Page 90 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
Unknown Number: Kill him & I’ll wire $5 million to you.
David: Who is this?
Unknown Number: Half now. Half later.
David: Why should I?
The next text has an image of David playing cards at a casino somewhere.
Unknown Number: $5 million dollars is a lot of money. Enough to clear your debt.
David: How do I know you’re for real?
Unknown Number: Check your bank account.
David: Holy shit.
David: Who is the guy you want dead?
David: Is he a bad guy?
David: Hello?
Unknown Number: 531 E. Williamsburg St. You have 24 hours.
I take in the text, my jaw clenching at two realizations. One, whoever this is has money, which may mean power. And two, the unknown number knows where the safe house is, which can only mean one thing.
“Can I get up now?” Jax asks from the floor, startling David.
“W-what? B-but you were… What?” David’s face is the image of confusion.
I spare him a pitying glance. “Blanks don’t come even remotely close to sounding like the real thing. Next time you consider taking out a hit, don’t. You’re out of your league.”
“They were blanks?” Minka asks, approaching me with the few things she owns. At my nod, she says, “I figured it was something like that.”
Translation: she trusts me enough not to go against my word after I promised not to kill Jax when she asked me not to a week ago.
Fuck.
Someone in this world trusts me again.
I think my heart stutters for a staggering moment, but I don’t want to admit it, because admitting that means admitting a whole lot more than I’m ready for. But if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for her.
I have a hit on me; she’s trying to get her sister back; I’m not a good person, and my reputation is worse. The danger that precedes me will forever get in the way of us, so what the Hell am I doing?
I don’t voice these doubts. Instead, I send a text to one of my guards to deal with Jax and David, take Minka’s stuff from her hands and lead her to the car. We drive in silence, the adrenaline no doubt having left her a while ago. I can see it in the heavy hooding of her eyes as she struggles to remain awake as I drive to the new safe house. A safe house that I set up a while ago, one that only I know of.
And now Minka.
It’s a warehouse near the spot along the Hudson I took her to earlier. The warehouse is rusty on the outside and full of blackened windows, but on the inside, it’s like a home. In fact, it’s modeled after the west wing of Uncle Luca’s estate.
I couldn’t help myself. It started out with laying down the same Carrera marble that laid on Uncle Luca’s floor, and next thing I knew, I was painting the walls the same color, adding rooms to match the layout and even scouring the internet for similar furniture.
For the past seven years, I’ve put my heart and soul into renovating this place by myself. It was a way to pass time when I had no one but Asher and Vincent in my life, and as Minka looks around the place in wonder, I’m grateful for it.
“What is this place?”
My safe haven.
