Chapter 1

One

MAXIMILLIAN

Darkness creeps like a noxious cloud around the Barracuda as it rolls up to the rusted iron fence. There are no streetlights along the lane, the only light a full moon casting ominous shadows behind twisted branches highlighting a haze of fog clinging to the old gatehouse. It’s long since been abandoned.

I figured he would be watching, waiting for my return. Arriving in the dead of night under an onyx safety blanket robbed him of the satisfaction. Pitch black is the time people call it. And the sticky ink of the sky feels as if it has invaded my soul.

It’s good to be home.

Arianna stirs in the passenger seat as I slow the car for the bump leading into the driveway. She’s been asleep for the last three hours. The headlights are off, but I don’t dare cut the engine.

“We’re here,” I tell her.

Arms reaching up into a V, like she’s back in her cheerleading days, she stretches her torso against the passenger seat. Her voice is crisp when she asks, “What time is it?” Long brown locks trickle over her face as she leans forward to check her phone.

“It’s 3 a.m.”

“Ugh! Geez, Maxi. You would get us here in the middle of the night.”

A frown forms on my lips at my little sister’s annoying pet name. “It’s safest this way…” Softer, I murmur, “And I didn’t have much of a choice.” Peering through the blackened windows, I park in front of the bloodstone raging bear monogrammed gates. They’ve been closed for years. With the air of command, I say, “You need to stay down until we get to the house.”

The entire reason for showing up now is to protect my sister from prying eyes. Fortunately, the old cameras on every eastern city street corner sit defunct and derelict, a sober reminder of the destruction our family left behind. Taking the deserted country roads into town, I’d sneaked under the radars without much of a plan of first attack. The threat of authorities back in the city we left caused me to burn all the gas we had without stopping for a rest. Not that East Side has much of anything left to stop for. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, but here we are.

“Fine by me.” Tossing her pink fuzzy blanket over her head, she curls her skinny legs up underneath her, blissfully unaware of the changes about to take place in our lives. The scant apartment on the wrong side of the tracks we shared the last four years was sobering enough for Arianna, but once our parents’ money ran out, we were left with ramen noodles and overdraft fees. And blood on my hands. Venturing into this, our new world, may terrify her.

It’s been too long to remember how cold it can get in this valley, but the reminder slaps me across the face as I step out of the vehicle. Cobbles crunch beneath my careful steps toward the fence while I secure my gaze on the horizon, studying the shadows for any movement. Only the bare trees wave in the distance. No guard sits on duty anymore. Our staff has long since been taken care of, or fled to a new town, if they were lucky.

The tarnished padlock is almost entirely corroded, but the centuries-old key left in my parents’ safe deposit box still works. Once slotted in the hole, it nearly twists clear off, but with a few careful tugs, the heavy weight of it drops into my open hand. With a good deal of effort, the heavy gates give, then swing open with tortured groans, angry to be disturbed from their slumber.

Jumping back into my muscle car, I maneuver the tires carefully over the disrupted pavement. Each crevice has as many weeds growing through it as the lawn. I don’t stop to close the gates. It’s best to leave an escape route.

He knows; I’m sure he knows I’m back. He’ll be expecting us.

Images from my childhood invade my vision as we approach the manor over the long drive. Fishing on warm summer days in the pond. Making a secret fort in the large maple in the woods. Playing tag with Ace through the stale manor halls. Hide-and-seek in the gritty cellars with Cal… Livia. My Livia.

Over the dried watering hole, the worn wooden swing now hangs by a twine thread from my favorite oak. It sways in the gusts as if taunting me, leaving no doubt that any happy times have been left behind.

A colossal, foreboding shadow looms in front of us. The sinewy clouds part, allowing the moonlight to illuminate the brick-and-stone turrets hanging onto a collapsing roof. It’s in worse shape than I thought it would be, and at the sight of its dereliction, a heavy sigh deflates my chest. Hopefully, we won’t have to sleep with the raccoons tonight. I’ve had worse arrangements, though. Rodents are safer than what may lie in wait for us behind those walls.

“Oh, it looks scarier than I remember,” Arianna says. The upholstery creaks as she scans the area through the misty glass. She was too young to fully know the place, our parents having taken us far away from Gnarled Pine Hollow when I was just eight and she was four.

“We’ll get it fixed. Markus said⁠—”

“Markus says a lot of things.” Arianna’s eyes snap to my own, their narrowing visible by the glowing lights of the console.

