17. Chapter 17

17

S oren settled himself onto the sofa in his uncle's office, nursing a glass with one finger of Scotch. He rarely drank, preferring to keep a clear head and his wits about him. When he did, he preferred high quality in a small amount.

Galen helped himself to a glass and sat down opposite Soren. "What do you think our next steps should be?"

Soren didn't have to ask his uncle what he meant. He paused, weighing his words. "I have to go to Chicago with Ilaria." He appreciated he had always been able to speak bluntly with Galen.

Galen nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. She needs your help at the moment."

"There's still potential danger here, though," Soren pointed out. "Even without this assassin running loose."

Galen smiled. "You forget I was doing this for a while before you came along."

"Well, in case you're out of practice, I'm planning to put Ewan in charge," Soren said smoothly, knowing his uncle wasn't offended at the implication that he wasn't able to handle his own security while Soren was away. "Rowan and Elowine will come with me to Chicago."

"Ewan is a good choice," Galen agreed.

"And I'm still keeping the increased security around the house and for your escort team."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

"And I'll check in daily with you and the team," Soren added.

"You know, if you're worried about what's going on here," Galen pointed out, "you won't be able to focus on Ilaria's situation."

"I'll be fine." Soren prided himself on being able to handle multiple crises at the same time, which, ironically, he learned how to do when he had to single-handedly support his siblings.

Galen studied his nephew. "Okay, but after this is all resolved, you're taking a holiday." Soren opened his mouth to object. Galen put up a hand. "I know you think you can do everything, Soren, and you probably can. But we all need to wind down occasionally." He paused. "I need you around for a long time. Understood?"

"Understood," Soren replied, all objections disappearing on his tongue. He had a tendency to push himself pretty hard. But if people needed him, especially those he cared about, then it was irresponsible of him not to make the utmost effort.

But there was a lot going on, trying to juggle the danger to Ilaria with his usual work for the MacGregors. Galen rarely commented on Soren's work habits, preferring to allow his second-in-command to dictate his own style. So when Galen thought it important enough to insist on a holiday, he would listen.

"What's your plan for Chicago?" Galen asked. It was to Soren's credit that Galen already assumed he was working on a plan.

Soren leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ilaria can't stay away too long or Vincent and the others might get a little too confident and try something stupid, like attempting a coup. So we'll probably have to leave the day after tomorrow."

He tossed back the rest of his Scotch. "That should give us enough time to bring in the hitman before we leave. Rowan told me earlier we were close." His fists closed, anticipating the moment he would have a moment alone with the killer.

"Then, in Chicago," he continued, "we'll put eyes on Vincent and the other families." He frowned.. "We don't, unfortunately, have relationships to leverage that I know of. I have to get all the background from Ilaria. I'd prefer not to announce my presence in Chicago too soon, as I don't want to make anyone jumpy. But I might have to if I need to press on anyone."

"This is Ilaria's world," Galen commented. "As much as you and I both would rather she not get too involved, she might have to. Especially with her uncle. He can't know that you're in town."

"No, he can't," Soren agreed. Vincent would consider the MacGregor underboss in Chicago as a major threat and declare an outright war. But he needed to minimize Ilaria's exposure to danger. He would have to think about his strategy carefully.

He toyed with his glass, for once wishing he had poured himself a bigger portion.

"What do you make of Ilaria's chances as the head of the Carosi family?" he asked. He wanted his uncle's honest assessment of Ilaria's skills. While he had no intention of allowing her to fail, he needed to know what he was up against.

Galen pondered for a minute. "It's difficult to say. I've never seen her in action. Stefano was optimistic about her prospects, naturally, but he also believed he had more time to ease her into it." He sighed. "We have to be realistic."

"I'm planning to review the books with her tomorrow to gauge her comprehension," Soren said.

"Good," Galen nodded. "And give her a crash course if needed. We cannot fail her. Or Stefano."

Soren's phone beeped a notification. Rowan was holding the assassin.

***

Soren parked and entered the back of the warehouse that was located in a rundown industrial section just outside of Edinburgh. There were no lights to illuminate any part of the building or even the road leading up to it.

