5. Lyssa

"Please tellme we can use lethal force this time," Scarlett mutters sarcastically as we size up the cluster of Sokolov muscle blocking the alley.

I hiss back a "No," between gritted teeth. As much as I'd relish putting these bastards down, we can't risk a bigger incident drawing unwanted attention. Not with Scarlett's secret still under wraps, and the wedding of the fucking century getting closer and closer.

Scarlett rolls her eyes, clearly irritated by my restraint. But we have no more time for debate as the biggest thug—a towering bear of a man with a shaved head—lets out a guttural roar and charges right for us.

My body reacts on pure instinct. I spin sideways, avoiding the brunt of his momentum, and lash out with a savage kick to the back of his knee. Bone crunches sickeningly and he bellows in agony, crumpling to the filthy pavement.

The others surge forward, brandishing wicked-looking blades and clubs studded with nasty metal barbs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Scarlett settle into a defensive stance that I couldn't do better myself.

Aw. Good girl. She really has taken my lessons to heart.

I lose myself in the rhythm of combat, ducking and weaving, taking my hits as well as giving them—but I feel no pain. Just the rush of adrenaline and the thrill of the fight.

At one point, I glance over to check on Scarlett. She's tangling fiercely with one of the bigger men, keeping him at bay with slashing kicks and tight jabs. Her brow glistens with sweat and her face is set in concentration—but she's holding her own.

Another spike of unexpected pride goes through me at the sight. If she needed help, I'd give it. But she doesn't need my help.

At last, those still standing finally peel away, hobbling and limping as fast as they can manage down the alley. Scarlett straightens up, shoving her bangs off her forehead as I take a moment to catch my breath.

"Well, that was bracing," I say brightly, once I've steadied my racing pulse. "You handled yourself nicely."

Scarlett just nods tersely, her expression still locked in that fierce scowl of concentration. She looks…haunted somehow. I want to ask what's eating her, but think better of it.

I know what's fucking eating her.

So I just gesture with a tilt of my head in the direction of where I parked the fast, dark-windowed car I took out tonight for this job, and we jog our way over in silence. No one's tried to jack it, thankfully. Once I've checked it for bombs and trackers, since those damn Sokolovs seemed to know exactly where we were going to be, we get inside and I put some distance between us and that particular mess.

As I navigate well away from the city, I sneak sidelong glances at Scarlett. She hasn't spoken a word since we got into the car, her brow furrowed and gaze distant, clearly lost in troubled thoughts.

I'm sorely tempted again to demand what's got her panties in such a bunch, since she's the one who wanted to see her damn parents, but…something stops me. A strange, uncharacteristic flicker of empathy in the face of her obvious inner turmoil. I just keep my mouth shut and my eyes on the road, letting the growl of the powerful engine fill the tense silence.

At last we reach the old farmhouse tucked away amid acres of overgrown cornfields. I kill the engine and turn to face Scarlett fully.

"You need anything when I come by tomorrow?" She just shakes her head, still refusing to meet my stare. "Look, I thought seeing your parents would make you happy," I snap at last. "It was what you wanted. Right?"

She gives me this wounded look, like I have no idea how hurtful I'm being. I probably don't. I didn't have her childhood. Never had her loving parents. In fact, half the time I think she must be deranged to have done what she did, thrown aside all that love for the sake of vengeance.

"Sorry," I say awkwardly at last. "I really thought it'd make you feel…better."

She shakes her head. "I just…I don't understand." I wait it out and she goes on, "They wanted me to give it all up. To move on. I don't understand how they can just…forgive."

Carefully, I say, "I don't know your parents, Scar. But maybe they just…" I don't even know how to finish that sentence. I don't understand it any more than she does. But I know there are some people who can move on from the shitty things that happen to them.

I'm not one of them. Neither is Scarlett.

"I can stay for a while," I say at last. "If you want some company."

"No. I'm fine." A tense pause, then: "Bye."

With that, she's out of the car and disappearing into the barn, leaving me sitting there with an uncomfortable sting of…rejection?

Hurt?

Scoffing at myself, I put the car in gear and drive out. I need to put Scarlett out of my mind right now. My obligation is to Hadria and the Syndicate first and foremost. Everything else is just...noise.

I repeat that silent mantra to myself as I drive back toward the city center. Just a distraction. Just another job. Just another obligation to see through to the brutal end.

Nothing more.

