This wasn’t about Liam.
It never was.
Marquez made that clear the moment he handed me the file. Kansas City. That was the prize. The Ricci-Bruno stronghold. Old money. Old blood. Old rules. And Kat—sweet, dangerous Kat—was the key to cracking it open.
Liam was just the excuse.
I watched him now, sprawled across the motel bed, unconscious from the sedative I’d jammed into his neck an hour ago. He twitched in his sleep. Mumbled. Something about knives and laughter and Mama.
Batshit.
I lit a cigarette and leaned against the window, eyes scanning the parking lot. Javi and the others were still out there, circling the warehouse like vultures. They wouldn’t find a way in. I already knew that. The Riccis weren’t sloppy. They were paranoid. Smart. And Kat? She was protected.
But she came ou
