Page 49 of Consort of the Crime Queen

"She has other responsibilities."

"Ah," he says knowingly. "Then I'll stand as your second."

We've arrived where the Syndicate is massing now, and Ricky pushes through the crowd to come over to me. I pause at Tony's question, because I intended to ask Ricky instead. Having a "second" in this circumstance is more of an honorary position than anything; I certainly won't expect either of them to fight my battles.

But before I can reply, Ricky, who overheard Tony's offer, chuckles roughly. "Well, I guess Tony called first dibs. I'll second you next time."

"You're that convinced I'll win?"

"Of course."

"And you also think there'll be another challenge?" I give a short laugh at his expression. "Thank you for your loyalty," I tell him. "When this is done, I think I'd like to make a few changes. You were right, what you said the other day—a Syndicate is not a dictatorship, and I need to remember that."

Ricky thumps me on the shoulder. "Then kill her fast, so we can get on with killing Nero."

I nod. "We'll head out right after this; I think excitement should be high." I turn to Tony. "Thank you for your offer. I would be honored if you'd stand as my second." I pause, arching an eyebrow. "And you also seem pretty certain I'll win?"

Tony grins. "Oh, I only ever back winners, Hades."

"Then let's get on with this."

I enter the makeshift circle of people, who part for me like the Red Sea so that I can make my way to the center, where Ilona is waiting for me.

"You're sure you want to do this?" I call across.

She just smirks.

"On my mark," Tony bellows, and a hush falls over the crowd. A brief pause and then: "Begin!"

In a rush, Ilona strikes. I block her dagger with my forearm, countering with a punch that glances off her ribs. We trade blows, neither landing a decisive hit, as the rain gets harder.

She's fast, I'll give her that. But her eyes betray her every move. If I didn't agree with Tony that I need to make this a bit of a performance for the sake of the watchers, I would already have been able to strike a mortal blow several times.

Ilona moves with grace, her strikes precise and practiced, but that's the problem. They're too perfect—too textbook. She's got training, but not the desperate experience of the streets I earned clawing my way to the top.

You don't fight fair on the streets. And this is less than what I expected from Ilona, too, given her reputation for cunning.

I absorb her attacks, forcing calm through my veins. Watch. Wait. Defend. Let her tire before I bother to make my own attack. The crowd is cheering, and I think they're cheering louder for me than Ilona.

Well, that's a good sign.

The rain is driving down now. Frustration flickers in Ilona's eyes as her breath grows labored. Her reactions slow by a fraction. An opening.

I smash my elbow into her nose as I dodge the next strike. Blood sprays hot and wet. She screams, launching herself at me in a frenzy. I feint left then sweep her legs out from under her. She hits the ground hard.

This is it. It's enough. The cheers are deafening as I drop my knee into her chest, pinning her down. Triumph blazes through me as I draw back my fist, readying the kill strike?—

A massive explosion shreds the night, echoing up from the gates, sending a fireball up into the night sky.

Ilona's lips curl in a bloody smile. "That's the signal!" she screams out.

And before I can kill her, someone is dragging me off—it's Ricky, judging by the tell-tale hands hooked around me, and Ilona disappears from view as chaos erupts.

Gunshots—deafening, unexpected—half the Syndicate seems to have turned on the other, a coordinated betrayal orchestrated to perfection.

It was a set-up. A distraction.

And I fucking fell for it.

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