A London Villain by Wiltcher Catherine

Author:Wiltcher, Catherine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-03-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 21

ADA

The shot rings out from somewhere beneath us. It’s muffled by concrete and carpet, but it’s loud enough to light a firework under the private box.

The Italians are on their feet right away with their weapons drawn, while O’Sullivan is yelling at his men to get downstairs and check it out. I watch him exchange looks with Kirill before the Russian is following them in hot pursuit, with Adrik close behind.

“Is this what you call a show of power, O’Sullivan?” taunts Mario, his associates twittering in agreement like good little sparrows. “You assured us that you had this venue secured for today’s meeting.”

A beat later, they find themselves staring down the barrel of his gun too. “Your lack of respect is starting to grate on me, and when I get irritated, my trigger finger gets irritated… A horse just broke a leg and got a bullet to the brain. That’s all.”

He's not fooling anyone. Every person in this room knows a gunshot when they hear it. Most deliver them daily, like newspapers with grim headlines.

“And where would your new trafficking deal be then, eh?” Mario waves his threat away like an unwanted dessert. “You need us, as much as we need you. The Brigăzi won’t treaty with the Irish and Russians alone. They want Italian protection. Zaccaria protection. The legacy of fear that my father instilled, which I intend to carry on. Their business is the only way to ensure the survival of the Red Compass, so I suggest you stop with the stupido insults and concentrate on bringing about a swift resolution to whatever this new trouble is.”

“Are you telling me how to run my city?”

The Italian just smirks.

“Stop feeding my bad mood with your crass attempts to undermine me, and I might go easy on the payback.” O’Sullivan’s angry gaze swings to me next, then he’s crossing the room and yanking me out of the chair. “Is this because of you, Ada?” he growls, as the tumbler resting on top of my head goes flying backwards. It hits the ground with a crash, spraying amber liquid and glass in all directions. “Is this a message from Lastra?”

I say nothing, but, for once, I’m not lowering my eyes from his, either. They’re like chips of grey ice burrowing deep into my skin, seeking out my lies and finding them unwritten. My chest rises and falls as the rest of me stands, stock-still, our faces barely a foot apart.

There’s another emotion churning inside me, too…something much more unexpected.

Satisfaction.

Our dynamic has shifted slightly, courtesy of a single gunshot. For the first time, I’m catching flashes of uncertainty behind his mask. I’m seeing his paranoia, sitting like a devil on his shoulder.

He’s afraid of Frankie. Afraid of what he’s capable of. Afraid of losing.

Reap it, you bastard. Reap it.

I’m silently screaming this at him as Adrik storms back into the box.

“Guido Rossi is dead.”

O’Sullivan hesitates. “You sure?”

“Positive. There is blood everywhere.”

“Cops?” He shoots a warning look in the Italians’ direction, daring them to insult him again.

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