Rage

♠THIRTY SIX♠

• Salvatore Camara •

"It only makes sense that he's behind all the attacks coming at Camara. He's trying to distract us so we won't know when he'll strike. And trust me when I say, I don't think he's planning anything small."

Lawrence leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping against the table.

"We don't know what this guy is planning. His location has been changing every week for the past four months, and I'm starting to think he's deliberately messing with us. Leading us in circles."

He paused.

"The good news is that his recent location has remained unchanged for longer than a week."

Lawrence was the best personal assistant I could have asked for. Smart, observant, and irritatingly good at noticing things I preferred to ignore.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't considered abandoning this entire case until I heard that last part.

"So where is he?" I asked.

"Saint Kitts."

I leaned back in my chair.

We weren't investigators. We weren't law enforcement.

We were businessmen.

At least, that's what the world saw.

I had a list of assassins who worked for people willing to pay the right price to get a problem permanently removed.

But that was it.

Strictly business.

At least, that's what I always told myself.

With Lawrence's help, we could finally put an end to this.

I didn't kill for personal reasons.

What I did was business. But some people crossed the line.

Leonardo had crossed mine.

And one way or another, he was going to pay for it.

I sat opposite Lawrence, while Killian and Sian occupied the seats on either side of me.

It was a confidential meeting.

That was why I had my best assassins sitting beside me.

Killian was an eighteen-year-old Australian I'd hired after witnessing him murder a cop in cold blood during a business trip to Fiji.

I'd later learned the kid had been surviving on his own as an immigrant.

I offered him a job.

He killed for me.

I paid him.

The kid didn't hesitate.

Sian, on the other hand, was much better at disappearing without leaving a trace.

He was older. More experienced.

His daughter had been murdered by a French Mafia lord in the early 2000s. He'd told me the story himself.

Normally, we didn't avenge personal grudges.

But Sian had offered himself as a member, and work had to be done.

I presumed that's why his grandson, Javi, didn't like me very much.

I'd covered my tracks well, but I had a feeling some part of him knew I was responsible for his grandfather's death.

After that, I made myself a promise.

I wouldn't involve myself in Mafia-on-Mafia drama anymore.

People in this field didn't let go of grudges.