Page 35 of Wicked Mafia Sinner

“We can’t ever let him find Cora."

Drake's expression doesn't change, but I catch the slight tension at the corners of his eyes. I know my brother and I can read the calculations behind his eyes. He’s running risk assessments that involve him and the rest of the Red Letter men. I know I would. The woman who witnessed the murder is now connected to me, which means anything Vickers does to find her will eventually lead back to my door. And anyone under our protection.

"Want him dealt with? You know as well as I do the whole station will be on the look out for her. We take care of Vickers, but not the whole force."

He’s not wrong. "Not yet." I watch Vickers tell an officer something that has the cop walking over to Cora’s shop and testing the door.

Fuck. It won’t be long before they are in and pulling her life apart.

I turn back to the conversation with Drake. "We will need to deal with Vickers soon. Put someone on him. I want to see the proof of my son with him."

Drake nods once. We watch the scene for another ten minutes. Long enough to confirm there's nothing else useful to learn. The coroner's van pulls away with my dead contact inside. The forensic team continues processing the alley. Vickers makes two phone calls, both brief, both conducted with his body angled away from anyone who might read his lips.

"I’ve seen enough. You?”

“Yeah.”

The drive to Redthorne is quiet. Drake follows in his own vehicle and I use the silence to organize what I know.

I pull my phone from my jacket and dial Rafael's number.

Two rings.

"Rowan.” Rafael's voice is sharp, alert. He wasn't sleeping either. “What's wrong?”

"I need a meeting. Everyone. Tonight."

Silence bleeds through from the other end.

"How bad?"

I turn the ring on my finger. The silver is warm from my skin.

"That is a complicated answer."

The line goes quiet for a beat. Then Rafael's voice carries over the speaker. "Twenty minutes. Conference room."

With that our call ends.

The city blurs past my windshield as I mentally check off what I know. My contact is dead. The cops are coming for Cora and my son is working in the shadows of my city.

And I aim to find out why. And put an end to it.

Yes, it's fucking bad.

And it's about to get worse.

Seven

Cora

Iwake tired, aching and very naked.

Not to mention seriously freaked the hell out.

My mood is not improved by the fact that I’m surrounded by darkness. I have to wait a few minutes for the room to come into full view. Even my eyes are tired. I rub at them, but when they come into focus I see that I am actually in a room carved out of rock. When the fog of sleep clears next, I am stuck between wanting to cry or curl up into a ball.

A swift strike of terror has my breath locking in my chest. “It wasn’t a dream. I’m really am in Hades’ underground. I guess that’s one way to keep me out of sight.” My seized chest wants me to believe I’m about to meet my end, but in reality I can’t pin-point where death is hiding in the shadows. If at all. I’ve been on high alert for so long, my senses want to assume there’s danger first and verify later.