She’s right. Markus talks a bigger game than a fisherman with a lost catch. But he is the only person in the world, other than my little sister, who I trust. He was my father’s right-hand man, and now my new hype man. Despite his reticence in our return, he wants the best for the clan. Always there for us, he’d ventured outside Gnarled Pine enough times to keep me abreast of important happenings within the city, and for the last several years, reluctantly aided my homecoming.

“Let’s head in.” Opening the trunk, our overnight bags fit easily over my broad shoulders as my sister gets out of the vehicle, her hair tangling in a gust of autumn air. She slams her door closed. “Not too loud, Ari.” Scanning the forest’s edge for a disruption in the light, I instinctively reach for the piece tucked into the small of my back. “He could be here.”

At my warning, her head darts around aimlessly. Arianna has no concept of self-preservation, nor has she needed it. She’s had me. I’ve been her protector and sole parent since she was sixteen. Wrapping her blanket around her little body, she scurries to the front door.

Deep within the pocket of my jeans is the shiny, unused key that had also been waiting for me in the bank box for the last eight years. Papa wouldn’t have wanted this. He’d hate that we were here. But he’s dead. And I need to do what’s best for our legacy. Returning to Freidenberg Manor to reclaim our family lands is the first step.

After preparing the people of East Side for a war, taking down Vladimir Strauss will be my last.

The heavy, dark wood front door opens with a menacing creak. There’s no power, but the house lived without it for over a century. Turning on my pocket flashlight, I find a wall torch and light the tallow taper with a flick of my Zippo. It crackles as it burns the dust from its wick. My sister’s prominent cheekbones appear hauntingly gaunt behind the dancing flame when I hand her the chamberstick.

“It stinks in here. Like mildew.” She sneezes.

“Well, we’ll clean it up… It’s home, Ari.” When I glance down, her huge brown eyes fill with tears. She pins herself to my side, and my arm capes protectively around her shoulders.

“Home.” She sniffs. “Thank you, Max.”

“I got you. I’ll take care of you. Told you I would.”

She’s never had a real home before, living at school and then with me in various shanties over the last few years. Trying to keep us afloat, I had to fight, even do things I wasn’t proud of, things that would make Mama and Papa ache with disappointment. This place brought me comfort. A vague recollection of belonging and safety lives among the empty halls. Before I achieve my final goal, I want to give her that feeling, too.

The entry opens into a narrow passageway, which has one step down into a massive two-story living room. The furniture is the same, but I don’t stop to consider it. Not at this hour. After driving all day, I need some rest, even if that’s with some owls or mice. Stepping through the room, my boots stick in soft mud, evidence of this area having received most of nature’s wrath: leaves, twigs, water…all pooled onto the sunken floor.

Left untouched by the elements, the creepy pipe organ stands erect, towering over the room. I always hated that thing; its dissonant tones remind me of my harsh grandfather. Once, while our parents were away on vacation, he monitored the estate. If I made an error on my lessons, he would force me to stand with my back against the wall, balancing a ruler on one finger while he played some horrific tunes. Any time the ruler faltered, he would use it to smack my face.

Meandering through the room until we reach the staircase, I wave off Ari so I can go first, making sure it’s steady enough for my weight. Skilled craftsmen built the solid steps hundreds of years ago. Despite the squeaks protesting my arrival, the wood has held up. I test each one with my foot before putting my full body onto them and carefully make my way to the second story.

At the top, I turn toward the right hallway without any thought. The door resting in a darkened alcove swings open wildly when I twist the brass knob to my old bedroom. Everything is just the way it was before. Blue checked duvet. Cowboys on the walls. A basketball hoop hanging from the closet door. Even my clothes are piled in the corner from the night we dashed away.

There are no animals, but the stench of rot is ripe. The bedding is chill and damp. Everything in the house has given up, clearly not expecting my return. Dropping my luggage on the hardwood, I pull out my sleeping bag and lay it out over the bed, too tired to deal with the mess tonight.

“Mine’s perfect!” Arianna yells from down the hall.

We shared a bathroom all those years ago. Strolling through it, I notice how bare, but clean, it remains. Startling at my own reflection in the mirror, I’m amazed at how much the image has changed since the last time I was here. My black hair is a disheveled mess from running my fingers through it repeatedly, and the dark circles under my eyes match their color.

What was her name? Mrs. Molly, that was it. She kept everything tidy, scolding me for spraying toothpaste on the sink or dribbling urine next to the toilet. Her breath smelled like coffee. I only heard her laugh once when the butler tripped on the hall runner and fell into a lemon pie Cook had made for his birthday. Other than Papa and Mama, she and our governess were the only ones allowed to discipline “Master Freidenberg.” I don’t think Papa would have approved of Grandfather’s punishments if he had known about them.