The MacGregors kept the warehouse for situations like these in which they needed discretion.

Soren walked through the darkened building, following the corrugated steel walls until he reached the soundproofed back room.

He stood next to Elowine, who was watching Rowan ask questions of their prisoner through a one-way mirror. Two other MacGregor soldiers stood in the corners behind Rowan.

"Anything interesting so far?" he asked her.

"Not yet, but Rowan's just warming up."

The prisoner was stripped bare, blindfolded, handcuffed, and suspended from his wrists to a cable hanging from the ceiling. The rope had been lengthened just enough for the prisoner to touch the floor with his toes, which he occasionally adjusted to reduce the pressure of the handcuffs digging into his wrists.

The prisoner's body was as yet unmarred; Rowan and Elowine knew not to touch him until Soren had arrived. But the temperature had been lowered to freezing in order to add to the discomfort. A hose was coiled loosely nearby, and other sharp and blunt instruments were laid out on the table, all designed to encourage prisoners to divulge information.

Or, thought Soren, just to hurt them.

Soren had no moral qualms about the manner of extracting information or for plain vengeance. He lived by his own moral code, which he stuck to unwaveringly. One of the rules was the absolute protection of the people he loved. He was aware that most would balk at his code, at the lengths he would go to abide by it, but he didn't concern himself with other people's opinions.

Rowan left the interrogation room and came into the viewing room.

"He's a pro." Rowan's initial assessment. "He's likely been on the other side of interrogations and knows what to expect." In other words, the prisoner would hold out longer than the normal person before giving up any valuable information.

"We have proof?" Soren already knew the answer was yes.

"Ballistics matches the gun in his apartment, which has his fingerprints," Elowine responded.

"We have other avenues for information besides him," Soren said. "We can work him for a few days, but we need to be done by the day after tomorrow. We'll be going back to Chicago with Ilaria."

The two of them nodded their confirmation. "How do you wish to proceed, boss?" Elowine asked.

"Let's change up our order. Elowine goes first, then Rowan. Then I'll go in." Elowine's method of information extraction left more subtle marks, while Rowan's was more about brute force. Both were effective. Only occasionally was Soren required for his methods, as most people gave in by then.

Elowine slipped into the interrogation room and went to the table to select a tool.

***

Soren opened the door to the room. An icy blast hit him in the face as he entered. Elowine and Rowan stood in the corners. He studied their handiwork on the assassin, reminding himself to give them praise later. They had done a superb job of maximizing pain while keeping him conscious.

The assassin had been in the room for several hours already, and even he could not keep from shivering. Blood flowed down his face and various parts of his body, wetting his skin and chilling him even more. He was panting, head leaning to one side, and he was having trouble balancing on his toes. Electric clips were attached to his balls—Elowine's handiwork. His blindfold still covered his eyes, more for disorientation than to protect their identities or location. He would not be leaving here alive.

But Soren wanted to look this killer in the eyes. To Soren, this was deeply personal. Even if he was only a hired gun, Soren wanted the killer to know just what he had gotten himself into. The rage fueling Soren didn't care about motive; he had a hand in killing the Carosis which meant he was not innocent.

But he would keep a tight leash on his rage until it was time.

Soren reached up to untie the blindfold. Then he walked in front of the assassin and turned to face him.

The man's eyes were glazed with pain, but recognition still flared when he saw Soren. Soren's reputation extended far beyond the crime families, inspiring hope or fear depending on the person.

Soren, on the other hand, didn't recognize the man hanging by his wrists, but that didn't concern him. If it hadn't been him who was hired to kill the Carosis, it would have been someone else.

Soren slowly opened the water bottle he was holding, then motioned to one of the guards behind him to give the man a sip. The assassin slurped a greedy sip but looked at Soren with suspicion, knowing there would be no favors given without incurring a debt.

"Duncan," Soren greeted the man in a cordial tone.

Duncan said nothing, continuing to watch Soren.

"You can probably guess why you're here." Soren's voice was flat, emotionless.

Duncan panted.

