For Logan (Chicago Syndicate Book 5) (31 page)

I channel my ire and display a slow smirk, realizing I need to finish this once and for all because James will never allow Rosa and me a peaceful life. He’s too far gone to reason with, and he must atone for Nana’s death. His eyes round as I slide my finger to the trigger.

“Think about the consequences, Logan,” he warns arrogantly.

“
You
should’ve done that. I have no one else left but Rosa. One of us needs to die because you decided that you’ll never accept her and me.”

“She won’t love you if you kill her father,” he yells in alarm, sensing my savage state.

“Yes, she will,” I retort calmly. “I want you to know that I’ll marry your daughter, and I’ll be the only man she’ll ever be with.”

“You’ll never get away with it.” He looks around and tries to edge sideways, but my aim follows him without difficulty.

“Yes, I will. You, former boss, misjudged how far I’d go to keep her. This is what your Syndicate has made of me. I’ll take my justice. I have nothing to lose anymore; you’ve ensured that. I’m sorry it’s come to this, but not for you. Only because I
do
love her.” And I pull the trigger.

The dampened bullet resounds into the night as it perforates the skin between his eyes, and he slouches down into the water. An area of the pool turns crimson with his blood as I toss the pistol – the guard’s gun – into the water and steal James’s phone from his jacket.

Without any time to waste, I climb out of the pool, wet, cold, and exhausted. Guilt is an emotion that’s been trained out of me since I’ve become a Syndicate member. Still, heartache slows me down. Retaliation is not satisfying when human lives are involved. On the other hand, this is the justice we take in this mafia world. Now, I need to set up the scene.

I brush my hands through my wet hair and rush into the house to drag the body of the guard out, swiping it over the floor as if he crawled outside and flinging him onto the edge of the pool.

I look for the security room next, locating it in the basement, beneath the foyer. Within minutes, I hack into the system and delete the footage and back-up of the last hour entirely so no one can find it. Then I abandon the mansion.

As I drive out, I see cars entering the street in my rearview mirror. Immediately, I switch off my lights until I’ve pulled onto the highway and race to CIA headquarters now that I’m not being tailed for the first time in a week.

***

I
t’s one-thirty a.m. when I maneuver my vehicle into the garage of the deserted CIA high-rise, taking the elevator to the top floor. My settling of scores hasn’t been finished. There’s still a second guard roaming around as a free man – the one who murdered my grandmother. With my fingerprint, I open the door and turn on the fluorescent lights. They switch on row by row on the ceiling, exposing the vast expanse of the tech room where rows of computers are lined up parallel to each other in the center of the room. Shelves with guns, ammunition, phones, tablets, earpieces, and tons of gadgets light up as well.

After fishing out my phone from my pocket, I get a mini-screwdriver from the shelf to remove the chip and destroy all the data. Then I steal two new, secured phones, and without bothering to sit, I log into the system and enter my password, arranging for a CIA clean-up crew to respectfully take care of my grandmother’s body right away. Lastly, I hack into Club 7’s system to find the home address of the second guard. Within minutes, I’ve collected what I need.

Determined, I return to the garage and drive out in another car – an ordinary, black vehicle – and leave my convertible behind.

***

T
he address is on the outskirts of the Loop. Fatigue pulls at me, but acute grief keeps me focused on one goal: full retribution. I slide my revolver with the silencer into the back of my pants, under my suit jacket, and I drive as slowly as possible to keep from making any noise and park five minutes away. Thankfully, my clothes have mostly dried by the time I reach my destination, and I lurk back down an obscure path lined with trees. Rounding a white brick, three-story, I climb the fence to enter the garden, crossing the lawn toward the porch. With my foot, I slide the doormat close against the door and shoot the lock; it trickles onto the mat silently.

Slipping through the entrance, I pass a small kitchen and creep toward a staircase on the far side, continuing up to the second floor. The first bedroom door is ajar and my target is lying on his king-size bed with a lady next to him. I slink inside without making a noise, hunching down beside him, and snatch my gun from my slacks and aim the barrel at the tip of his nose to simply stare at him.

His eyes open languidly at first, trying to focus, and then widen.

