1. ~Caspian~

TWO YEARS LATER

Meet your maker, fools.

Adrenaline pulsed through my system like hellfire.

Just like what I was raining down on these cretins now.

Bodies littered the floor of the small abandoned apartment building.

Well, what was supposed to have been abandoned.

Until they’d taken up residence here a few days ago.

A mistake they were paying for in pain and blood.

And their lives.

I slammed my elbow back into an opponent making the mistake of trying to sneak up on me from behind.

While I was in this state, there was absolutely no hope for him.

As he fell back choking, I roundhoused the one in front of me, propelling him into the door by the fire escape. The impact had it ripping off its hinges and him crashing down onto the harsh metal steps.

Before I could finish that, the one I’d had choking came at me with a roar, emboldened because one of his cohorts was now lunging at me from the left.

I did relish a challenge.

Although, calling them a challenge was rather generous.

I waited the split seconds for them to unwittingly move into the perfect position, then I drew a throwing knife from a sheath in my tactical pants and spun behind me, tossing it at the first fool who’d attempted such an underhanded move.

He stilled and lurched as it embedded in his throat, hitting his carotid artery dead-on.

As the other swung at me, I brought my arm down, deflected it, then bolted forward and yanked my knife out of the first’s throat. He gurgled as blood spurted, and I twisted and drove the blade into the femoral artery of his accomplice.

I ripped it out, then smashed my boot into his face and he went down hard on his back, right beside the other who was now collapsing to his knees and choking on his own blood.

They’d both be dead in moments.

I spun my knife in my hand and turned from them, stepping on the three other bodies lining the floor on my way toward the fire escape that my last target was currently stumbling down in a bid to run.

Running from a predator? Never a good idea.

Well, he’d obviously realized remaining to fight the likes of me wouldn’t fare well for him.

I stalked down the fire escape, taking my time and spinning my blade in my hand.

His harsh breathing and the clang of the fire escape sung through the night.

It was the only noise for a good mile or two, aside from the chirping of crickets in the distance.

He made it down the three stories, then foolishly stopped to look up, his eyes wide as he met mine, his body trembling with it. It was all over him.

He knew.

He knew tonight would be his last.

Running would buy him nothing but a few extra seconds.

There would be no mercy from me.

There couldn’t be.

Those days were long gone now.

This is war.

I reached the bottom and watched him scrambling away, looking back over his shoulder repeatedly, panting, then stumbling from being all over the place.

I cocked my hand, a second away from tossing my blade and taking him out, when a gunshot rang out, stilling me.

My target didn’t have time to react as a bullet tore through his skull.

He collapsed in a heap, just another corpse.

Footsteps sounded and I tensed, at the ready, as a dark figure stepped from the shadows.

Familiar eyes, an odd shade of pale blue, cut through the night.

I loosened my grip on my blade and smiled.

Friend, not foe.

Dante Mancini.

His three-quarter length wool coat blended well into the darkness, as did his layered dark brown hair that brushed his collar.

Just under six-foot, he cut a bulky figure with all that muscle barely contained beneath.

He was a real powerhouse and he most definitely hadn’t lost a step even in his mid-forties and being in such a taxing business for so many years. In any way, as I’d come to recognize over the last couple of years of us working a lot more closely together.

“Dante,” I greeted.

The corner of his mouth turned up. “Caspian.”

“What has it been? A mere week since we were last in contact?”

He stroked his goatee as we closed the distance between us, meeting in the middle. “Ah, yes, the longest we have gone in eighteen months without connecting.”

I rolled my eyes. “Really? You’re going to dance around your point?”

“And what do you suppose that point might be?” he asked, firing up a smoke and taking a serene drag.

“Obviously that the break in a long-term pattern raised suspicion and led you to this here tonight.” I tossed him a withering look. “I’m not your pupil, Dante. Keep that in mind. And take it to heart before you proceed.”

“Technically, no,” he said, blowing out wisps of smoke. “Believe me, it is taken to heart. You have my respect, you know that. However, we did agree that there were things you could still stand to learn.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “Although accomplished and highly capable, you are still young. And, for you, given your position, you do not have the luxury of indulging or falling victim to the mistakes of youth that others do. The stakes are a great deal higher for you. As our friendship has blossomed over the last few months, you are now aware that I was in a similar position to you, but with nobody to guide me, and the youthful mistakes that I made still haunt me. I don’t want that for you. Nor does it need to be that way with my assistance. As unfortunate as that night was two years ago—what you are terming the cataclysm—I am glad that it led to you allowing me in.”

