power, and Dante had wanted him to have his own outside of his role in the Outfit. So, as annoying as Dante had been, Tristan had taken his advice because if there was one guy who knew how to make and keep money, it had to be the Maroni prince. He had bought small commercial property in the city and grew his investments until, one day, he decided to get a base in Shadow Port.

If someone asked him why he'd made a home for himself there instead of any other city in the world, he wouldn't be able to give a reason. Maybe it had been to be closer to Morana, whom he had planned on killing eventually. Maybe, it had been to just get away from Tenebrae and all the shitty memories the city held for him. Or maybe it had been because Amara had already moved to Shadow Port, and he hadn't wanted to leave her completely alone in a strange city. He had, and still did, feet protective of her ever since the day he'd found her broken after being missing for three days.

Tristan remembered the moment, something he doubted he would ever forget. He doubted she remembered, though. She'd been in and out of it, but the relief in her body when she'd seen him still hit him in the gut. It had been the first time in a long time Tristan remembered feeling something so visceral. The emotion had surprised him, making him realize he still felt things beyond rage and revenge and agony. Amara didn't know, but she had given him a purpose, especially during her years of recovery. Somehow, making sure she was going to be okay had become an added goal in his life. So, moving to Shadow Port had been a multi-factor decision.

He had bought the entire lot before construction had even begun, the area a little out of the main city but still close enough to be immediately accessible. He had liked the idea of being on top with the entire view of the city and the sea laid out before him, the idea of conquering his one fear of heights and staring it down. He had worked with the project architect and had the penthouse made for himself. And he still remembered the first time he'd entered it. It had taken a few weeks of standing at the windows to convince his mind that the glass wasn't going to break and the building wasn't going to fall. Now, it was one of the only spaces in the world he felt good in, regardless of the height.

But he still fucking hated flying.

Sitting in Alpha's private jet—because Dante had taken his and rushed to get to Gladestone—Tristan was feeling off-kilter again. He hadn't slept in the last twenty-four hours, ever since Morana had shown him the photos, images that had been burned onto his retinas, appearing in high definition every time he closed his eyes. Hair that had gotten even redder over the years, vivid green eyes that had looked like precious jewels, pale skin that he wondered about turning red when she laughed. It had taken him a few minutes to process and accept the fact that she was alive and looked well.

And then it hit him.

He had missed so much of her life, so many moments and milestones where he should have been there as a big brother. Though it wasn't through any fault of his own, it didn't stop the guilt from weighing him down. Since the day she had disappeared from her room to the day he was flying to get to her, there hadn't been one where the guilt of not being able to protect her hadn't eaten him alive. He didn't know what she'd been through, how she'd survived, but the fact that she looked healthy and content in the latest photo from three weeks ago eased something in his chest.

She was okay, and she was only going to get better.

He gripped the armrest, which was not something he would have usually done, but he didn't have it in himself to care for it at the moment.

"You alright?"

Tristan turned to look at the one-eyed man opposite him. He had to give it to Alpha—the man had dropped everything and gotten on his jet within an hour of Morana calling Zephyr. Tristan knew there was some awkwardness between the two women, but that didn't stop them from being there for each other. About twelve hours ago, when the trace had been almost completed, the general vicinity of the location becoming clearer, Morana had called Dante first, alerting him. Since the direction was east and a straight route for Dante, he had gotten his jet prepared and had already gotten ready to get in the air at her word.

Then, surprisingly, Morana had called Zephyr.

***

"How are you guys getting there?" Zephyr, Alpha's wife, asked, her voice on the speakerphone as Morana sat in front of the laptop and Tristan paced.

"I don't know," Morana said. I'm figuring it out, but there are not any private services available at such short notice."

There was a pause. "Will you take Xander with you too?"

Morana exchanged a look with him. In between all the chaos, they hadn't even thought about it. Fuck. He had a routine, and though they often traveled with him to Tenebrae, it was a different thing to take him on a whim like that during an operation without knowing what was going to happen. They couldn't do that. He was a kid.

The silence was answer enough because Zephyr's voice came again. "How much time do we have?"

"Six hours, maybe less," Morana answered.

"How about we come there?" Zephyr suggested. "You can fly on our jet, and my hubby can go with you. I'll come to your place and keep an eye on Xander in the meantime."

Tristan stared at the speaker, surprised by the kindness. The few times he'd seen Zephyr, she'd seemed sweet enough but he hadn't really given her much thought, but her offer, especially at a time like this, wasn't something he would forget.

Morana pressed the mute button, looking at him for the final say. "It's a good idea. I'd trust her with Xander."

He knew the three girls had become a group of sorts. He'd found them on the phone—and listened in on some of their conversations—more often than he cared to admit. Knowing how serious his wildcat was about the boy's safety and how protective she got about the tiniest things, her saying she trusted Zephyr to look after him in her absence was good enough for him.