Entering Ari’s room, my eyes are assaulted by Pepto pink when I swing my flashlight around. Pink walls, furniture, bedding, rugs…It’s very her.

“My dollhouse is still here!” She rises from behind the tall Victorian model, a happy replica of the foreboding structure we stand in, holding out one of her toys. Her white teeth shine in the light. I haven’t seen her this happy in a long time. She looks just like she did that Christmas when Papa pulled off the bow for her, as if twenty years have passed with a flash of her smile.

“Are you going to play with that tonight?” My hand clutches her soft comforter. It’s dry. I set her bag on the floor next to the canopied four-poster bed.

“No, silly. I’m going back to sleep.” She eyes the open curtains, stepping back from the row of windows facing the front lawn. Hugging her middle with both arms, she asks, “You’ll be just across the hall, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be a few steps away.” Sliding out my Glock from my back, I check the chamber. One in. “You’re safe. Just holler if you need me.” In two steps, I cross over to her and plant a small kiss on my little sister’s forehead. I give it thirty minutes before she’s trying to sleep in my room, just like when we were kids. She always had nightmares about bulls rushing to gore her. No idea where she had seen something like that before.

Thinking about all the tasks that need completion in the morning, it doesn’t take me long to fall into a deep trance. My warmth encapsulated by the cocoon of my sleeping bag, I dream of my mother’s comforting hugs and my father’s laughing smile—things I haven’t experienced in years. Not since the day before they were murdered.

Startling awake, an arm snakes itself tightly around my middle. Slowly, my hand slips under the pillow, fingers feeling for my gun. Peeking one eye open, I see Ari nestling against me. Whenever things would change in our lives, when we’d have to leave in a hurry to make it to a new place in the middle of the night, she’d come find me after tossing and turning, afraid to sleep alone.

I sleep like the dead because I’m already half-way there.

Easing out from under her, I’m careful to let her rest. As I shuffle to the front door, I survey the damages. Daylight exposes years of neglect. My focus is on what once was and what will be again. This is a challenge, but nothing will stop me from my mission.

I’m home. And there’s something powerful about being where you’re supposed to be.

The morning air is clean and refreshes my lungs from the damp musk inside. Hazy light bathes the circular drive that once held a working fountain, now left in a crumbling concrete pile. At the base is a tarnished copper plaque emblazoned with my great-great-great-grandfather’s name. Fishing my cock out of my jeans, I piss all over it, then spray the ruins and some wild shrubs as well.

“Mine.”

“If you only had to spill urine to claim it.” A chuckle rumbles from around the other side of the rubble, and my hand draws my handgun in a flash. “Down, son. It’s me.”

Markus’s ruddy face greets me with three days of white scruff and bloodshot eyes. He’s still wearing his old red flannel shirt I remember from the last time I saw him, his familiar presence soothing my inner turmoil. Zipping up, I reach out to embrace him. “Hey.”

“Hello, boy. I would say I’m glad to see you, but I’m not.” He surveys the house. “Not here anyway.” His overweight body backs up to stand at an arm’s length. Light eyes take me in behind their thick glasses, scanning my assuredness. Placing a hand on my shoulder, he asks, “I can’t talk you out of this?”

“No.”

He nods soberly. “That was my last try.” Before letting go of me, he pats my shoulder with fatherly affection. “Let’s get started, then.”

We walk side by side to the front door.

Markus has made his concerns about us quite evident with his protests. He worries about us, as he should. His family has been tied to mine since the dawn of the legends. But this land is my homeland. It’s where I belong. My ancestors’ blood was shed here, and my bones will decay in the soil amongst their remnants. Arianna will marry a son of a mobster and bare his children, and I suppose I have to find some mafia princess to knock up with a son to take my place. It’s just the way things have always been in the city.

In the dark wood paneled entry, Markus whistles loud and long. “Wow. It is in terrible shape. I got Jakob Kobb coming. He’s setting up a construction crew. Adal Derichs will oversee the security.”

“And you trust them?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Markus narrows his eyes under a pair of wiry gray eyebrows. I know he wouldn’t. He’d be dead if he didn’t trust them. One got put in the ground for trusting the wrong people in Gnarled Pine Hollow.

The problem is, I don’t trust anyone, except Arianna and Markus. I hate giving up control to anyone. It’s always better if I do the job myself. Then at least I’ll know it’s done right. And without getting stabbed in the back.