He certainly had a way with words. He had a reputation for being able to sway people, even those who were so entrenched in their viewpoints. In their cases, however, they were merely victims of his manipulation and some very impressive puppet mastery.

This was different.

Our relationship was different.

There was no dishonesty or ulterior motive on his end.

I had one hell of a radar for discerning such things and he was most definitely free and clear of that.

However, there was a reason for him wanting to connect with me in this way, to assist and befriend me to such an extent.

He’d claimed it was due to his close relationship he’d had with my father, that Jameson King would have wanted him to watch out for me, to be in my corner.

However, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.

I’d figure it out sooner rather than later. I always solved every mystery I came up against.

But, for right now, this worked, in spite of that missing piece.

I was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no threat to me and mine from him, absolutely no ill will intended. Certainly not just from his word, nor even from the instinct I had about people, but because it had taken me six months to trust him enough to let him in beyond the beginnings of an alliance that we’d forged when he’d sent me my father’s ring. I’d researched him in more depth than I’d ever researched anything or anyone, to be absolutely sure that I could give him even a fraction of my trust. Given everything he was caught up in and the extremely shadowy nature of the Mancini Syndicate, it had taken that full six months just to obtain solid intel and enough of it too.

And from there, we’d grown closer, eventually getting to the point of talking every other day about this and that, not just conversations related to business or our mutual goal of decimating Bane Industries and Elijah along with it.

I gestured at the fallen target and back up toward the broken door of the apartment at the top of the fire escape. “While that may be the case, this is not a teachable moment. It had to be done. I find it hard to believe that you’d disagree, given the circumstances.”

“I don’t disagree concerning the necessity of the operation itself, only how it was conducted.”

I frowned. “Quick, efficient kills. No collateral damage. I fail to see the issue.”

He took a final drag of his cigarette, then butted it out on the ground. “The issue is you carrying out said kills.”

“It needed to be done, I took care of it.”

“There need to be degrees of separation when it comes to this sort of operation.”

I lifted my shoulder. “I have no problem doing my own dirty work. Besides, you just took out one of my targets yourself.”

“An exception I made for you. And it is an exception for me, Caspian. As leaders of our empires, we cannot get our hands dirty consistently. It risks incriminating us, it risks destroying the anonymity of those acts also. What you’re doing here, these particular targets, it’s especially dangerous for you to be directly responsible for their deaths. It’s a risk to the big picture of what we’re doing.”

“I won’t allow it to become a risk. It won’t lead back to me directly.”

“I know you have the means to cleanse it, however, the more you continue in this vein, the more likely a mistake will be made, details will be overlooked. Especially when you begin to relish it beyond mere necessity.”

“My judgment isn’t clouded.”

“No, but there is an issue.” He laid his hand on my shoulder. “You don’t trust anyone.”

“That’s—”

“Outside of me and Luke. Since that night two years ago, you don’t trust your own people.”

For good reason.

A few months after what had happened to his younger brother, Elijah had retaliated. But not with a show of force as both me and Dante had anticipated. I’d even significantly shored up my defense and offense to counter such an assault. But the bastard had subverted expectations—one of the most dangerous things about him—and he’d gone with a Trojan horse approach instead. He’d tried to turn key figures in the underworld wherein my illegitimate operations thrived, wherein I was the gatekeeper. He’d come at them and my own people within the City of Rossun, with the goal of infiltrating my territory by turning them and instilling plants—traitors. It had been a much more strategic and wider reaching version of what his brother had attempted. And it had taken me a great deal of time and resources to weed out the weak links and threats he’d created by offering them riches and power in exchange for pledging their loyalty to him over me.

“It’s warranted.”

“It was at the time, but you’ve rooted out the bad elements. While I agree you need to maintain a healthy cautiousness, the extent of your distrust is bordering on paranoia. With what’s coming, you can’t lead an army of soldiers you have limited faith in, Caspian. Because, as much as I know you hate to conceive of it, you can’t do it alone. You need a strong force at your back and they need a leader who believes in them.”

He was right. To an extent.

I had managed to counter Elijah’s plan and root out the treachery he’d instigated.

