Page 80 of Dangerous King
Stephano exhales a sharp, humorless breath. "Depends. Some don't. The ones who don't keep their mouth shut." There is a pause. "You do know what they call him, right?"
"I've heard things," I murmur. "Ghost. Phantom. Shadow."
"Ledyanoy Prizrak," Stephano says in an almost reverent tone.
Ledyanoy Prizrak, or translated from Russian, The Icy Ghost. I've heard the name. Whispers, mostly. Legends in the underground, the kind people laugh off because the alternative is being afraid. Stories passed between arms dealers and blackmail brokers like urban myths. A man who leaves no trace. Who speaks only once. Who kills with a surgeon's precision and vanishes into smoke.
They say if you feel a cold wind before you die, it's him. They say he doesn't leave blood. Just silence. They say no one ever survives seeing his face.
And now… I've not only got a photo of that face, but Izzy must have seen him—and got away.
That bastard touched my sister.
The leather of the steering wheel creaks at how tightly I'm holding it. My foot hovers over the brake, but I don't stop. Because suddenly this thing isn't a mafia vendetta. It's so much darker. And I have no doubt who they'll use to get to me again. I glance at the photo still open on my phone. That bland face. That smooth, bald skull. Forgettable.
"Find me his pattern," I tell Stephano coldly. "Find me what he wants. Where he moves. Who he's killed. And if he has a fucking shadow of a handler, I want to know."
Then I hang up. Because if Ledyanoy Prizrak wants to play ghost in my world? I'll become his fucking exorcist.
I'm almost home when my phone rings again. I look at my father's name and contemplate not taking it; after all, I'm on the road leading to the house. Long ingrained duty, however, compels me to answer.
"I need you to stop by Don Edoardo's house and make an appearance." He starts without preamble or greeting the moment I press accept.
"Why?" I ask curtly, picking up on his mood.
"Carlos is out on bail, and Don Edoardo is throwing him a welcome back party." My father replies dryly.
Fuck. That's going to make Toni go apeshit. I check my mirrors and turn the Hummer 180 degrees. For a vehicle this size, it's amazingly easy to navigate, and it corners like a much smaller car.
"What am I supposed to do there? Lie to Carlos about how happy we are he's back?" I ask, knowing the old man didn't call me to check on Toni. As much as he approves of our friendship, it's the furthest from his mind.
"Exactly."
"Why don't you—" he hangs up on me.
"What the fuck?" I curse out loud. "He hung up on me."
My father is curt and to the point when it comes to business. And I suppose this was just a business call from the boss to the heir-in-waiting.
I hit the gas pedal, and the speedometer immediately jumps from fifty to eighty miles an hour. I don't care about the guards, who scramble to reopen the gate. I'm prepared to drive through, and they know it; it wouldn't be the first time. Mentally, I'm daring a cop to come and stop me. I'm in the right mood for a confrontation.
Talking Toni out of trying to kill Carlos tonight would likely take a saint, which I'm not. I can get him drunk and out of there, though. I think of the date I had planned with Cat and check the clock. It's three in the afternoon. With any luck, I'll be able to get Toni out of there and still make my date. If not… Shit, no, I'm not even going there.
The gates to Edoardo's estate are wide open, and cars are parked all the way from the entrance to the huge fountain up front. Looks like everyone with a name is here. That was to be expected. Carlos being out on bail is a big surprise, and everybody wants to lick his boots in case he's back in Edoardo's good graces.
I throw the key at a waiting valet and say, "Keep it close." I hand him a hundred before heading up the large marble steps.
The last thing I want to do is congratulate Carlos, but his loud, obnoxious laughter is the first thing I hear when I enter theliving area. He's standing in a circle of his friends, smoking a cigar and looking smug as fuck. It's my dad's voice inside my head that makes me straighten my jacket, plaster a smile on my face, and walk over to the group.
Carlos barely acknowledges me; to him, I'm just another capo's son. Fine, I don't even offer my hand, "Carlos. My father sends his best wishes."
Carlos regards me like I'm a butler who brought him the wrong drink. Eyes half-lidded, lips curled just enough to suggest I should feel honored he's looking at me at all. Like I'm nothing more than my father's mouthpiece or an errand boy in expensive shoes. Maybe tonight, that's exactly what I am. But he'd be wise to remember who's next in line in the Sartori family.
"Well, isn't that sweet of him?"
And I'm sure he means every word, just like I mean it when I say I hope you trip into traffic, you smug bastard.
I nod at the others, but single out only Stephano's father, "Gustave."
