Page 12 of His Savage Vow
There was a car parked outside Robert Monroe’s restaurant for three nights in a row. My men reported it but didn’t act. They were waiting for evidence, for orders that never came. The camera outside the back entrance went offline the afternoon of the fire. No one bothered to replace it. A patrol was supposed to pass by every thirty minutes. That night, they skipped an hour.
And during that hour, Robert Monroe’s restaurant went up in an inferno with him inside it. It’s a miracle Constance wasn’t there, up in her room studying, but out with her friends instead. Well, not really a miracle, I suppose. I had cautioned Robert back when our deal was first struck to make sure the restaurant was empty when one of our drops was passing through. He always made sure his daughter was far removed from our business. That caution likely saved her life.
And while right now we still don’t know who lit the match, we will soon.
Because I won’t stop until we find out who is responsible.
My cell buzzes on the desk. Enzo’s name flashes across the screen.
I answer with one word. “Talk.”
“We found the car we think they used,” he says without preamble. “It matches the one we saw on some of the surveillance from the next block over. It’s the same Black Lexus with a big-ass dent in the trunk. The plates were pulled off, but it was dumped in an alley near the docks sometime in the last few nights.”
“Prints?”
“Seems like it was wiped down. But I’ve got one of our guys running a UV scan. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
I sigh as I scratch at the stubble that has grown on my chin. It’s been a long fucking night. “Find out who was assigned to Monroe’s rotation that entire week. All of them. I want fullnames, addresses, phone records. Specifically, let me know who was responsible for the patrols that night.”
“You got it, boss.”
I hang up and toss the phone down on my desk.
We found the car, and we’ll find the men.
Then there will be no forgiveness, only unmarked graves.
5
“A strong woman doesn’t bend for any man. She chooses the places she’s willing to soften.”
—ROBERT MONROE
Constance
When I stepinto the basement of Maximo Luciani’s estate at precisely nine a.m. in my mostly dried suit, I expect concrete walls, cold metal tables, maybe some flickering fluorescent lights. I expect it to feel like a bunker. A cage. A place where ghosts live.
But instead, it’s clean and sleek.
Weapon racks line the walls like a museum of violence built just for one man. Pistols. Rifles. Even an assortment of knives are hung from a corkboard with surgical precision. There’s a workbench to my right and a long-mirrored wall to the left. The thickrubber flooring muffles the sound of my boots. At the back of the basement there are three long, narrow booths, which I recognize as an indoor gun range. It’s all rather…impressive.
Maximo stands at the center of it all. This morning, he looks like what he is, a very dangerous man. A man who let my father die and shouldn’t even be breathing the same air as me.
But he’s also the only one who can teach me what I need to know.
I need him, but that doesn’t mean I have to forgive him.
This morning he’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt instead of a suit, the sleeves hugging muscular biceps I’m trying not to notice. His dark slacks move like silk when he turns. There’s no tie. No jacket. No mask of civility today.
Maximo walks over to the workbench and picks up a pair of gloves, which he tosses to me. “Put those on.”
I do, assuming they’re more for keeping fingerprints off weapons than comfort. The leather is snug and probably cost more than the rest of my outfit combined. I flex my fingers and try not to let him see how fast my heart is beating.
“Have you ever held a gun?” he asks.
“No.”
“Good. You won’t have any bad habits I have to break.”
