Page 105 of King of Praise
She needs to learn her place. She can’t orchestrate attacks on other families and get away with it. If she’s not careful, she’ll end up just like the Costas and Gallaghers.
The risk of what we’re planning is calculated but substantial. We have to get the local families in line if we want to maintain our freedom. One wrong move could ignite a war none of us wants—one with New York.
My role in the operation is particularly heavy. I’ll be leading the tactical team, my reputation for controlled violence makes me the natural choice. The irony doesn’t escape me. Here I am planning criminal enterprises while Naomi dreams of opening a bakery. The contrast between our worlds has never felt starker.
I force my attention back to the tactical details Zeke is outlining, adding my own insights about patrol patterns and security weaknesses observed during recent reconnaissance.
The vibration of my phone catches me off guard. When I check the screen, confusion furrows my brow. Olivia.
Zeke notices my distraction and raises an eyebrow. At my questioning glance, he nods permission to answer.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, stepping away from the table. The phone continues vibrating against my palm as I move toward the corner, maintaining professional distance from the ongoing discussion.
“Olivia?” I keep my voice low, controlled despite the unease building in my gut.
Her response shatters any pretense of calm. Gone is her usual composed sophistication, replaced by raw panic that raises all my internal alarms.
“Micah. Thank god.” Words tumble out in a frantic rush. “It’s Naomi. Someone broke in. I was on the phone with her when—”
“Slow down. What happened to Naomi?” Panic rises as I struggle to make sense of Olivia’s words.
“We were talking when she saw someone outside the cabin. A man. Then there was this horrible crash, and she screamed and Micah, the phone went dead. I’ve been trying to call back but nothing’s going through.”
The phone slips from my suddenly numb fingers, clattering against the floor. The sound draws sharp attention from the others, their expressions shifting from confusion to concern as they register my uncharacteristic loss of composure.
Zeke moves first, retrieving the fallen phone and continuing the conversation with Olivia while I struggle to process this catastrophic development. Years of training kick in, forcing me to compartmentalize the emotional response threatening to overwhelm rational thought.
I call out to Seb and give him the information for the security cameras at the cabin.
“What cabin?” he asks, brows furrowed.
“My cabin,” I growl. “Just pull up the feed.”
He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, action now. Questions later.”
My hands are steady as I pull out the burner phone designated for communication with Naomi, but my heart pounds painfully as call after call goes straight to voicemail. With each failed attempt, hope of a benign explanation diminishes.
“The cabin’s security system is offline,” Seb reports, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard. “Looks like it was deliberately disabled, not a technical glitch.”
The confirmation nearly breaks me. Our safe haven violated. My promise of protection broken. Naomi taken.
I should have been there.
The thought rises unbidden, useless yet impossible to suppress. I left her alone, vulnerable, trusting in distance and secrecy to keep her safe. Now she’s paying the price for my miscalculation.
“Micah.” Zeke’s voice cuts through the spiral of self-recrimination. He’s ended the call with Olivia, his expression grim but focused. “We need a plan. Now.”
Guilt and fear won’t help Naomi. Action will. I force myself to think tactically, to apply decades of experience.
“The cabin has cameras covering all approaches,” I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “Even with the security system disabled, footage should have uploaded to the cloud server before the connection was cut.”
Seb nods, fingers already moving across his keyboard as I give him the information he needs to access the server. “I’m in. Give me two minutes.”
“Eli.” I turn to my oldest friend, seeing my own determination reflected in his dark eyes. “I need you to coordinate with our street contacts. Someone must have seen something—vehicle descriptions, unusual movement in the area. I want to know if I was followed.”
“On it.” He’s already pulling out his phone.
“I’ll activate our police contacts,” Zeke adds. He means his wife, Eve. She’ll move heaven and earth to save her friend, just like I would. “If this was sanctioned by any of the families, there might be chatter through official channels.”