But now he’d taken to funding up-and-coming criminal elements and operations just to position them outside the city, basically assembling them and building an army to come at King through infiltration. Just like this team I’d taken out tonight. They were to function as a branch of a planned multi-pronged assault spearheaded by Elijah. They were the fifth lot I’d put down since he’d started this new strategy a couple of months ago.

I’d been dealing with it myself because of the paranoia that Elijah’s efforts had caused in me that my people being made aware of the highly tempting promises of compensation that the bastard had offered would then tempt them to betray me like the others I’d rooted out.

It had gone beyond just good sense, though. Dante was right. It was absolutely paranoia, because those left remaining at King and in the city underground had proven their loyalty to me beyond financial rewards. They were loyal to me personally, to what I stood for. And it was something that Elijah Bane didn’t have. Those kissing his feet and doing his bidding were basically mercenaries, only in it for the money and rewards. It was his weakness, one I would exploit.

My people believed in me.

And, yes, it was time I returned that faith.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” I told Dante.

He smiled, knowing what that really meant. That his point had landed well and I would actually see to it. “Excellent,” he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze, then stepping back. “Now, then, I can move on to the other reason I came to you tonight.”

I pulled off my balaclava, pocketed it in my tactical pants, then shook out my long, caramel waves. “I need to call in my cleanup team first.” I went to reach for my phone, but his words pulled me up short.

“No need. My team will be here in moments.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Just trying to lighten your load a little.”

“I don’t need you to do that.”

“But I wanted to. Especially at this time of the year.”

I cocked an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me that with how incredibly busy you’ve been, personal matters have been driven that far into the background? Your birthday, Caspian? Twenty-five years in this world in a couple of days?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m well aware, thank you.”

“Yet, you have no plans to celebrate.”

“I didn’t celebrate last year either.” I eyeballed him. “Is that the other reason you’re here? To wish me a happy birthday in person? Let me guess, that’s what my father would have wanted?”

“It’s what I want.”

Our eyes locked.

Intensity flared between us.

Emotion.

I felt his care seeping into me.

I cleared my throat. “Well, I appreciate it.”

He smiled. “I didn’t come here empty-handed.”

“You seriously brought along a birthday present?” I asked, highly-amused. The jarring juxtaposition of him coming to a kill op with a gift like that was odd, to say the least.

He reached into the inside pocket of his wool coat. “Now, what to get the man who supposedly has everything, hmm?”

I looked on curiously as he pulled a letter-sized envelope out.

“An intel packet,” he told me, as he handed it over.

I frowned as I took it. “Regarding what?”

“Caleb.”

I stilled, my muscles locking, at the invocation of that name. One that had very rarely been spoken aloud over the last two years.

Since the night he’d turned from me—from us—and walked away.

He’d dropped off the grid shortly after and I’d only been able to pick him up once, when he’d walked into a church in desperation, beseeching them to help him with his darkness, to forgive his sins, and guide him toward finding redemption. I knew he’d become a missionary for a while, immersing himself in his newfound faith for several months, wherein my attempts to bring him back had been met with powerful resistance. He hadn’t wanted to be reminded of Rossun, of me, of Bastian, of Skylar, of anything that connected back to that night when he’d carried out a brutal massacre of Jett Bane’s accomplices, the memories of which had even haunted me for some time. During that stint as a missionary, he’d slipped up, become an angel of vengeance upon the city he’d been residing in at the time, carrying out vigilante work, much like that of The Jackals.

And then he’d crossed paths with darkness personified in Asher Monroe.

At that point, he’d dropped off the grid and disappeared into the shadows.

Until now apparently.

“You found him?” I asked Dante.

He nodded. “He’s been operating under the alias of Clark Rothchild. But he took a risk very recently in a bid to assist Asher with his war against the Infidels, and he put himself back on the radar. Very briefly, but it was all I needed to get a lock on him. You’ll find everything inside that intel packet, some of which I believe you’ll find rather interesting. Suffice to say, I have my people watching him now. He’s safe and well and now I’ve found him, I’ll be able to ensure he remains that way. The rest of the details, I’ll leave for you to absorb whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” I somehow managed to utter through the weight of it all. “This means a lot.”

He smiled, then wrapped his arm around me. “Let’s vacate this area. I’ve made a reservation at a fantastic pizzeria fifty miles from here. We’ll have a low-key celebration and some much-needed downtime for you.”

“That’ll be nice.”

As I clutched the envelope in a white-knuckle grip, he tightened his hold around me as we walked along. “Happy Birthday, Caspian.”