Page 95 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Once they’ve disembarked, I offer Veronica my arm. She loops hers through mine and allows me to steady her as we descend the staircase on wheels that’s been rolled up to the door. With the older woman taking her time, edging her way onto each step, I scan the assembled vehicles. Clocking twenty-three armed men, four women, and the three consiglieres to the Catalonian heads of the La Trinitat Nova waiting for us, I try to formulate a plan in a place where I don’t understand the language and the customs.

I’ve never left Australia.

To say I’m venturing into unchartered waters is an understatement.

“Adjudicator.” A tall man with dark hair and an accent greets me first, then redirects his attention to Veronica. “Consigliere.”

“Incorrect,” I interject. Gesturing Layla forward, I correct him evenly. “Layla De La Rue… my consigliere.” When I hold out my hand, he reluctantly accepts it. “Lazarus. And you are?”

“Constantine.” His gaze fills with appreciation as he scans Layla’s faced. “Apologies for the confusion… we received word that there had been a change in leadership, but we were not aware that it included the other members of the curia.”

As Layla pulls a face, clutching her laptop to her chest as she recoils in shock at her promotion, I do my best to distract him from her reaction. “Veronica Cerulli is the captain of my legal team.” Exchanging a look with Veronica, I add. “If she’ll accept the role.”

I wasn’t planning on airing out our dirty laundry so publicly, but I’m thankful that both women easily accept the changes I’ve made. While Layla has been moved up in rank, I’ve technically demoted Veronica. Her expertise as Gabriel’s consigliere makes her unsuitable to fulfil the role for me.

My interest in maintaining the status quo is zero.

The entire hierarchy of the Adjudicator’s curia will be rearranged the second I have the opportunity. I’m not willing to risk the members who’ve proven loyal to me in order to fluff up egos that have sat by and allowed Gabriel to bastardise the ethos of our mission.

We’re supposed to be judge, jury, and executioner of the underworld.

Gabriel Abaddon lost his way when he chose to take financial windfalls into consideration.

Constantine leads us to the second of the three waiting vehicles. After allowing Veronica and Layla to enter first, I ensure that Atlas and his team are safe, and have their eye on Gabriel’s comatose form, before settling in the first row in the back of the SUV. We speed off, through the dark streets, a motorcade with a police escort that travels completely unencumbered beyond the city limits.

On edge, I take in the looming buildings. My gaze is assessing, scanning for hazards, and weighing up the chances that we’re being led into an ambush by the Catalonian conclave. I have to believe that they were sincere in their offer to hear me out.

It would’ve been easier to let me kill Gabriel.

I have to take some comfort in their outrage over his actions.

The rich history of the country is on display.

Colourful and serene.

I can feel the antiquity, a tale of survival that doesn’t resonate in a young country like Australia. Perth city, especially, is modern and severe in a way that Barcelona is not. The ramparts drip with sophistication. Chronicling a story that covers centuries. There’s a boldness, a kind of spiritual claim, that I have only ever previously felt whenever Meeyal has invited the Shamrocks onto his mob’s land.

“Boss.” Layla moves her laptop in front of me. I scan the screen, reading her message informing me that she speaks eleven languages fluently so will act as my translator should I require it. “We’ll be fine.”

Inclining my head, I smirk at her as she angrily straightens her jacket. The goth girl is out of her normally black plumage today, instead she’s dressed like a librarian. It was Veronica’s doing, as most of the details of this trek have been. She forced Layla to change. Made her let down her hair and remove her dark makeup. I know how irritating it is to be forced to conform, so I stayed quiet while the two women discussed the need for a new look, although I did make it clear that it was up to Layla’s discretion.

The Adjudicator and his curia are supposed to be independent, so the last-minute request to meet in person threw me for a loop. I hastily organised transportation. Arranged for Atlas and his chapter to accompany us. Ensured I was adequately dressed after showering to wash away the bloodshed caused by my first round of vengeance for my dad.

For Veronica, and evidently Layla since she changed, this trip requires a neat pant suit.

Neat.

Pant.

Suit.

I’ve lost my goddamn mind. It’s mindboggling to acknowledge that my inner voice has changed so much in a little more than six months that I’m now mentally contemplating women’s clothing choices like a dry-arse HR representative. For thirty years, I crafted the image of a savage biker. I leant into the brutality that was innate to the role, from the day I could walk unassisted until I died in a Perth jailcell.

Now, I’m evaluating the clothing of my 2IC like it matters…

“Holy moly,” Veronica exclaims when the vehicle we’re travelling in screeches to a halt. I throw my arms in front of the two women to stop them from hitting their faces on the back of the seats in front of them. “This is unusual.”

Considering the older woman is the only person to have visited Catalonia before, I heed her comment without argument. I unholster my handgun and unsnap the blades strapped to my calves. Next to me, Layla does the same thing. Together, we check the windows for clues to explain the abrupt stop.

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