“Figured as much.”
“I’ve got debts to collect. I won’t be returning to the Riviera.”
“No more sunshine,” he warns.
“Not planning on doing much sunbathing.”
“Maybe I’ll visit.”
“Maybe you will.”
“Is she worth it?” he asks, repeating the same words he spoke to me all those years ago.
My lips twist. My answer is still the same:
Worth killing for.
Worth dying for.
Worth the war that’s coming.
I can feel his dark eyes flickering over me, searching through the ruins of trust between us for something that’s still alive. “There’s a business opportunity on the table in London, if you’re interested.”
I take a final drag of my smoke. “What kind of opportunity?”
“The Colombian kind.” He leans over and hands me a black card embossed with the gold scorpion motif of the Santiago Cartel.
“White or brown?”
Coke or heroin?
“White. Santiago wants to move his product into the British market. Cut the Bratva influence to pieces and kill the Irish supply, but he needs a partner to help oversee the, ah, handover of power. Kirill Semenov’s relationship with his Lithuanian supplier is strained and O’Sullivan’s losing his patience. Rumour has it he’s looking at new ways to increase his power and revenue, but it’ll take a bomb to shift them. They’ve ruled over that city for two decades.”
“Good thing I’m good at lighting fuses.”
O’Sullivan.
Semenov.
And just like that I’m back in that basement again, watching that Russian swing a bat at Ada’s legs. Seeing her crumple to the floor, so silent in her agony.
The next thing I know, the remains of my cigarette is crushed pulp in the palm of my hand.
“That’s what I told Santiago as motivation to get you out of your French holiday camp.” Aiden glances down, reading my reaction for what it is. He’s seen the file. He knows everything about me now, including who Ada is married to. “Santiago wants to meet, and I suggest you consider it. If you play in hell, it’s smart to have the Devil on your side.” He shifts position, cocking his hip against the Maserati, still the same ice-cool punk he always was. “There’s a life to live after you kill the demons, Frankie. Once you burn down her ivory tower, you can’t live on smiles and satisfaction alone.”
Not when there’s an oath to fulfil to a dead father.
I watch him glance at the prison again. “Santiago wants an infrastructure in place before he makes his move, which includes a local partner. These days, he cleans his money through my casinos in France, and he wants a casino in London to do the same. That’s where you come in.”
“Incentive?”
“Money.”
“Don’t need money.”
“An army. He’ll give you all the men you need to destroy the Red Compass.”
Shit.
That’s when temptation starts to taste a lot like pussy. The best pussy. Her pussy. I wanted a neat slaughter, but with the Colombian kingpin as my partner in crime I’ll get a goddamn massacre.
My blood heats at the thought of it. Zaccaria was right. It isn’t enough to destroy an enemies’ business. The real buzz comes from seeing them plead for mercy.
Like he pleaded for mine before I turned him into a corpse less than eight hours ago.
“Santiago’s flying into London within the next two weeks.” Aiden shifts position again. “But you don’t sit down with a man like him with just your dick in your hand. Have something to bring to him, Frankie. Get a crew. Make connections. Buy up the casino he needs—”
“And if I don’t?”
“You won’t be walking out of that meeting alive.”
Shooting him a look, I circle the Maserati to the driver’s side. “You sound like you’re worried about me, Raven.”
He flicks me the finger, but his face remains deadly still. “There’s one more condition. No killing Semenov and O’Sullivan until he lands. There’s a reason for it, but he’s not sharing it with me. Be patient. It’s only two more weeks. Take the Red Compass down with Santiago, and the city and library girl are as good as yours. Try and do it without him, and you run the risk of spooking O’Sullivan and fucking it up, not to mention you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life for a Colombian bullet. Rein it in and plan it right. All good things come to bad men who wait.”
I hold my hand out as I consider his words. “Keys.”
“No chance. You know I always drive.”
“Not anymore.” I watch his fingers creep reluctantly towards his pocket. “They drove me from my city, Aiden. They drove Ada straight to hell.” I pause as his keys are finally tossed in my direction. “My hands are the only ones on that steering wheel now.”
CHAPTER 14
FRANKIE
My newly acquired private jet arrives in Malaga at eight p.m.
This is the only detour I’ll be making before London, but it’s a necessary one. There’s a man I need to see about murder—an outcast and a sinner who hates the Red Compass as much as I do. Like Aiden said, I need a crew, and this Viper has been laying low in the sun scorched grasses of the Costa Del Sol for too long.
Besides, there was an assurance once, muttered in darkness and delivered in blood:
“We can’t win this one, Lastra, but we can make the comeback stronger.”
Outside, the dusk is casting shadows across the runway and drenching the sky in weak Rioja red. It makes me think of the highlights in her hair. Makes me think of the way I wrapped my fists around them as we fucked the desperation out of each other; how I still replay these moments in my head every damn night until my cock is raw, and my hand is aching.
I’m coming for you, dove girl.
Sliding my cigarettes into my inside jacket pocket, I knock the rest of my whiskey back, noting the dried blood on my wrist.
Murder stains. Badges of dishonour.
The prison guards didn’t even question me about Zaccaria’s murder before they turned me loose. They were too busy sitting in their counting houses, counting out Santiago’s backhanders. Windows of opportunity are fragile. One crack, and you can punch a hole straight through them. One bribe, and you can find yourself alone in a prison cell with a makeshift blade and one of the men who ripped your whole life apart.
The capo dei capi had finally broken his own rules and left Italy, and Interpol caught up with him in a villa outside Cannes. Soon after, I found myself doing time in a different prison a hundred miles away.
I’d let myself get caught. I’d seen my opportunity.
With Aiden’s influence, I was transferred to La Bastille, and for the next couple of months the man who’d stared out a traumatised kid in the back of an SUV fourteen years ago, had that very same kid staring back at him across a metal stairwell.
One difference: I was a killer now who didn’t know the meaning of mercy.
Zaccaria knew he was a dead man the second our eyes met. He knew the Red Compass was my four points of revenge.
Four betrayals.