"Ah well, you know how it goes. My timeline has moved up. I need Matteo's war to finish so he can help me with mine," Calix said, not showing the slightest bit of remorse that he shrugged off potential loss of life so casually. Calix may not be the head of his family, hell, he'd been sent away from his own city for safekeeping after his father poked the wrong rival too hard.
But he'd take back what was his. All of it.
"They set a date?" I asked.
He nodded grimly, his nostrils flaring as he sipped the whiskey and set the glass down sharply. His suit was crinkled, disheveled, as if he hadn’t been able to keep still on his journey to Chicago. I wouldn't have understood only a few days ago, but now I understood very well. The thought of Sadie engaged to another man, even an arranged marriage to a man she neither wanted nor loved, well, I'd be ready to tear him limb from limb.
Even if he hadn't seen her since she'd been a child.
Rafe nodded, glancing at the man who he'd trained and harbored in his territory while he waited out his time. Made alliances. Built up his own ranks. "We have less time than we anticipated."
"Your father will still lend his support for both of our wars? What does he expect in return?" I asked Rafe as I sat. His olive skin gleamed as his lips split into a blinding grin, and he and Calix exchanged a knowing glance.
"Matteo did not tell you? My father passed years ago. I am the Ibarra legacy now." Rafael's unusual stare dared me to ask the question. The last I'd known, Miguel Ibarra had been alive and well. Healthy.
"Was he sick?" I asked, my throat working to swallow around the bile that crept up at the dark look in his bright eyes as he studied me in amusement.
"Did Matteo ever tell you the story of how my mother died?" Rafe asked, instead of answering. Unlike Calix's suit, his was perfectly pressed and fitted to him like a second skin. He strolled around the office and eyed the names on the wall. "My father belonged in the Spanish Inquisition. He was, for lack of a better word, insane with his beliefs. His marriage to my mother was arranged, but he hated her because he thought her light eyes a trait of her witchcraft," Rafe scoffed. "So naturally, he had her burned at the stake once she stopped being useful, and he determined her to be barren after she never gave him another child after me."
"Christ," I muttered, scrubbing a palm over my face. That was a whole new level of fucked up and considering the shit I'd seen, well... fuck.
"I was seven at the time. I never forgot the sounds of her screams. I sleep much better now that my dreams are filled with his instead." Calix chuckled at Rafe’s words, tipping his lips up comically in a move so unlike the usual somber man that I studied him intently.
He was drunk off his ass. He gave me jazz fingers, his mouth making a whooshing sound to indicate Miguel had been burned alive. I couldn't say that I blamed Rafe for that crime, given I would probably do the same to avenge my mother.
"How many men have you brought?" I asked, changing the conversation and moving around the desk to study the names alongside him. Spinning suddenly to stare at the door as Dom appeared, his breath wheezing in and out of his chest, I gripped the cabinet that held my liquor.
"She's gone," he gasped. Ice filled my veins as my body froze solid. Black threatened to overtake my vision, the monster lurking beneath the surface threatening to destroy everything in its path until I had her in my arms again.
"What the fuck do you mean she's gone? You were supposed to be watching her!" I roared, getting into his face. With only inches separating us, he swallowed nervously. Seeming to realize just how monumentally he'd fucked up.
"I swear, I must have looked away for a few seconds. I've looked everywhere, Enzo. She's not here."
“Is Rebel here?” I asked, looking for the dog I felt certain Sadie wouldn’t leave behind. His confused stare brought a growl from my chest. “The dog!”
“No. The dog is gone too,” Dom admitted, backing away slowly.
"Who is missing?" Rafe asked, glancing back and forth between us. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for the violence