Page 35 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
“Heads of countries don’t even have this level of home security,” John adds.
I eye him coldly and deadpan, “Maybe I’m more important.”
John remains silent, but Dex snorts, and the three of us head into my security room. I don’t even have to say anything, and Emmett and Ryker, the two guards in the room, are already getting up and leaving the room to deal with the unconscious guy laying on the floor of my foyer. I send them a quick text, letting them know to take care of the trail of blood on the street, too.
I sit on the chair before the computer and pull up the software for our street security system. When the three of us had it installed by one of Dex’s tech guys, we agreed to have the system operate out of my home.
It’s the one least likely to be breached.
The system also only opens up when all three of us enter the password. This is a safety mechanism we added for our privacy and protection, so we don’t spy on one another, not that it would stop me. It also guarantees that we only check it when we all agree it’s needed.
Having hidden cameras placed all over several blocks of New York City definitely violates a shit ton of federal and state privacy laws, but it’s necessary when we live the lives we lead. We all have our own security feeds on the street, but with this system, I’ll be able to track where the attacker came from and what he was doing before he reached our street.
The caveat?
Though Dex is hardly innocent, he, of all people, thought it necessary to enact an added layer of protection when he installed the system. Protection from us. And that means that every time I need to use it, I have to call these fucks to join me.
I enter in my passcode, a series of random numbers, and stand up from my seat for John and Dex to do the same. When they’re done, they leave me to work, giving me the power of an all knowing god.
And for a brief, startling moment, I’m tempted to abuse it.
I’m tempted to use it to learn more about Red Junior, and I have no clue as to why.
Maybe Dex was right.
People need protection from us.
From me.
Chapter Fourteen
We think that hating
is a weapon that attacks
the person who harmed us.
But hatred is a curved blade.
And the harm we do, we
do to ourselves.
Mitch Alborn
Everyone else is smiling but me.
Well, there’s a smile on my face, but it isn’t genuine like theirs.
It’s fake and ugly and tense.
Usually, I’m a great actress. Just ask my marks. I’ve pretended to orgasm under the grossest of men—both inside and out—and if you ask them, they would probably tell you that they’re the best sex I’ve ever had.
But the truth is, I’ve never had good sex.
And that’s an odd thing to think about as the Dean of Wilton’s Roosevelt School of Law announces my name, my concentration, and the words “Suma Cum Laude.”
After taking a deep breath, I plaster the fake smile on my face again and saunter across the long stage, focusing on not falling on my butt and making a fool out of myself in front of potential sugar daddy prospects, employers, professors and coworkers alike.