The kitchen is laid with the same intricate ceramic tiles on the floor and faded green cabinets I remember from all those years ago. Arianna stands dressed in a pink silk robe and slippers with little puffs on them, rummaging through an old icebox. “There’s nothing to eat.”

“Arianna, there’s no power.”

She giggles. I shake my head when I realize she’s teasing me.

“We’ll get it working again, sweetie.” Markus hugs her with an arm wrapped over her narrow shoulders while I watch where he puts his hands. “Should be on sometime today. I called the electric company about it last week.” He tugs my little sister toward the kitchen table, and we sit together. The last time I was in this chair, my feet didn’t hit the ground, and I reminisce about Cook giving me pancakes for my birthday breakfasts.

Now, I’m man of the estate and need to get down to business. “Okay, who do we have left?” I ask Markus.

“Jakob is helping me. He will take care of you…both.” He shoots a warning look at Arianna, and her nose crinkles in reply. She won’t like having a guard. I’m the only person she trusts. “Adal Derichs is his right-hand man. He’ll organize your security team while Jakob will head up the reconstruction.”

“What about⁠—”

“Skipper and Aries. And that’s all you need to know.”

My hacker and spy, Markus’s informants. At least he has people. I briefly wonder if they are left over from loyal eastern associates over the long centuries, but before I can ask, Markus interrupts my thought. “Yes, they’re all from the old families. You have to trust me, Max. You have to trust somebody. You can’t do this alone.” Taking off his glasses, he produces a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket to wipe them clean.

What does he know about trust? I have lived in hiding with an assumed name from the age of eight until twenty. For the last eight years, I have met resistance, to outright danger at every step in my plan to return to our land. My rightful land. It’s been a daily struggle, and I did it all on my own.

I know my father didn’t want this life for me, to take my place as the King Consort of the East, sitting on the Senate of Gnarled Pine Hollow’s sham government. But once my parents were dead, there was nothing left to hold me back from reclaiming what was mine. They may not have cared about our legacy, but I do. I have thought about it every time I remembered happy childhood memories among the cattails. Coming back is like an act of vengeance against Strauss himself. But true retribution won’t happen until he’s six feet under. And I want to be the one to take him there.

“Thanks for everything,” I say, instead of telling him to fuck off. Papa wouldn’t appreciate me disrespecting his best friend. So far, Markus has done everything I’ve asked of him, even if he didn’t want to. Delegating tasks is hard for me, but I’ll see how he performs. If it’s not up to par, I’ll take over. “Will they have any weapons?”

Markus looks at the glass tabletop, his solemn face reflected through the dusty surface. “They have a few.”

My lips tighten into a grimace. And therein lies the problem. What good is my security team without guns? Sure, Strauss has sat dormant only because the people hold no threat against him as it stands, but how long until he senses resistance?

Markus narrows his eyes at me. “So tonight⁠—”

“Tonight, I’m hitting up the Ace Hole.”

Markus’s jaw drops. He swallows and clears his throat before saying, “You realize that’s closed now. It’s⁠—”

“Whatever Strauss renamed it when he stole it from Ace a few years ago. I know, you told me.”

“It’s the Crimson Angel, and it’s not a bar anymore. It’s a…” Markus glances at Arianna, who hangs onto every word we speak. Her brown eyes sparkle as they dart back and forth between us.

“I know what it is,” I tell him quietly.

“But walking in there could be a death sentence. You’ll take Jakob.”

Narrowing one eye at him, I shake my head. Sometimes he still sees me as a little boy. “Markus, what have I been doing these last eight years? Sitting on my ass? No. I’ve been training. Fighting. Shooting. I’ve been to prison, for fuck’s sake. I don’t need Jakob to accompany me to a…club.”

“What kind of club?” Arianna’s innocent face lights up with her question.

“None of your concern.” Hiking a thumb toward the door, I instruct her, “Go upstairs and get dressed. Men will be coming over to start working on the house.” Without an argument, she does as she’s told. I watch her leave and make sure she’s gone before turning back to Markus. His gray brows dance with worry. “Make sure no one touches her.”

He nods. “I understand, but it’s going to be tough, Max. She’s an exceedingly beautiful girl. They all have their instructions not to even look at her. It’s why I picked Jakob. Please, reconsider taking him with you tonight⁠—”

“I can take care of myself.” The chair squeaks as I push it back, then stand and brush past Markus, leaving him to organize the rest of the day.