That second, I smother his mouth with my palm and whisper, “Come with me, or she dies now.”

He nods, so I stand up slowly with my pistol targeted at his forehead as he climbs off the bed, wearing only white boxers, with his hands in the air. I gesture with the gun for him to proceed in front of me, and with my weapon poking in his back, I guide him downstairs to sit in a chair at his kitchen table while I make a half circle and stop behind him. Since I can’t waste any time, I take a knife from the wooden block on the counter behind me and cup his chin to slit his throat. I don’t slice too deep, just enough for the blood to seep out and burn his skin.

I release him to step in front of him as he spits blood in shock. “It hurts doesn’t it, motherfucker.”

Leaning sideways, I grab a towel from the sink, cut the corners of his mouth, and smother his cry with the towel while he howls in agony, struggling in the chair.

“I’m going to let you slowly bleed to death because you took my grandmother’s life.”

Again, I cut his throat. This time deeper so he can’t make excessive noise as blood gushes out, and he sags to the floor into a fetal position. I wipe the layer of sweat mixed with his blood from my upper lip, and taking the towel and knife with me, I stride out toward my car the same way I came in.

There’s only one place where I’ll be safe, so I return to CIA headquarters because I’m probably a hunted Syndicate man. Thinking quickly, I concentrate on damage control and send a message to Adriano.

Logan: I did not kill Mykhail. When you want to talk, contact me at this number. I’ll only talk to you. No underboss or Consigliere.

On the twentieth floor of headquarters, there are tons of rooms for agents to occupy. I check into one room that’s decorated with simple walnut furniture and miserably sink down onto the edge of the mattress, dropping my head in my hands and finally letting the anguish come. The first tears I’ve shed since I lost my son seep into the carpet. I can’t even turn to the one I need most. The last time someone I loved died, I didn’t feel so alone.

Somehow, I have to give Rosa the second secured phone that will enable us to communicate. I can’t contact her or visit her right now since I don’t know what’s going on at that damn mansion in Lincoln Park.

Rosalia

––––––––

T
he gate is wide open when I reach my house. After Logan left his grandmother, I went after him again but lost him within minutes, so I decided to drive home.

I brake suddenly when I notice that one living room window is broken and then I hear engines approaching. Several cars pull up the driveway, and Adriano busts out of his silver convertible.

I throw open my door as he rushes over to me, his dark eyes betraying not a flicker of emotion.

“What’s going on?” I ask frantically.

“Alarm went off,” he says and places his hand on my shoulder so that I don’t stand up, watching his men disappear through the heavy entrance door. “Wait here. I’ll be back for you when I know it’s safe.” He runs up the flight of stairs and inside the house.

While extreme panic blazes through me, I wait and piece together the turn of events. My father somehow found out about Logan and me, and he threatened Logan to end our relationship. I believe Logan when he told me that my father killed Mykhail, and apparently, he also killed Logan’s grandmother. Now I’m not sure where either man is.

Impatiently, I get out of the car and tiptoe inside the ravaged house. A trail of blood is smeared on the grey-tiled floor in the foyer, and my stomach curdles in distaste as I follow it through the kitchen and back door to a corpse lying on the trimmed lawn. My stare lands on the edge of the pool where Adriano’s instructing two men to pull a person out of the water, and I recognize my dad’s silver-grey hair.

“Oh, my God, Dad?” I yell. Dread overwhelms me, and I dash forward to the men pulling his body out.

Everyone’s gaze shoots to me, and Adriano stops me halfway, folding his arms around me and lifting me off the ground. He turns us around until I’m facing the house before he sets me on my feet again, but he keeps his hold. Uselessly, I try to tug free, but he’s too strong and rests his hand on the back of my head.

“No, Rosalia, you don’t want to see,” he tells me.

“Is he...dead?” I clutch his tux jacket.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” He strokes my hair affectionately.

A sob escapes me and tears streak down my cheeks.
What did my father do?

Another shriek rings out, and I make out my mother’s voice.

I look up as Adriano commands, “Goddammit, someone lock up the gate and seal the perimeter of this mansion. Now!”

