Page 7 of Silenced

Despite myself, my lips quirk at the corners. “Why is Çela’s nephew,his heir,being used as a courier?” I sign.

The Albanians are hereditary and it’s common knowledge that Çela never managed to spawn a male heir of his own; that’s why the son of a sister is the potential next-in-line to his throne.

His brows lift at my question. “You know Çela, don’t you?”

I nod.

“Think he kept quiet about his ID so we wouldn’t extort money out of the family?”

“He probably knows ‘Mute’ has beef with his uncle,” I sign.

“Never did understand why you don’t like him.”

I grunt.

“They’re into horse racing. Our business paths don’t exactly cross.”

That’s when I rasp, “Daughter.”

Dmitri takes a step nearer to me. “Çela’s daughter… you know her?”

I sign, “Long ago.”

Disappointed, Dmitri’s shoulders sag as if he knows I’ve used up the number of words I’ll utter in a day. “Who is she?”

Who was Elena Çela?

I almost chuckle to myself.

Elena Çela’s the reason I have a scar practically bisecting my eye.

“Do you like her?”

I nod.

“Huh.” He frowns. “But her father can chew cyanide pills?”

I grunt.

He rubs the bridge of his nose. “You want to stick it to him?”

That has me grinning.

He whistles. “Words, a smile,anda grin? Fuck, how badly do you hate this guy?”

I don’t answer that, just stride over to the SUV.

Whether or not Cassiopeia is alive doesn’t matter anymore.

I’ll save her if she’s on the brink of death, and if we’re too late—well, I’ve got Marku. I’ll riddle the motel room with enough Albanian Mob DNA to make even the bent cops in this shithole town sit up and act…

In fact, no.

Ifshe’s dead, then we’ll make a real spectacle out of it.

I won’t just stick it to the Albanians—I’ll tear their house of cards down and use it to set fire to their bodies while they’re still breathing.

Why?

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