Page 84 of King of Praise
The call ends, leaving us in silence broken only by the hum of tires on asphalt and my shallow breathing.
“Naomi,” Micah begins, reaching for my hand. His palm engulfs mine, warm and solid and real. “I need to—”
“I know,” I interrupt, twining my fingers with his. “You have to go.”
His eyes—dark, intense, filled with conflicting emotions—meet mine at a red light. “I’ll take you back to the cabin first.”
I shake my head. “There’s no time. Take me to your apartment in the city. I’ll be fine for a few hours.”
“It’s not safe. Sandra’s hired private investigators.”
“Then I’ll stay with Olivia,” I suggest. “Or Lydia.”
Micah’s jaw works beneath his beard. I recognize his expression—the same one he wears when battling between what he wants and what must be done. Then he shakes his head making his decision.
“I’m taking you to the cabin,” his tone dangerous and firm. There’s no arguing with him. “Zeke and the others will wait,”
“Okay, but whoever did this,” I say quietly, “they tried to kill me. Kill my friends. I want them to pay.”
Something shifts in his eyes—pride, maybe, or recognition. He lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles that feels like a promise.
“They will.”
Chapter 22
Honor Among Thieves
Micah
The abandoned warehouse looms before me, its weathered exterior a stark contrast to the meticulously organized operation within. Winter wind whips through gaps in the dilapidated structure, carrying with it the threat of approaching snow. I adjust my coat against the chill, scanning the perimeter one final time before heading inside.
My boots echo against concrete as I enter, the sound swallowed by portable heaters humming in strategic locations throughout the space. Eli nods from his position near the entrance, his usual stoic expression showing a hint of tension around the eyes. His slight head-tilt toward the southeast corner prompts my careful assessment.
We can’t afford any mistakes today. There’s far too much at stake.
“Clear?” I ask, voice low.
“As it’ll get.” Eli’s response is confident but cautious. “Team’s in position. Sight lines established.”
“Brendan Gallagher?” I keep my voice neutral despite the anger inside me threatening to burst free.
It didn’t take much to confirm Gallagher’s involvement in the attack at the restaurant. Their lieutenant, Micheal—the sameman who ran his mouth to me at Francesca’s party—is loosed-lipped when he drinks. A few drinks and a night of fake camaraderie with our men and he let it all out. The man likes to brag.
The Gallagher’s betrayal in attacking me was one thing, but to attack our women when having a peaceful dinner out is an act of war.
Eli’s expression darkens. “Confirmed attendance. They still think we know nothing.”
“They’ve gotten cocky”
“They think Nicolo can protect them. Or Francesca if she’s behind this,” Eli says. I grumble under my breath. These people don’t know who they’re dealing with. Nicolo may rule New York, but he’ll never control our city.
“Still no confirmation on Francesca. If she’s involved, she’s doing a damn good job at keeping it a secret.”
“The truth will come out eventually.”
I nod. “Hopefully, that will be tonight.”
“You sure about this play?” he asks.
