Page 136 of Chains of Recompense
I know the sentence she can’t finish. If I tell Raf what Tatsuo wants, we’ll lose the element of surprise. We won’t be able to give theoyabunwhat he wants without having to fight through the full power of the Chiaroscuro family.
But killing Raf isn’t an option.
I could no sooner cut off my own head than his. Besides, his is far more useful when it’s attached. I’ve never met someone more brilliant when it comes to strategy.
“He’ll know what to do,” I say confidently.
“Aisling…” Mom pleads. “Be careful.”
“I will,” I promise, though the words feel hollow.
I hang up and immediately dial Raf’s number.
It rings. Once. Twice. Then goes to voicemail.
“No,” I whisper, jabbing redial.
Ring. Ring. Nothing.
My hands start to shake violently. I pace the length of the foyer, phone pressed to my ear, as if proximity might force the call through.
“Answer,” I beg quietly. “Please answer.”
I try again. Still nothing.
Panic blooms, full and terrifying, eclipsing everything else. Images flood my mind unbidden—Riley laughing, her tiny hands in mine, the way she curls against me when she sleeps.
The thought of her alone, afraid, calling for me?—
I gag, barely making it to the first-floor bathroom before my stomach heaves.
I retch hard, body folding in on itself, terror and nausea tangled so tightly, I can’t tell which is causing which.
When it passes, I wipe my mouth with shaking fingers and stare at my reflection in the mirror.Get it together, Aisling.
I force myself to breathe. In. Out.
Raf is out there somewhere, but he’s not answering. I can only hope it’s not because that’s just how much he hates me. My chest tightens painfully, a sob threatening to break free.
My fingers tremble so badly, I nearly drop the phone as I dial once more.
“Please,” I whisper, tears streaming freely now. “Please, Raf. Answer me.”
35
RAFAEL
The room smells like smoke, Irish whiskey, and sharp determination.
Maps cover every inch of the table, corners curling from too many hands, too many nights pouring over the streets and businesses that stand in the way of our victory.
Red lines carve through neighborhoods. Circles mark warehouses, docks, and compounds.
Names are written and crossed out, rewritten heavier, angrier.
We’re close. I feel it in my bones, the way I can feel a storm before the sky darkens.
The Tanakas have been sloppy lately, loud, desperate. Their shipments are getting rerouted at the last second.
