Page 42 of Thrown to the Wolves

My gaze flicks instinctively to Hadria, searching for backup, but her expression is carefully neutral.

“I was just kidding,” I say. “About the medic thing.”

There’s another pause.

“Ha-fuckin’-ha,” Marco growls. “That bitch killed Yuri. If you can’t handle the job?—”

“Watch it,” I hiss at him, and pleasingly, he quails. I might have slipped up, but I can still kill him quicker than he can draw his next breath. “She’ll be dead soon enough.”

I keep my expression impassive, years of practice holding firm. But something in Hadria’s eyes tells me she sees right through me.

And we’re not done yet, apparently. Ricky is muttering a string of curses under his breath. He slams his hand hard on the table. “Why ain’t this assassin dead yet if she’s hitting our crews? What’s the fucking hold up?”

“Yeah, what gives?” someone else further down the table demands, and then there’s a whole fucking chorus of it rising up.

This time, though, Hadria has my back.

“The assassin is merely a pawn,” she says, her tone razor-edged enough to cut through the cacophony. “Lyssa, not being a complete moron, wants to find out who is truly pulling the strings against us. Then we will cut the puppet master’s throat along with this…Scarlett’s.”

It’s a good defense, I’ll give her that. Marco and Ricky still look pissed but a little of the heat bleeds from their glares.

“We still shoulda been told this was a bigger threat than just some lone actor,” Ricky grumbles.

Hadria inclines her head a fraction. “Well, now you’re informed. And when Scarlett and her backer are no longer a concern, Lyssa will update you.” Her gaze pins me again. “Won’t you, Lyssa?”

I nod, keeping my expression impassive despite the sickly lurch in my gut. “That’s the plan, Boss.”

Hadria seems satisfied, clearing her throat to move the discussion along. “For the time being, the Sokolovs’ attempt to flex their pathetic muscles by disrupting our established supply routes must be ignored unless absolutely necessary. I will not have Chicago?—”

“—destabilized before the wedding,” everyone calls out, followed by laughter.

Even I smile, though it’s automatic. I’ve lost track of how many times we’ve all heard Hadria reiterate this mantra.

As for Hadria, she just shrugs. “As long as you all understand. If they need to be dealt with, I want them left alive. And trust me, you don’t want to see me in Bridezilla mode.”

The others chuckle and I force out a low laugh myself, though it sticks in my throat. Hadria’s gaze finds me again as the laughter subsides, those cool gray eyes holding a faint warning.

And then the meeting goes on.

When the doors of the war room close behind the last Syndicate member leaving our briefing, Hadria turns to me, and I brace myself.

“You’ve been uncharacteristically restrained about this assassin, Wolf.”

And that statement is uncharacteristically restrained from Hadria Imperioli, head of the Styx Syndicate. So I think I’m dealing with my friend right now, not my Boss.

I shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance despite the sudden tightness in my chest. “Like I said, I’m handling it.”

“Are you? Because I gave you a long rope, Lyssa, and I’d really rather you didn’t hang yourself with it.”

“It’s like you said in the meeting. I’m getting close to gain her trust, to lure out Grandmother—the one who’s really got the potential to be a thorn in our side.”

Hadria studies me a moment, then nods slowly. “Look, I didn’t want to go into all that with the Syndicate. It’s your past, and your business. But if you need help, ask for it.”

“I don’t need help. It’s under control. I’m handling it.”

She sighs. “Please promise me you are, Lyssa. We can’t afford any fuckups, not with so much riding on Juno Bianchi’s visit.”

“I promise you. I’m handling it.”

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