Page 14 of Merciless Oath

“Yeah,” I snort, “can you flash some shoulder or something? Getting kind of bored over here.”

“This isn’t funny, Enzo.”

We sit in silence for a few seconds, all the things unsaid between us swirling through the line, threatening to burst out. I don’t even know why I called her.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I finally admit. She lets out a heavy sigh, and I can hear her fingers nervously tapping on some surface nearby.

“You made your decision six years ago,” she says, her voice tired and empty. “There’s no point in doing this now.”

“He threatened me, Lenny.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “with three million dollars. Must have been a tough choice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, the cool three million you accepted in exchange for staying away?” she grits out. “I waited for you, Enzo. I spent years wondering what the hell wassowrong with me that you’d just disappear like that.”

“Lenny, I didn’t?—”

“You don’t have to pretend,” she snaps. “I found the check.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone, open-mouthed.She thinks her father paid me off to leave her alone? What a sick, twisted bastard. If only she knew the truth.

I instantly redial the number, but it goes straight to voicemail. I try again and again and eventually give up, accepting that she probably blocked my number.

Heartbroken, angry, and no closer to figuring anything out than I was this morning, I eventually head down to the garage.

Even breaking the speed limit on my short drive home doesn’t lift my spirits. As I get into the elevator, my phone lights up with a message. Nervously, I open the app, hoping it’s not another brain twister from The8.

When I see it’s just my doorman informing me he brought a package upstairs, I let go of the breath I’d been holding.

Lux has recently gotten into making jam and has been telling me she’d courier a box over to the penthouse for me to try.Well, at least I’ll sail the high of a sugar rush before I pass out tonight.

I head straight for the small, unmarked package sitting on the entryway table and grab it on my way to the kitchen.

Weird, you’d think a bunch of jars would be heavier than this.

I place it on the marble kitchen island and study the package. No address, no markings—it’s almost suspiciously clean.

Knowing Lux, she would have absolutely spilled something on the box by accident or covered it in little drawings and stickers. A wave of nausea cascades over me.

Something feels off about this.

I consider calling in reinforcements, but then decide I’ll look like a madman if there really is a jar of homemade blackberry jam inside. Carefully, I pull off the twine wrapped around the box and lift up one flap.

Something black and plastic sits inside.

Curious, I pull open the other flap and stare at the device. I take in the wires, buttons, and empty timer and realize I’m looking at a bomb.

I almost panic and run out of the penthouse, but after a second look, I see it’s defused. A small scrap of paper catches my eye, and I tug it free.

Her next birthday is sure to be a blast!

The letters are neatly scrawled in black ink above the signature I knew was bound to be there:The8. But whose birthday?

I think hard, trying to remember the birth dates of every woman in my life. Truth be told, there’s only Lux and Valentina, and neither of their birthdays are any time soon.

Still, this is a clear message. Whoever’s targeting me is also targeting someone else I know, and I have no idea how to connect all this information before it’s too late.

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