Blade

Chapter 12: The devil they want

Blade

"What did you manage to find?" I ask Esteban, my cold hard gaze fixed on him as I swirl the whiskey in my glass before taking a slow sip. He hesitates, then slides a brown envelope across the table, uncertainty written all over his face.

"Um, I-I was able to recover a few photos from the camera. It was badly damaged in the explosion, but some images survived. They're blurry though." He speaks cautiously, eyes avoiding mine. "I'm sure you'll be able to find what you're looking for in those pictures."

Nico, seated comfortably on the couch in my office, takes a slow drag from his cigarette. Smoke curls upward as he exhales, his eyes narrowing with approval while he gives me a knowing look.

"You're dismissed," I grunt, lifting my glass and letting the whiskey burn down my throat.

Esteban jolts to his feet, nearly toppling over himself. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he fumbles for balance before rushing toward the door in a clumsy retreat.

I set the glass on my desk, and pull the envelope closer. Quickly, I tear it open and draw out five photographs. Laying them flat across the polished wood, I study the blurred images with a deepening frown as Nico and Franco close in, their shadows stretching over the desk to peer at the pictures beside me.

The first three pictures are so blurry that I can't make out the faces of the people caught in them, only vague outlines that look more like shadows than actual figures. The next picture shows Matteo striding toward the back of the building, a sly gleam in his eyes that makes me narrow mine at the image.

"Man, you've got to see this," Nico whispers as my gaze shifts to the final photo. Matteo and the lead stripper are standing beside someone dressed in a black hoodie, their posture sharp, their expression grim. It looks like the three of them are caught in the middle of an intense exchange.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Franco asks, his eyes scanning over the picture with suspicion.

I recline back in the chair with a heavy sigh, trying to push the sickening image from my mind. It clings stubbornly, feeding the anger that's already coiling like a snake inside me.

Who could have sent them to distract us while the bomb was being planted around the building? Could it be Marcello, Vladimir, Arturo, or even Marcello's uncle? Each possibility twists in my mind, sharper than the last.

And if it really is Marcello's uncle behind this, why would he call us in for a meeting to discuss the bombing? The logic doesn't add up.

If my clubs haven't been infiltrated yet, then I must be the main target. But who would have the motive, the means, and the audacity to go after me?

Nothing about this makes any sense at all.

"Nico, run a biometric facial recognition and background check on this lady. I need the results as soon as possible."

He nods and takes the picture with him as he walks out of my office, the door clicking softly behind him.

Silence settles over the room, as I sink into my chair and lift my glass, the amber liquid catching the light before I take a slow sip of whiskey.

"When do you plan to get married to Sienna?" Franco asks suddenly, his curious gaze fixed on me as if he can read every thought of mine. He crosses one leg over the other, letting the ash from his cigarette fall into the tray before lighting another, the smoke drifting lazily around him.

Fuck. I had completely forgotten about that.

"It hasn't crossed my mind yet, but soon," I respond with a sigh, tilting the bottle and tossing the last of the whiskey into my mouth. I grab the bottle again, pouring another heavy round into the glass. "Truthfully, I really don't know."