36. Braken

There is only one tried and true way to get people to start talking: blackmail.

It's also the thing you do when you don't have shit to go on. But unfortunately, that's true for me.

Nexxor still doesn't have a lead on who Mr. Silk could be, though thanks to my handsome pay increase, he watches the burner phone 24/7. I send Jasper to retrace James's steps based on a few text messages on his phone, but it is all drug deals and debt collectors.

Blackmail is my last resort and only hope. I don't even know if Mr. Silk will turn on the burner phone now that the job is done, but according to Nexxor, he's turned it on and off a few times a day. Not long enough to get a location or much to go on, but long enough to see any bait I send.

I changed my mind, I type into James's text thread, pretending to be him. I want more money. Now.

The answer doesn't come for a few hours. I spend the time in meetings with stakeholders and higher-ups about the newest hotel's progress. Luckily, things are going according to plan, but any further obstacles, and I might be up shit creek. All the hoops I have to jump through to get the casino don't mean shit to bald old men who need money to pay for their sugarbabies.

When I make it back to my office, I check James's phone. Two new messages, one from his baby mama asking where the hell his child support payment is, and another from Mr. Silk just a few minutes ago.

You aren't getting shit. Don't message me again.

Hook, line, and sinker.

If you don't meet me, I'll go straight to the cops.

It's a weak threat, and when I get an answer ten minutes later, Mr. Silk knows it, too.

The cops lmao. Sure, go for it. You think they'll believe you? They have more shit to deal with than some convict loser.

Mr. Silk's snappy answer has more bark than bite, but it does tell me one thing: he's a cop, or at least has something to do with one.

No one else would be so certain the cops won't investigate the matter. And my guess is, if it really is a cop, he's the one holding up Mason's murder case in the first place.

Clever bastard.

You wanna bet? I like my odds. Big Brother is always watching.

My response is a gamble. I don't know how Mr. Silk and James met, and I don't know if they've ever seen each other in person. I'm banking on the latter. Either that or Nexxor somehow pulling off a miracle since Mr. Silk has kept his phone on for a bit. The three bubbles of a new message appear and disappear a few times before he finally answers.

7PM at the dock. Seattle side.

Which dock?

Clearly, it's a place they've met before, and I text Jasper to find out from James what dock he's been to.

I consider heading there myself once we find out, but I don't think I can make it. I glance at the clock next to my monitor. Fiora agreed to meet Marco tonight at 6PM after he gets off work, and like hell I'm going to let her go alone. I meant it when I said no one fucks with what's mine, and Fiora Godwin is mine is every single way. I said I'd let her handle it, but if Marco dares to touch one hair on her head, he won't have any hands left to do it again.

After a quick call, a few of my men head out to all the Seattle docks to keep an eye on them since I have no real idea which one this man is talking about. The rest of my afternoon is spent on the phone with vendors, designers, and partners for this damn hotel. It will be a ton of revenue, but it's a fucking headache to sort out. If the next year and a half are like this, I'm going to need a lot of whisky.

My phone rings just after five, and I curse when I see the name. The foreman down at the parking garage. With everything going on, I haven't been able to make a visit to check on progress. I trusted him to get that old building demolished, but if he's calling me, it's not good news.

"Braken Frost."

"Mr. Frost, hi, this is Chuck from Lavore Construction. Sorry to bug you, but we have a little problem down here at the site."

I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep calm. "What problem exactly?"

"Well, we got a call and uh, apparently there's a gas leak in the lot over? And they gotta turn off the grid for the weekend 'cause they can't get out till Monday."

After all the delays and red tape, I should have expected some bullshit like this. A gas leak? There isn't even any electricity or gas hooked up to that building anymore. But Chuck has been my go-to construction man for years now, building the last three of my hotels. He's as no-bullshit and strait-laced as they come. He won't lie to me.

"I haven't gotten a call," I deadpan.

"They said they'd call in a bit."

