Page 15 of Wicked Embers

The young man stares back at me, unfazed despite the chains. “Someone with information you want,” he says, his voice steady. “Information you’ll only get if my men are guaranteed safe passage out of here.”

Spoken like a true leader looking out for his men first. I arch an eyebrow, my mind whirring. “Who the hell are you?”

Gavriil steps closer, suspicion etched into his face. “How old are you, kid?”

The young man glares, annoyance breaking through his calm façade. “What the fuck does that matter?”

Recognition flickers in his eyes, and he sneers. “Wait—you’re the owner of the Ember Club.”

Gavriil snorts, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. “What’s it to you?” His tone is sharp, his muscles tense, ready to act. “Who the fuck are you? And don’t make me ask again.”

The kid doesn’t flinch. He’s either the mafia or some form of law enforcement. Trouble, either way. “Gavriil,” I snap, my voice cutting through the tension. “Let him speak.”

Gavriil looks at me irritated, but steps back. “Fine,” he mutters, his tone dripping with skepticism.

The man straightens, meeting my gaze with an unsettling calm. “I’m Luca Fabri.”

The name hits like a freight train. Fabri—mafia!

“You’re Enzo’s son?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Your father and I have an agreement because of a shared enemy. Why the hell would you undermine that by cheating at one of my poker tables?”

Luca doesn’t flinch. “I’m aware of the alliance. That’s why I joined your game.”

I scoff, folding my arms. “Some introduction—cheating at four of my tables?”

“We weren’t cheating,” Luca says, his tone sharp. “We used your planted players’ seats to gather intel on the four men who joined your game last minute.”

“The whole game was last minute,” I counter, narrowing my eyes. The kid’s right about the newcomers—high rollers, vouched for by some of my oldest guests. “What’s your point?”

Luca doesn’t hesitate. “The four men are Greek Special Forces. They infiltrated your game.”

The room goes still. My jaw tightens. “The Greek matriarch’s men?”

Luca nods. “I believe so.”

“Why are you after them?” Gavriil presses. “And where’s your father?”

Luca’s expression hardens. “My father’s dead. He was killed five days ago.”

There’s a long, shocked pause. Gavriil curses under his breath.

“That’s why you’re here,” I mutter, the realization sinking in.Enzo, dead?“How did your father die?”

“They shot him,” Luca says flatly. “Those Greek bastards were after information. When he wouldn’t give it up, they killed him—and every man with him.”

“Jesus, kid,” Gavriil breathes. “Enzo was a good man.”

Luca doesn’t acknowledge the sentiment. His gaze locks on mine. “They’re after Mark Dalton. He has something they want.”

The name slams into me like a wrecking ball. Mark Dalton.Of course!

I turn to Gunther. “Verify what the kids said,” I bark. Without another word, I storm toward my office, rage boiling under my skin. I have an ugly feeling in my gut that I’m somehow being played.

The door crashes open, and Viktor jumps to his feet. Gavriil is right behind me, but I cut them both off with a snarl. “Out. Now.”

Gavriil and Viktor hesitate at my order but step backward out of the office. I slam the door shut before they can argue.

Mark barely looks up from his seat, his casual demeanor infuriating. Before he can speak, I grab him by the collar, drag him from his seat, and slam him against the wall.

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