Page 86 of King of Praise
Blood pools on the concrete as their bodies slump forward, the warehouse’s other occupants maintaining professional disinterest in the execution.
“Meeting adjourned.” Zeke’s tone suggests routine business conclusion rather than triple homicide. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
Representatives file out in careful sequence, maintaining distance from the still-warm bodies. Francesca pauses at the door, glancing back with an expression I can’t quite read. “We should discuss this situation further, Ezekiel. Perhaps over dinner?”
“I’ll have my people contact yours,” Zeke says, keeping his response calm and diplomatic. Michael may have denied her prior knowledge of the betrayal, but her loyalty is still under scrutiny.
When only trusted personnel remain, cleanup begins. I supervise body disposal while considering implications of tonight’s events. Tommy’s apparent betrayal provides a convenient explanation for recent troubles, but something feels too neat, too carefully constructed.
Once I’m confident the cleanup is secure, I head back to the club where Zeke is waiting.
“She’s playing us.” I voice the conclusion aloud once Zeke and I are alone in his office.
Zeke pours two whiskeys into heavy crystal glasses, sliding one across his desk to me. “Agreed. Question is, how do we prove it?”
“Tommy’s hiding.” I accept the drink but don’t taste it yet. “Convenient timing.”
“Very.” Zeke settles into his chair, fatigue evident. “You think she ordered both hits?”
“I do. She’s testing our defenses, creating a distraction while setting up the Gallaghers to take the fall. Possibly to make way for Nicolo to squeeze back in.”
“Ambitious play.” Zeke’s tone carries reluctant admiration. “Risky though. Puts Tommy at risk. If we kill Tommy that’d draw Nicolo here.”
“That’s what she wants.” I sip the whiskey, its warmth chasing away the lingering winter chill. “Francesca doesn’t strike me as someone who leaves things to chance.”
“No.” Zeke takes a moment for serious consideration. “She’s careful. Smart. Probably counting on us suspecting but not being able to prove anything.”
“What’s our play?” The question emerges more from habit than necessity. I can usually anticipate Zeke’s strategic decisions.
“Let her think she’s won this round.” Zeke swirls whiskey in his glass, the amber liquid sparkling under the club’s recessed lighting. “Maintain the coalition, keep her close.”
“Meanwhile, we watch and wait,” I finish for him. “Look for the mistake she’ll eventually make.”
“Exactly.” Zeke gives me a dark smile. “Everyone slips eventually. Even smart players like Francesca.”
Our discussion turns to practical matters—increased security protocols, surveillance assignments, and contingency plans for various scenarios. The conversation feels familiar, comfortable despite its violent implications. This is the world we’ve chosen, the life we’ve built. Yet something feels different tonight, an undercurrent I’ve never experienced during similar planning sessions.
I realize with sudden clarity that I’m anxious to finish, eager to return to the cabin where Naomi waits.
“Go home.” Zeke’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “You look like you need some sleep.”
I glance at my watch, surprised to find midnight approaching. “You sure?”
“She’ll be worried.” No need to specify whosheis. “Take it easy. Rest up. I’ll call you when I need you.”
“Thanks, boss.” I stand, bones protesting the long day’s tension. I toss back the last of my whiskey and head out, anxious to get home to my sweet little red head.
It’s ridiculous how much I miss her. I held her in my arms this morning, kissing and fucking her, marking her as mine.
But it feels like ages, not hours.
I don’t know what kind of witchcraft Naomi cast on me, but I am hooked.
I pauseoutside the cabin door, steeling myself before entering. Blood still stains my sleeve where I executed Connor’s lieutenant. I should have changed before coming home. Naomi doesn’t need to see this darkness, to know the violence I’m capable of. She’s endured enough already.
A warm glow spills from beneath the door—she’s waiting up for me. My chest tightens.
I ease the door open, just in case she’s dozed off. But no—Naomi sits curled in the armchair by the fireplace, a book forgotten in her lap as her eyes find mine. Relief floods her delicate features and something inside me threatens to crack open.
