Part II
Metamorphosis
“You did thirst for blood,
and with blood, I fill you”
—Dante Alighieri, Inferno
Chapter 11
Tristan, Gladestone
He was going tobuy a fucking jet.
No one knew this but Tristan was and had always been scared of heights. Given his choice of residence, one wouldn't have thought so, but that was the truth. Flying had always been something that put him off-kilter, which was why he had always tried to sleep through the journey whenever he'd traveled via the Maroni jet, which he most often had. Though he preferred being on the ground, using a car, or even better, his bike to go places, time was often of the essence in their line of work, and he'd needed to simply travel as soon as possible. The idea of being thousands of feet above sea level, hanging in the air in a metal can, made his stomach queasy, yet, no one could have suspected that from looking at him.
The penthouse had been the first real purchase he'd ever made for himself and also the costliest. Though he'd been investing in property for a while—thanks to the pain in the ass Dante—he'd been piss poor growing up with nothing to his name. It hadn'treally mattered since he'd been living at the Maroni compound, getting all his physical needs met, and he hadn't really cared at the time. It had been Dante who had guided him into growing his wealth. Dante had the kind of generational wealth Tristan had never seen anyone else have, with a lineage of net-worth more than he even knew about. Tristan hadn't had a thing to his name; it was just a bank account with a 'salary' that was getting deposited and going untouched. Dante had had access to his information and had obviously looked him up, so he knew exactly how much Tristan was worth.
And because he was a good man—Tristan could admit that in the recesses of his mind but probably never out loud, or the man would get more on his nerves—Dante had advised Tristan to buy some property in the city, small stuff, so he could begin growing his portfolio. Money was power, and Dante had wanted him to have his own outside of his role in the Outfit. So, as annoying as Dante had been, Tristan had taken his advice because if there was one guy who knew how to make and keep money, it had to be the Maroni prince. He had bought small commercial property in the city and grew his investments until, one day, he decided to get a base in Shadow Port.
If someone asked him why he'd made a home for himself there instead of any other city in the world, he wouldn't be able to give a reason. Maybe it had been to be closer to Morana, whom he had planned on killing eventually. Maybe, it had been to just get away from Tenebrae and all the shitty memories the city held for him. Or maybe it had been because Amara had already moved to Shadow Port, and he hadn't wanted to leave her completely alone in a strange city. He had, and still did, feet protective of her ever since the day he'd found her broken after being missing for three days.
Tristan remembered the moment, something he doubted he would ever forget. He doubted she remembered, though. She'dbeen in and out of it, but the relief in her body when she'd seen him still hit him in the gut. It had been the first time in a long time Tristan remembered feeling something so visceral. The emotion had surprised him, making him realize he still felt things beyond rage and revenge and agony. Amara didn't know, but she had given him a purpose, especially during her years of recovery. Somehow, making sure she was going to be okay had become an added goal in his life. So, moving to Shadow Port had been a multi-factor decision.
He had bought the entire lot before construction had even begun, the area a little out of the main city but still close enough to be immediately accessible. He had liked the idea of being on top with the entire view of the city and the sea laid out before him, the idea of conquering his one fear of heights and staring it down. He had worked with the project architect and had the penthouse made for himself. And he still remembered the first time he'd entered it. It had taken a few weeks of standing at the windows to convince his mind that the glass wasn't going to break and the building wasn't going to fall. Now, it was one of the only spaces in the world he felt good in, regardless of the height.
But he still fucking hated flying.
Sitting in Alpha's private jet—because Dante had taken his and rushed to get to Gladestone—Tristan was feeling off-kilter again. He hadn't slept in the last twenty-four hours, ever since Morana had shown him the photos, images that had been burned onto his retinas, appearing in high definition every time he closed his eyes. Hair that had gotten even redder over the years, vivid green eyes that had looked like precious jewels, pale skin that he wondered about turning red when she laughed. It had taken him a few minutes to process and accept the fact that she was alive and looked well.
And then it hit him.
He had missed so much of her life, so many moments and milestones where he should have been there as a big brother. Though it wasn't through any fault of his own, it didn't stop the guilt from weighing him down. Since the day she had disappeared from her room to the day he was flying to get to her, there hadn't been one where the guilt of not being able to protect her hadn't eaten him alive. He didn't know what she'd been through, how she'd survived, but the fact that she looked healthy and content in the latest photo from three weeks ago eased something in his chest.
She was okay, and she was only going to get better.
He gripped the armrest, which was not something he would have usually done, but he didn't have it in himself to care for it at the moment.
"You alright?"
Tristan turned to look at the one-eyed man opposite him. He had to give it to Alpha—the man had dropped everything and gotten on his jet within an hour of Morana calling Zephyr. Tristan knew there was some awkwardness between the two women, but that didn't stop them from being there for each other. About twelve hours ago, when the trace had been almost completed, the general vicinity of the location becoming clearer, Morana had called Dante first, alerting him. Since the direction was east and a straight route for Dante, he had gotten his jet prepared and had already gotten ready to get in the air at her word.
Then, surprisingly, Morana had called Zephyr.
***
"How are you guys getting there?" Zephyr, Alpha's wife, asked, her voice on the speakerphone as Morana sat in front of the laptop and Tristan paced.
"I don't know," Morana said. I'm figuring it out, but there are not any private services available at such short notice."
There was a pause. "Will you take Xander with you too?"
Morana exchanged a look with him. In between all the chaos, they hadn't even thought about it. Fuck. He had a routine, and though they often traveled with him to Tenebrae, it was a different thing to take him on a whim like that during an operation without knowing what was going to happen. They couldn't do that. He was a kid.
The silence was answer enough because Zephyr's voice came again. "How much time do we have?"
"Six hours, maybe less," Morana answered.