He gave a nod and Morana unmuted the call. "How soon can you get here, Zee?"

Zephyr muttered something, possibly to Alpha, and then her voice became clear again. "The jet is getting ready as we speak. You guys get to the private strip."

Morana nodded, even though the woman couldn't see. It was cute how she sometimes gestured and mumbled just to herself without an audience.

"One of our guys will pick you up and bring you here."

"Perfect! We'll be there soon!" The sound was sweet, and this moment alone put Zephyr under the oddly expanding list of people he would protect.

***

"Tristan?"

Morana's voice brought him back to the present.

He realized Alpha had asked him a question about how he was holding up and nodded. He was as alright as he could be.

Morana put her hand over his, seated right beside him, and turned to look at the other man. "Thanks for this," she said.

He should be the one saying thanks. Alpha didn't owe him shit, and it wasn't like he was doing a favor for Dante. This was just because that man's wife asked him and he did it. As a man who would do whatever Morana asked, he could understand the sentiment. And seeing Zephyr through a new lens, he could understand why, too. The moment she had landed, she had hugged Morana and turned to him, giving him an "I hope everything goes okay" . He wouldn't have cared for the words had she not immediately told them not to worry about Xander, that the boy already had a vibe with her from Dante and Amara's wedding and their recent trip to Los Fortis, and that they would be perfectly fine.

With that alone, she became one of the few people he would not only tolerate but, if need be, protect. He still didn't care much about Alpha, though, not forgetting that Morana had gotten shot in his territory by his man. While Alpha didn't pull the trigger, and he was as much a victim of Hector as anyone else, Tristan wasn't rational. He never had been where she was concerned. Morana had always elicited emotion in him—bad and good. Logic didn't exist in the same space as her in his brain.

His logical little wildcat kept her grip on his hand and kept her phone screen lit up on her lap, the timer and location visible on there for him to see.

"Could this be a trap?" Alpha asked them, his one eye taking them both in. It was a question Tristan himself had wondered and thought about, but it was too big of a stake not to see through.

Morana pursed her lips, thinking it over. "I doubt it," she began. "I know you guys don't like him, but the Shadow Man hasn't given me any direct leads that never panned out into something. His info has been pretty solid."

Just hearing her speak for the fucker got on his nerves. He hadn't liked the man ever since he'd found out he had been interacting and meeting Morana in secret. At first, it had been raging jealousy because they had been very new together and figuring their way out around each other, and Tristan didn't like any man, especially one he didn't know shit about, near her. Over time, though, the jealousy had changed into mild jealousy and sheer annoyance. Mild jealousy because the man was obviously smart and connected with Morana on an intelligent level that Tristan did not, and sheer annoyance because he was playing them around like puppets on invisible strings, and Tristan wasn't into that shit. The idea of being puppeteered by someone else made his blood boil, and for that alone, he was pissed at the asshole who thought he could lead them around. But he couldn't deny they wouldn't be where they were without his leads, with no idea about the existence of The Syndicate and now, his sister. And that pissed him off even more because he felt indebted to him too. If the lead panned out and was real, which he hoped with everything that he was that it was, he would have to come to terms with his annoyance of the man.

"Hate to admit," Alpha said, his tone grudging, "but he saved my wife's life. I spoke to him after, outside the hospital. But I still have no clue what to make of him."

"I get what you mean," Morana nodded. "He's been confusing. While he's been the best source of whatever information we've had, I wouldn't be surprised if he's been lulling us into a false sense of security only to ambush us, so I suggest we keep our eyes open."

Alpha agreed. "Question is, why send you this lead now?"

Morana was silent for a bit, thoughtful. He saw her glance at him from the corner of her eye and felt his own narrow. She wasn't sharing something, some theory cooked up in that smart brain of hers. Was it because they were in company or was she not sharing with him?

"I want to hear this," Tristan spoke, for the first time in hours.

Morana swallowed. That old fire from when he'd wanted to both throttle her and fuck her, one that only simmered now because of their relationship settling into something so beautiful, became a blaze inside him. She was hiding something from him.

He turned his wrist, palm facing upward and captured her own, squeezing it, his eyes glaring into her profile. She looked at him, blinked innocently, like she hadn't just given him the biggest tell with that fucking swallow and that corner of her eye look.

"Maybe," she began, focusing back on the other man who had asked the question. "He just found the relevant information now. Or maybe, he wants us to owe him so he's using this as leverage."

Yeah, she was fucking smart, but she was sneaky. No one knew Morana Vitalio like he did, and the little tremor in her mouth distracted him long enough from what was coming to focus on what was going on.