No matter how much that nagging twist in my gut keeps trying to convince me otherwise.

By the time I get back to the Empire Grand, I've wrestled my wandering thoughts back into some semblance of order. I'm keeping a sharp eye out for Aurora—I don't think I could take all that sunshine after the night I've had—when my gaze lands on a different, but still familiar figure.

Johnny the Gentleman is in the lobby, sitting on one of the uber-comfy sofas they have there, talking to someone on his phone. He raises his hand in greeting when I see him and finishes up his phone call.

Well, well. His presence is either very good news...or very bad. Only one way to find out which.

Flashing a tight smile, I saunter up. "Hi there."

"Good evening, Lyssa." He stands, ever the gentleman, and offers his hand.

I take it, but I keep staring at him. "How you doing?"

He blinks those flinty eyes at me for a beat before returning my thin smile with an infuriatingly unruffled one of his own. "I'm well, thank you." His voice is as smooth as always. "And yourself?"

I glance around. "I'm a little stumped, actually." I pause for effect as his brows tick up a fraction. "Mind lending me some insight?"

Johnny considers me silently for a long moment before giving a nod. "What did you need?"

"I want to know the flight path of a certain helicopter," I say carefully. This is something I've been thinking about for a few days, a last-ditch attempt to track down Grandmother before Hadria tries to press more Syndicate help on me. "One that took off from a high-rise downtown during our recent…scuffle."

"Ah." Johnny strokes his chin contemplatively. "My networks here are still building, but I believe I could make some inquiries, yes." He shifts his weight, looking equal parts intrigued and sympathetic. "I take it this relates to…Grandmother?"

I just give him a tight nod, resisting the urge to give out any more details. Hadria has alerted the Bianchis to Grandmother's existence, but that's about all. So it's better to keep my cards close on this one.

Johnny studies me a beat longer, then his expression softens into a smile. "Well, I'll see what my little ears might have heard. And if I may say, it will be a shame to have the Syndicate leaving the Empire Grand."

The furrow that's been taking up permanent residence between my brows recently deepens. "I'm sorry—leave? What do you mean?"

For just a split second, Johnny's smile slides into regretful. "Perhaps I've let something slip prematurely." He tips his head with an apologetic little gesture. "Best to check in with Hadria for more information. But rest assured I'll look into this air traffic you're interested in."

Johnny gives a polite nod of farewell and strolls off, leaving me staring after his retreating back with confusion.

Something major is happening, that much is clear. I take off quickly for Hadria's suite.

"Ah, there you are." Hadria rises from the armchair positioned before the gas fireplace, glass of rich amber liquid in hand. Her glacial eyes sweep over me appraisingly. "I take it you've had...an eventful evening?"

I snort. "About the usual."

"Well, good." Her tone is all brisk business as usual as she sweeps past me to the table. "You'll be pleased to hear there's plenty more excitement on the horizon, too. I've decided it's time for us to get back to home soil." She pauses, holding my gaze meaningfully. "We're moving back to Elysium. ASAP."

For a heartbeat, the words don't fully register. Then joy lights me up. "Fucking finally."

Hadria actually smiles. "As of tomorrow morning, we're out of here."

"And just when I was making pals with Johnny de Luca."

"Yes, well…we're still buddying up with the Bianchi Family, of course. Keep making ties, Lyssa. It'll help in the end."

I just grin, still reeling from the news. Relief doesn't even begin to cover it. Finally, after weeks—no, months—of mounting frustrations and fuckups, it feels like the universe has finally cut me a goddamn break.

I'm going home. Back to Elysium, with its well-appointed training rooms. Back to the familiar rhythm of keeping my family—my real family—safe and protected. Back to the life, the solitary purpose, that's always made perfect sense before.

Before a certain hazel-eyed hurricane blew into my life and up-ended everything I thought I knew about loyalty and justice and right and wrong.

But as soon I think about Scarlett, that hollow ache blooms again, the one that's becoming far too familiar for comfort.

And then Hadria, as though she's reading my thoughts, says, "How are you going on finding Grandmother?"

"That's what I was talking to Johnny about. I thought maybe he could trace the helicopter flight—even if it wasn't logged, it must have been tracked by someone somewhere. The Feds, maybe. Or ATC."

"Smart," Hadria says approvingly. "He'll come up with something."

I know that already. And that means we're closer to finding Grandmother. One step closer to the end.

Suddenly, returning to Elysium doesn't seem so joyful anymore.