There’s no room for error or margin for mistakes. If we fail to take out Dren and his family, the war that’s been brewing will only get ten times worse.
It’ll mean more blood. More bodies. More chaos that threatens the empire my family has built.
I won’t let anybody take away what we’ve got.
That goes for the Albaniansandfor the Langstons.
The extent of their involvement still remains unknown. I still haven’t been able to reconcile the fact that Simone was almost shot weeks ago on the promenade, and then even more recently, nearly run off the road with Fionn.
It seems if Daddy Langston really is in bed with the Albanians and these have all been misdirects meant to distract me, he’s played it pretty damn close; he’s taken some huge ass risks that put his precious daughter directly in danger.
Still, if it turns out they’ve been in bed with Dren—if Malcolm Langston has been playing both sides this entire time—I’ll do what needs to be done.
I’ll wipe them out without a second thought.
But for Simone’s sake, it’d be better if it doesn’t come to that.
I keep my word about taking Simone to the art gallery exhibit her best friend, Chantal’s, hosting.
It’s mostly strategic—or so I tell myself.
Taking Simone to Chantal’s gallery opening provides plausible deniability if shit goes south with Dren tonight.
While my men are breaching the Kosovo compound and putting bullets in Albanian skulls, I’ll be across town sipping champagne and admiring overpriced art like some hoity-toity asshole who thinks his shit doesn’t stink.
The bottom line is, there’ll be dozens of witnesses who can confirm my whereabouts. It’s a solid alibi, airtight and unquestionable.
It’s the small things like this that wound up being Lochlan’s undoing. He stopped crossing his t’s and dotting his i’s.
In avenging him, I’ll make sure not to make the same mistakes he did.
But if I’m honest, there’s another reason why I’ve decided to keep my promise about the exhibit.
The truth is, I’m a man of my word.
I told Simone I would take her, and despite all the fuck shit that’s happened between us lately, some part of me still feels compelled to follow through.
Try as I might, I’ve struggled to be vicious with the girl. I might fuck her like my worst enemy in the heated moments we share, but the fact that she’s still living as comfortably as any princess in a storybook reveals my hand.
If I really wanted to make her suffer, there’re so many ways I could do so. Yet I haven’t been able to be really rough with her like I’d be with anybody else who I found out had a fucking business card for a hitman.
Some traitorous part of me is holding onto a small shred of hope that maybe the moments where we connected weren’t fake. That it wasn’t all pretend, but something real after all.
I’m fully aware of how fucking stupid that sounds, which is why I haven’t voiced these thoughts aloud to anybody. Least of all my father.
These same thoughts are on my mind as I come home to Callahan House. I’m striding through the halls on the second floor when he emerges from the game room. He’s dressed up himself in slacks and a button up shirt, clearly on his way out like I’ll be.
“Well,” he says, giving me a once-over. “It appears the staff was correct. There is another date night happening.”
“With her, yes,” I answer tightly. “It’s a prior engagement we agreed to.”
He gives a lone, humorless chuckle. An enigmatic gleam flashes in his cold eyes, making his opinion known even before he’s offered any words.
“Make sure you’re pictured,” he says simply. “It’ll cover your ass for what else is going on tonight.”
“That was the plan.” My gaze narrows as he starts to walk off, passing me by. “And what’ve you got planned? I know it can’t be a date night of your own on account of Mom refusing to breathe the same air as you for more than five minutes.”
He stops short and throws a glance over his shoulder. “More like I can’t stand her air for more than five minutes. I’m off to Gossier’s for a meeting with a friend. We’ll see how things fare.”