Page 5 of Hush, Little Baby

My jaw tightens as I reread a line, irritation making my head throb. “I want the names of the idiots responsible for the sloppy timing with this shipment transfer.”

My right-hand man, Constantine, holds his hand out for the tablet. He takes it from me and looks down at the report.

“You’ll have them within the hour,” he says, sending it to himself. “But maybe don’t kill them for being ten minutes late?”

I let out a quiet, humorless huff, dragging my gaze from the screen to the window for the first time—not to look at the city, but to avoid looking at him.

“Ten minutes,” I repeat, sneering. “Ten whole minutes where they were conveniently out of the picture when Reed’s men were ambushed.”

Constantine sighs before returning his attention to the tablet. “There’s no evidence that they had anything to do with what happened. I understand what it probably looks like to Reed, but on the other hand, we have four men who are alive, and a crate of guns that would’ve been stolen had they been there. Discipline and interrogation—yes. Going straight to murder—no.”

My eyes narrow. “What’s the point in keeping them alive if I don’t trust them?”

Constantine doesn’t even hesitate. “Information, and loyalty if it turns out they are innocent, and you were merciful enough and smart enough to actually investigate this shit before breaking their necks.”

A slow, heavy breath leaves me through my nose. “It’ll be your neck if it’s a mistake.”

“It’s always my fucking neck, Niko. I wouldn’t have it any other way, brother.”

“You’re getting bold,” I mutter.

A corner of his mouth lifts. “Occupational hazard. I just have to hope your childhood friend is worth more than the ‘idiots.’”

“Of course you are,” I scoff. “Mama would hang me if I killed you before Easter. Which reminds me, she asked me to confirm you and Carli will be in attendance.”

“I’d hang myself for missing it,” he laughs, his polished shoe knocking into mine. “Carli’s excited, too. Already planning her outfit four months in advance.”

“Good.” I smile, thoughts of family are one of the few things to draw a genuine one out of me these days.

As Constantine hands me back the tablet, he has a thoughtful look on his face. “Maybe you’ll have someone to accompany you by then.”

“Unlikely.”

“You say that, and yet where are we headed?” His thick brown brow raises knowingly.

Prick.

My gaze drifts, unfocused for a moment before settling again. “There’s no harm in looking.”

Constantine watches me for a second longer than necessary, then smirks. “That—we agree on, my friend.”

“I don’t know. They’re all the same anyway,” I say, voice flat. “They see money, power, and security. They shape themselves into something they think I want. It’s tedious.”

Constantine leans back, crossing one ankle over his knee. “You know they’re not all like that, or you wouldn’t still be looking,” he points out, frustratingly correct again.

I am forty-three. I built my empire ruthlessly, uncaring about who I had to screw over to get ahead. Men fear me. Respect me. Depend on me.

And yet—

I go home to nothing.

No one waiting, no soft voice calling out to me when I walk through the door.

No one needing me.

No one I can present to my mother as my own.

“Mr. Makris, we’ve arrived,” Alex’s voice sounds muffled through the tinted glass as the town car glides to a quiet stop. Outside, a squat brick building stands under a dim streetlamp—no sign, no banner, just a black steel door set into mottled stone.