I rip it from his grip and sling it over my shoulder. He thinks this is overkill. He hasn’t seen the one in the trunk.
“You need backup.”
“No. Extra guards will only make them suspicious.”
“Then I’m coming.” Classic Dominic—his favorite pastime is throwing himself on live grenades for me.
I pin him with a look. “No, you’re not. I need you running the team.”
“But—”
“Look. If the shit goes sideways, the further you are from me, the better. Besides, you need to look after Pom.”
He scowls, throwing up his hands. “She’s half a world away.”
“I don’t care if she’s on the goddam moon. She’s still in this universe, and she will be safe.” I jab a finger into his chest. “That’s. Your. Job.”
His stare lasts so long I’m tempted to shoot him in the foot just to get him moving.
Then his hand lands on my shoulder. “Watch your back. I don’t trust that fucker as far as I can throw him.”
I nod once. Neither do I.
One last glare, one last huff. Then he steps aside. I’m gone.
The drive across town is quiet at this hour. Streetlights blur past, empty intersections yawning wide. I pass my old bar—The Inferno.
My brother Smoke had it boarded up. Dead since my death.
And clearing the path for Zver to come to life.
Dante died so I could do this. So I could hunt down the truth about my father’s disappearance…
Or die trying.
That’s the thing about brushing shoulders with death. Nothing stays the same.
It strips away everything but bone and resolve.
With nothing left to lose.
Nothing left to fear.
If Zver vanished off the face of the earth tomorrow, no one would blink.
No one would care.
…Pom would.
Shut up.
A few blocks from the rendezvous, I pull into a hidden lot, kill the engine, and step out. The shadows keep pace as I cut through the streets, slip down an alley, and climb the fire escape in silence—until finally, I’m on the roof.
It’s one of the D’Angelos old factories. My gut twists.
Smoke’s words echo back. There are no coincidences. Only sloppy intel.
My head’s a swarm, buzzing hard enough to split my skull. But I will not leave.