Twins for the Mafia Heir (The Warwicks #3)

40. Emma

Chapter 40

Emma

I don a disguise very similar to the one I wore as Silver in a tiny town just outside London. I expect to feel instant relief when I pull on the baggy pants, hoodie, and face mask that hide my gender. But I’d gotten comfortable with the fine and feminine clothes Achilles and Sidony helped me pick. I’d gotten used to looking at myself in the mirror and liking how I looked rather than thinking of how I could hide it.

Even during the weeks I’ve been back at Warwick estate, I’ve been using a bit of my salary to find clothes I liked instead of utilitarian clothes that just fit. Nothing as expensive and flashy as the mafia bride’s wardrobe I had before, but still. I put in effort, and returning to my street thug attire now is jarring.

We’re not taking any chances, though. Paul will pretend I’m his young son while we’re walking around the city together. When we’re separate, we’ll still be in constant contact through small bluetooth headsets. Neither of us are going near Wesley Hall, not yet, so while we’re not recognizable, there shouldn’t be too much danger.

I’m hoping and praying that Achilles’s silence is purely cautionary, and not because he’s in trouble. God willing, we’ll get the intel we need on his whereabouts, and I’ll be able to talk to him without putting myself in any real danger.

Once we’re inside the city, Paul and I travel as far as the shops just outside of Ashwood House’s neighborhood before we split up. I hop on a bus to Covent Garden, and Paul strolls off down the street, looking for all the world like a civilian out for a walk.

Covent Garden is only a little less packed in February than it was in the weeks before Christmas. It’s surreal to be here without all the red and green decorations up, and especially without Achilles and Sidony at my side. I make sure to drop into a little novelty shop on the way to The Cooper’s Arms and buy some bars of scented soap. The bag on my arm will help me look less like I’m on a mission and more like I’m just another tourist.

It’s hard to maintain my casual act the moment I walk into The Cooper’s Arms, though. There’s a tension in the air so tight I can almost hear its vibrations. There are fewer people in the booths and at the tables, and the chatter is quieter, as if even day shoppers can tell they should just eat their food and get out. The same barman from last time, who Sidony called Uncle Freddie, is still here, but he looks less friendly when I pull back a stool and sit down.

“What’ll you have, then?” he grunts by way of greeting.

I fumble with my bag, pretending I can’t figure out where to put it, before finally setting it on the bar- a neat little barrier between what my hands are doing and what most of the other patrons can see. Then I lay six red pound notes on the bar, nearly four hundred dollars in US money, for him to see.

“When was the last time you saw Achilles?” I ask, putting a rasp in my voice that makes it hard to discern whether I’m male or female.

Freddie glances at the money with outright disgust. “Tell your bossy cow she should’ve started with that, rather than raiding my place three times in a bloody month. Ain’t got nothing for her now that I didn’t then.”

He thinks I’m working for Fantasia. Is he saying Fantasia sent raids into this place? I thought The Cooper’s Arms was friendly with the Warwick family, but maybe it’s not anymore.

“I’m not on Fantasia’s payroll,” I tell him. “I’m an old friend, and I’ve been out of the city for a while. We were supposed to meet up again, over at Ashwood House, but…” I trail off, hoping to get some hints about the state of the place. Through my earpiece, I hear Paul quietly circling Ashwood House outside but spotting nothing out of the ordinary.

Freddie eyes me, still mistrustful. I add another six red notes and nudge them forward. He must decide that if I’m asking about Ashwood House, which is ostensibly now under Fantasia’s control, I might actually be legit, because he pockets the money and bustles around the bar, preparing me a drink. I watch every ingredient he drops into it, and realize with some humor he’s made me an Italian cream soda. Maybe he understands that if I’m here for information, I’m not going to indulge in alcohol. This is encouraging. He wants to give me intel, and he also wants to help me maintain a low profile. I won’t lower my guard completely, but I’m feeling better about this exchange already.

Once he’s slid the drink over to me, he lowers his voice and starts talking fast. “Something’s been up at Wesley Hall since before Christmas,” he says. “Outta nowhere, Fantasia’s mercs turn friendly businesses like this one upside down looking for Achilles. It’s like she thinks he’s leading us into some kind of coup.”

He shrugs. “Thing is, start pushing ‘round businesses that used to be loyal, up our tithe, and it’s a coup you’re gonna get. She’s gone quiet these last few weeks, but she’s burned her bridges. Ashwoods are coming back to the city. Thought they were gone for good, but seems like they’re back from the grave just to feast on a new carcass.”

Wait, Ashwoods? Could Achilles be among them? But Freddie just said that Fantasia has been quiet for a couple weeks, a suspicious amount of time given when Achilles returned to the city.

“Ashwoods are in the city?” I ask. “Where are they going?”

I jump when I hear Paul’s voice in my ear. He could almost be reading my mind, because he says, “ This house looks totally abandoned, kid. No sign of life inside or out, not even a patrol. ”

“Not sure, mate,” Freddie says at the same time. “But we’ve been seeing them.”

So if the Ashwoods aren’t going back to Ashwood House, are they going to Wesley Hall instead? Is that really where Achilles is?

Freddie leans closer. “Look, if you’re smart, you’ll lay low till the dust settles. Warwicks and Ashwoods have been scrappin’ over London for generations. Might look like the Warwicks are fading quiet, but trust me, best steer clear all the same.”

My eyes catch on a man at the back of the room who’s just stood up from a booth. We’ve been speaking quietly, with the bar’s music and ambience doing more than enough to cover our words, but the man’s eyes are locked on me. A chill goes down my spine.

Someone’s been listening in, maybe through a microphone smuggled under the counter. Or Freddie could’ve called for this guy himself. Was he just leading me on this whole time?

I debate for only a second if I should stay where I am and pretend I’m being harassed by this guy to get some sympathy from the other people in the bar, but immediately dismiss the idea. He’s almost definitely armed, and Freddie will be too.

Forgetting my bag, I’m off the stool and on my way to the door without looking back. I can slip into the crowd outside, using the same plan I concocted months ago when I was in here with Achilles and Sidony. Once I’ve done that-

The door to the bar opens right in front of me, and another man walks in, almost twice as big as the first. I’m ready to dodge past him, hoping against hope that he’s just a patron, but he stops right in front of me.

“I think Fantasia’s got-” I start to say to Paul, but the guy reaches out with two huge fists. Yanking my hair and dislodging my face mask along with it, he grabs at my ears under my hood. I jerk back, but he comes away with the bluetooth. A buzz, like Paul calling for me, before my attacker stomps the earpiece into shards on the floor.

“This way,” he orders. Behind me, I feel the heat from the other man who’d been sitting in the booth.

I’m surrounded, and I have a feeling they’re taking me to the one place I said I wouldn’t go alone. Wesley Hall.