Page 41 of Midnight Wedding

“My real concern is Aunt Sona.” We walk together through the maze of shelving units back toward our offices. “She hates this shit more than Garen does. He’s a pragmatist, but she holds grudges.”

“How much influence does she really have?”

“I think she’s running the whole show.”

Tigran snorts like he doesn’t believe me, but tilts his head to the side. “You might be right honestly. Garen’s a hard worker, but he’s not exactly clever. It wouldn’t shock me if someone else is the one calling the shots.”

“Aunt Sona might end up agreeing with you about all those concessions.”

“I hope the girl was worth it.” Tigran glances at me, and there’s a clever little smirk on his face. “How was your wedding night, speaking of which?”

“Uneventful. I showed her the house.”

“And she didn’t turn and run away?”

“Not yet.”

“The manor’s such a fucking wreck. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“We grew up there, remember?”

“No shit, that’s why I have my own place these days.”

“It’s the heart of the Brotherhood’s power. There are perks to being thepatron, but that place isn’t one of them.”

“I can’t blame you for having a fucking safe house in the city. The manor always gives me the creeps.”

We reach the office and step inside. Tigran flops down on the couch and stretches with a sigh. The men will spend the morning unpacking, weighing, and cataloguing the shipment. Once they’re done, we’ll figure out what we have, where it has to go, and how much we’re going to profit on this particular import.

“I hope you’re at least enjoying the girl,” Tigran says, cracking his neck with a satisfied grunt. “Considering what we’re paying for your pleasure.”

“It isn’t like that. She’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant women can still fuck.”

I glare at him, my gaze level and hard. “I thought we talked about respecting my wife.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I get it. Didn’t know you were going to turn into such a tight-ass after one measly little wedding.”

I’m about to tell him off some more, but one of our men comes hurrying into the office without knocking. Normally, that would earn him at least a minor punishment, but the look on his face makes my short rebuke disappear.

“Patron, this just showed up. I think… I think Garen sent it.” He holds up a cardboard box. There are dark stains on the bottom.

I shoot Tigran a look and gesture for the guard to put the box down on the desk. More men come into the room as I slowly break the tape seal and open the flaps.

Inside is a face.

It takes a moment to recognize young Ricky. He’s twenty-two at most. His beard’s dark and smeared with thick, congealed blood. His mouth is twisted into a terrified scream. His eyes were stabbed through and are two mangled holes. I suspect that happened before he died.

A note’s pinned to his forehead with a nail.

It says one word.

WAR.

“I guess that’s Garen’s answer,” Tigran says quietly.

One of the guards rushes over to the trashcan and pukes his guts up.

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