Page 142 of Mason

I didn’t come into this job to blur boundaries. I came to scrub the filth from the world, one bastard at a time.

But the deeper I went, the more I realized that the stench isn’t in the gutter. It’s in the marble hallways. In the polished shoes and polished lies.

Corruption doesn’t crawl up from the bottom. It bleeds down from the top. And every system I swore to protect is just another thread in a web built to choke the truth.

But when it comes down to it? None of that shit matters. Law, badge, blood oath—doesn’t make a difference when the bodies hit the ground. Because the truth is, the Gatti Outfit and I might wear different armor, but we’re fighting the same war.

We share a common enemy, but we just play by different rules.

But right now, for the first time since I started at the Bureau, it looks like I’ll have to play by their rules.

Lucky Gattiand I agree to meet at a local garage. Legit on paper, but I know better—it’s the Gattis’ private vault, a showroom for their stable of priceless cars. Quiet threat with a much quieter flex.

I step through the side door, hands raised so he knows I don’t have a weapon and I’m not here to make noise. I’m here to deliver a warning—before the Feds swarm the Gattis with a search warrant and two dozen agents who don’t give a damn who’s guilty and who’s just standing too close.

Lucky’s already waiting, leaning against the hood of a matte black Cadillac, cigarette balanced between two fingers, eyes sharp and unreadable. No hello. No handshake. Just that look—like he’s weighing whether I leave through the same door I came in… or in pieces.

Can’t say I blame him. He was surprised to get my call, but curious enough to offer me an audience. Our past has weight, but lately? There’s been tension. Too many lines have been crossed—not to mention their interference in the Altin Kadricase—and yeah, he’s six feet under now, and I’m sure they had a hand in that too. Proving it, though, gets me nowhere.

“Saxon fucking North,” Lucky drawls. “Look at you. Still dressed like you’re about to run a press conference no one asked for.”

“Nice to see you too, Gatti.” I nod at the car. “That Capone’s Cadillac?”

He smirks. “Depends on who’s asking.”

I get to the point.

“I’m here to deliver a warning.”

He lifts a brow. “About?”

“David Eddy.”

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t flinch. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“Don’t know anyone by that name,” he lies. He may never have met the man, but I’d bet my life on the fact that he knows exactly what happened to him.

“My partner. He vanished,” I continue. “Poof. Ghosted. And his phone? Last ping was from the vicinity of Shelby Monroe’s house the night he disappeared.”

Now I’ve got his attention.

I see the flicker in his expression—the tension tightening behind his smirk.

“What does this have to do with me?” he asks casually, but I’ve always been good at picking up on the tension in his voice.

“The Feds think she knows something,” I say. “Or saw something. Either way, her name’s on the board. And I know she’s now in the custody of Mason Ironside.”

I let the silence stretch for a second, let it settle like gunpowder.

“‘Custody’ is a bit of a strong word, don’t you think? She’s not a prisoner.”

“Given her history with Eddy, they’re looking at her for answers about his disappearance. She’s a civilian, Lucky. If Ironside’s in any way involved in this, it’s only a matter of time before she cracks.”

“She herself was attacked. I know you have a brilliant mind and you remember that.”

“You know they don’t give a shit. This will be the second investigation that’s gone south for the Bureau because of Gatti interference—Kadri, and now David Eddy. It’s only a matter of time before they’re breathing down your family’s neck.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “So, you’re here to what… save us?”

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