Page 22 of Autumn Ritual

“Nah.” I jerked my chin. “Figured you’d want the pleasure of ending him, since that was what he was trying to do to you.”

“First, they hire a hitman, then they send one of their own guys? Why?” Lucian’s gaze sharpened.

“That was above this one’s paygrade.”

I reached over and started the washing machine. My work clothes—black to hide the blood—were already inside. Any darkness was my friend. It concealed the blood that could never be washed from my soul.

Over the years, I made the Slaughter House my home office. The two-roomed shed was situated deep in the trees on the Ravello property. It was a fast jog to Raven Manor, and close enough to the training facility, where the Made Men were forged into assassins or mercenaries for hire.

Lucian let out a frustrated sigh. “If Aleksandr thinks he can take over the Cove by killing me, he’s even crazier than we gave him credit for.”

With a grunt, I slid into my polished leather shoes. The man looking back at me in the mirror might be wearing a five-figure suit and tie, but it was lipstick on a beast. Sara would never fall for this version if I walked right up to her. I needed something more than a fine suit.

Once she loved the shred of humanity that still beat in my chest, then she would accept the beast the world saw.

“I still can’t understand why you let the first assassin live,” I muttered.

In fact, Lucian let him move into town.

That had been quite the shock earlier this week. I’d been fully prepared to bring Demyan into my workroom, but Lucian stopped me and dropped the bomb that Demyan was off limits.

“I told you, Ivry will destroy us if we touch a hair on his head,” the don grumped.

Our older cousin had him by the balls. Good for her. But it wouldn’t have worked if Lucian didn’t have a sweet spot for the tiny spitfire.

“You’ve been keeping eyes on him, right?”

“Night and day,” Lucian sighed. “But I have a feeling he won’t go back to the Russians. It was only a paycheck; Demyan has no loyalty to them.”

“That is why they sent one of their own guys,” I agreed.

Lucian nodded. “I know. Aleksandr is a greedy bastard. I just need to figure out what he’s after.”

It didn’t make sense. The Bratva in Trenton dealt in illegal weapons, drugs, and gambling. They weren’t assassins. What would they gain by taking over a legacy like the Ravello Famiglia? We were missing something. But unfortunately, the gun for hire tied up in the backroom—ready to be shot and disposed of in the woods—hadn’t been high enough on the payroll to know what his pakhan wanted.

“Come on, let’s go to church,” Lucian said and opened the door. “I’ll take care of our Russian guest this afternoon.”

If he didn’t die quietly from his wounds in the meantime.

“I’m going to send Giuseppe to Trenton,” Lucian continued as we walked to his truck.

I adjusted the suit jacket on my shoulders. Giuseppe was Lucian’s brother. “I doubt he’ll find anything.”

Lucian hummed. “He is the only one I trust to look.” I bristled at that, but the don quickly added, “You can’t go. I need you here.”

His faithful dog, kept on a tight leash. It was why I hadn’t spent more time in Manhattan. It was the reason my trips to the city had been limited to a few weekends a year. Those moments had been precious, watching over the angel as she lived her life free of the mob’s clutches.

But…she’s back.

And I’d already claimed her as mine.

The drive into town was short. My gaze scanned the parking lot of St. Luke’s as we pulled off the road. Relief made my shoulders sag.

Such a good girl.

My perfect angel.

She’d come into town to spend the day with her parents. I was out of the truck and inside the church in seconds. Pausing at the entrance to the sanctuary, I dashed holy water over my forehead, hissing at the burn. It was cold, but the feeling of sizzling skin was no less real.