“James!” my mom cries, flying past Adriano and me toward the edge of the pool where a guard is covering him up with a white sheet. My mom pushes the guard aside and sags to her knees, clutching my father’s lifeless shoulders. “James? No!”

There’s a commotion in the kitchen, and then Cam, Luca, and Fallon step out too. Cam’s palm flies to her swollen belly and the other to her mouth before she eats the distance between us, and Adriano flings one arm around her, kissing her temple tenderly.

We’re all still in our formal attire, surrounded by a sinister crime scene. I need to collect my thoughts while I’m mourning so much loss.

My mother’s mumbling, shaking her head riotously. Yet her lips skew in annoyance as she swings upward and screams, “What did you and Logan do?”

Adriano’s brows furrow, and he releases both Cam and me to block my mother as she comes at me.

Apparently, my mother also knew about Logan and me and the plan my father was executing!

“Calm down, Alessa,” Adriano instructs, holding up his palm in a simple, yet effective, commanding gesture as everyone’s stunned by mother’s vehemence and the blood.

She halts instantly. “Rosalia, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” I defend. “Adriano came in before me.”

“Someone explain to me why James is dead along with one of our guards?” Adriano points his finger between the two of us as he entwines hands with Cam, who’s observing me in an odd manner.

I comb my hair from my face and brace my neck with both hands.

“Rosalia?” Cam prompts softly, crying for our father. “Tell us what you know.”

Adriano adds, “I just received a message that Mykhail Medlov has been found dead. Seems like Logan disobeyed my orders and killed him.”

It’s time to come clean. I lower my arms and take an encouraging breath, letting the words tumble out, “I don’t know what happened here, but Logan and I have been in a relationship for months.”

Cam’s mouth drops open while she wipes away her tears.

“And I’d been helping Mykhail hide since November, but Logan didn’t know. Somehow, my father discovered it.” Solemnly, I catch my mother’s angry stare. “Dad killed Mykhail, and he made me believe that Logan did it and forced Logan to lie to me for a week.”

“How do you know this is true?” my mother counters, furiously tucking her black hair behind her ears when the wind rustles through the strands.

I send my mother a disappointed look. “I also think you knew; why else would you suspect Logan and me now?”

“Rosalia, shut up,” she chides. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

“I think I’m the only one here who knows most of the story. Stop treating me like a kid. What did
you
and
Dad
do?”

“Rosalia, finish your story,” Adriano interrupts. “And since when has Mykhail been dead?”

“Since last week, Saturday. Logan broke up with me all of a sudden on that day, and we talked for the first time tonight, but when dad caught us, he bolted out of the venue. Logan and I left right afterward, to hurry to his grandmother who’s been killed too, by Dad or his guard, I think.”

“And then?” Adriano prompts, his lips in a hard, thin line as he learns the full truth about his head
Capo
and me.

“I left Logan there to come here,” I lie. My heart belongs to Logan, and my first instinct is to protect him.

My mother’s hands whirl in incredulity. “He killed your father, Rosalia.”

“How do you know that?” I practically stomp my foot, being the only one to defend Logan. “There’s a dead guard; who knows what happened?” I point out. Even though a sliver of doubt is planted inside. There
is
a possibility that Logan ended Dad, but I don’t voice it.

Adriano scrutinizes me with a watchful expression as I edge closer to my mother. Her sorrow breaks my soul, and I understand her resentment in this moment. Cautiously, I wrap my arms around her back and she embraces me like only a mom can.

“Someone call Logan,” Adriano orders.

“He’s been an ass all week,” Fallon murmurs to Luca from behind me, but I catch her words.

“He’s MIA,” another guard replies.

I pull back from my mom to check Adriano’s face, which is radiating irritation.

“Find him. He’s a wanted man now.” He cocks his head at me. “Is there anything else you need to tell me, Rosalia?”

“About Logan? No. I don’t know where he is right now.”

My mom’s overcome with despair as she shakes my shoulders. “Rosalia, if you know where Logan is, then you need to tell us. He killed your father. And your father didn’t kill Mykhail.”

My mother holds my eyes and hesitation pulls at me. Everything’s moving too fast for my mind to keep up.

“I don’t believe Logan killed Dad, or Mykhail,” I admit.