"I just have a few questions for you," Soren continued. "It would be nice if you answered them promptly and thoroughly. In return, I'll make sure your death is quick." He paused. "Otherwise, you may find yourself fully awake as you're fed into the incinerator."

Duncan didn't react, as Soren expected. He had likely made similar threats before.

"Who hired you?"

A long pause. Duncan closed his eyes and panted. Soren motioned to Elowine, who pushed a button. Duncan jerked as an electric current ran through his balls to the rest of his body.

Soren was impressed. Duncan was clearly a pro, barely uttering a sound despite having his balls fried.

The current stopped, and Duncan's head fell forward as he tried to catch his breath. Tears flowed from his eyes, leaving dirt tracks on his cheeks.

Soren walked closer to him and peered into his face. "Duncan, you know as well as I do this isn't necessary. From one professional to another, why don't we cut out the formality? Tell me what I want to know and you can die in peace."

Duncan grunted. He took a deep inhale. "From one professional to another, what good am I if I rat out my clients?" he said in a slow, halting voice.

Soren chuckled and couldn't help feeling a sense of admiration. Duncan had his own moral code, and he was willing to die for it. A sentiment that Soren could understand.

"I see," he replied. "You have principles. I certainly can't blame you for that." He walked slowly back and forth in front of the other man. "I also have principles." He motioned to himself. "Which, as you can see, I am defending here. And I have a suspicion that you would do the same thing if you were in my shoes."

He stopped and faced Duncan again. "Your client, on the other hand, doesn't have principles. Or, at least, vastly different ones." He leaned in close to Duncan's face. "Ones that allow the murdering of innocents who were in a car marked with the MacGregor symbol, clearly indicating they were off-limits."

Duncan's eyes never left his.

"Was the money worth it?" Soren's voice was dangerously calm. "To sacrifice your principles to carry out his orders?"

Anger flashed through Duncan's eyes. "You don't know me," he rasped.

"Maybe," Soren asked. "So which is it? You either have principles or you don't. You won't give up your client, but you have no compunction targeting an off-limits vehicle."

He studied the other man, then shook his head in disappointment. "Hmm. Maybe I was wrong. I thought you were a professional. But maybe your rules shift like the wind. Maybe you're just an amateur, swayed by money, your principles sold to the highest bidder."

"Fuck you."

"Last time: who hired you?"

Duncan surveyed him for several beats. "I don't know his name."

"How did he contact you?"

"I got a text. Don't know where he got my number."

"What did he ask you to do?"

"He sent me pictures." Duncan coughed. "Told me when they were arriving. He described the vehicle, including the MacGregor symbol."

Soren turned to Rowan. "Unlock his phone."

Rowan held up Duncan's phone to his face to unlock it, and Soren scrolled through the text history. Several pictures of Stefano, Melisande, and Ilaria had been forwarded by the sender; photos of them unaware they were being watched, but also several personal photos.

He knew them. Soren's gut told him that whoever ordered their deaths knew the Carosis personally.

Soren looked back up at Duncan. "Did you ever talk to him on the phone?"

Duncan swayed on his toes. "Once, to tell me that the girl was coming into town."

"What did he sound like?"

"Disguised his voice with a synthesizer. But he had an American accent."

"How much did he pay you upfront?"

"Half."

Soren quirked a brow. "And you haven't gotten the other half. The job's not done."

Duncan's eyes glittered with anger but said nothing.

"What else do you need to tell me?"

"That's all I know."

Soren narrowed his eyes and decided to believe him. "Well, Duncan," he said, finally letting loose the tight leash he had been keeping on his fury. "You must have known that hitting the MacGregors would come back to you like this. You were either too stupid to think you could get away unscathed, or you had a death wish." He walked up closer. "What's ironic was that if you had come to me, we would have protected you."

A resigned look came over Duncan's face.

"Regardless, I'm a man of my word," Soren said. "You won't be walking out of here, of course. But I won't burn you alive."

Soren stared at the other man and shook his head. He pulled back his fist and struck Duncan square in the chin, knocking him out. Then he aimed his gun and pulled the trigger.