Not even two seconds later, my secretary knocks on the door to tell me I have an important call from the gas company. Just great. Another headache to deal with. I tell her I'll call them back and glance at the clock. I need to leave if I'm going to watch over Fiora. They're meeting at a fucking Denny's, of all places, one that's right down the street from the precinct. But that also means it's right downtown, and I'm going to be stuck in traffic if I don't go now.

I pinch the bridge of my nose again before sighing. What's another fucking day or two?

"I'll deal with the gas company. Go home for the day. But make sure you're there right at seven Monday morning. I will be there myself to check. I won't accept any further delays."

"Sure, okay, but uhh…"

"You'll be paid for the time."

"Right, of course, Mr. Frost, thank you," Chuck rushes to say. "I'll tell the guys and we'll be back bright and early. Have a good weekend."

I hang up the phone without giving an answer and grab my jacket.

Time to deal with a second headache.

Fiora standsin the parking lot of Denny's, glancing back and forth as she waits.

It's just after six, and there's still no sign of Marco. Traffic was a bitch, but Jasper pulled the car into the lot a few minutes before the hour. Fiora hasn't noticed my car, and I stay out of her way. I trust her to do what she must, but the gun on my hip has other plans should shit go south.

Marco pulls up in his rundown Toyota a bit later, not even bothering to park. He idles by the front door, hopping out so he can throw himself at Fiora and wrap her in a hug. Even from my vantage point, I can tell she's not too thrilled. I exhale through my nose, keeping an eye on the two of them. Why hasn't he parked?

A beep sounds from my pocket, and I pull out my phone. But it isn't my regular phone. My burner phone has a simple message from Nexxor.

His phone's been on a while. Call so I can trace him?

Easy enough. I fish out James's phone and dial Mr. Silk, letting it ring a few times before it sends me to voicemail. I try again immediately, but it's the same deal.

But on the third try, I get my answer.

Marco pulls out a small black phone from his pocket, checks the screen, and hits decline. At the same time, the call cuts off, and I'm sent to voicemail.

My blood runs cold as I watch Fiora's best fucking friend turn off the flip phone and stuff it away. My burner phone pings a second later, but I don't need to check my messages to know it's Nexxor telling me the phone's off.

The truth settles into my body worse than a gunshot.

Marco is Mr. Silk.

Marco ordered Mason's murder.

Jesus fucking Christ.

My brain runs through the evidence, trying to keep up with the truth before me. Either a cop or someone close to the cops. Someone who could block the real investigation. His refusal to help Fiora find Mason's killer. His sudden shift when he found out I claimed her. What the fuck is on his business card again? Marco Pollozo, Assistant Chief of the Seattle Police Department, [email protected].

Realization washes over me.

Marco Polo. Like the fucking silk road.

Like Mr. Silk.

I scramble out of the car, hand over the hilt of my gun. I'm going to fucking kill him. I don't care about his reasons, his motives, or whatever other lies he spews from his mouth. How dare he try to show his face in front of Fiora? In front of me? He's the reason for her grief. The reason we're engaged in the first place. The reason for our lives being turned upside down.

Marco Pollozo is a dead man walking.

In my anger, I slam the car door shut, and Marco's eyes peel over to me. Shit. They widen when he realizes I'm there, and before I can even blink, he grabs onto Fiora's arm and yanks her toward his idling car. I run for it, but I'm not fast enough. Marco slams the side of Fiora's head on the top of his car and forces her into the passenger's seat so she can't fight back.

That fucker. I'm just about to reach Marco's car when a family steps off the curb and right into my path. I can't stop fast enough. We both go tumbling to the pavement as the rest of the family yells behind us.

Goddamnit. Fiora.

I push the middle-aged man off me. My knee throbs as I stand, but I don't care. I need to get to Fiora.

Only I'm too late.

Marco's car peels out of the Denny's parking lot and squeals off into traffic, leaving me in the dust.

Fuck.