"Yeah, possibly," Alpha mused out loud. "From the word on the ground, he's been going up against The Syndicate for many years now. That alone is a point in his favor in my book."

Tristan wondered about that. How was it possible that they had never even heard of The Syndicate if it had been in the operation for so many years? Unless…

"Any news about The Alliance?" he asked.

Morana immediately turned to face him, eager to share what she had, a clear contrast to her previous response. Fuck, she was so obvious it would've been pathetic had it been anyone but her. No, for this, he was grateful because it kept him in the loop of everything going on in her head. It was her body's and face's inability to keep things from him that had made him realize how much he aroused her in the beginning, how he'd known to follow her into that bathroom, knowing she wouldn't reject him. It was this inability that had told him how much she craved being free while still belonging, how much she hurt, how she still went on. It was this inability that had told him how much she had struggled with the revelations about her real identity, how much she had struggled after getting shot, how many demons still haunted her about Zenith's death.

But that was the thing about her demons. They had always looked out from her eyes, baring their soul for him to see, and called his own to the fore.

That was what she'd told Dante once on a plane ride like this. His demons danced with hers. Well, at least they were graceful enough to because he couldn't dance for shit, even though he'd tried that one time at Maroni's party because she'd been confusing the hell out of him.

Something clicked in his brain suddenly. "Can you get a guest list for a party?"

Morana blinked, her eyes looking like an owl's behind those oversized glasses she hadn't taken off since yesterday. Her look of confusion was cute, and so was the wild look she shot Alpha's way before focusing on him. "What party?"

"The one Lorenzo had given," he reminded her. "Right after we went to Tenebrae."

A smile turned her lips up as she remembered. "That was years ago, Tristan."

"The Shadow Man had been at the party," he reminded her. "He'd warned you that night."

Her smile fell as the memories of that night came back to her. That night had shifted so many things for them, changed the course of their entire relationship. And begurdgingly, he had to admit the Shadow Man's warning for her life had kept him alerted, more than he would've been otherwise.

"So?" she asked.

"So, no one crashed a Maroni party."

"I did," she gave him a smug grin, reminding him of the first time they'd met as adults.

Tristan felt his lips twitch. "Did you?"

The way her grin fell was amusing. Her eyes narrowed, the hazel in them shining with murder he had seen so often reflected. "You didn't!"

He didn't confirm or deny her allegation, just stayed silent.

"You mean he must have had an invitation?" Alpha's voice made him turn and consider the other man.

Tristan nodded. "Lorenzo used to amp up security even more than normal at his parties. The guest list demanded it. He didn't want anyone trying to kill him or anyone dying if he wasn't killing them."

The other man leaned forward, elbows on knees and hands hanging. Tristan glanced at his scars covered with tattoos visible under his shirt. He was possibly one of the most physically damaged men he'd seen. Tristan had enough scars of his own, and he knew the kind of torture that left them. He might not be particularly fond of Alpha but he could respect the strength in him to survive whatever he had gone through and still come out on top of his game.

"You're saying if we can get the guest list," Morana deduced, all excited, "we can get a pool of names, one of whom could possibly be the Shadow Man?"

Tristan gave a nod.

"That means that father dearest—" the sarcasm in Alpha's tone was obvious "—knew him in real."

"You think he knew who the Shadow Man is? In real?" Morana asked with shock, which was evident in her tone. Lorenzo Maroni knowing someone didn't bode well. If true evil had a face, it would have been Lorenzo's.

Alpha shook his head. "I doubt anyone does. I literally tracked a man down who I thought might give us a clue."

"Who?"

"One of the earliest rumored kills by him," the scarred man explained. "It's a rumor on the ground. An orphanage that burned down about twenty-five years ago. Oddly, no kids were there, just a bunch of adults. There were some whispers that it was his doing. The man had been a caretaker of the place and escaped."

Morana gasped. "Let's say he did it. If we assume he did it in his twenties, that puts him in his mid-forties."

"You don't have to be an adult to kill, wildcat," Tristan pointed out, knowing from experience that children could be murderers.

Morana sobered at his reminder. "True. Even then. Even if he was young and he's the one who did that, he'd be at least in his thirties right now. That does narrow the pool down." She turned to Alpha. "What did the man say?"

Alpha considered them both. "He was senile. I mentioned the incident, and he lost it, muttering just one phrase over and over in fear."

"What phrase?" Morana leaned forward.

"Demon eyes."

Silence settled as his words resounded in the space.

"Fuck," Morana shivered. "I just got a chill. Is he the good guy or the bad guy? Someone please tell me."

That was the fucking question.

As far as Tristan was concerned, the Shadow Man could go to hell.

He just gripped Morana's hand and waited for the damn flight to be over, swearing to buy a jet if he landed and actually found his sister this time.

Only a few hours left.