Legacy of Lies (Empire of Lies #3) - Whitney G. Page 0,26

we’re working on your dad and your aunt, you’ll be fine.”

“Do you honestly think I’ll be capable of doing it alone, after only a few weeks of training?”

“Yes,” he says. “But you won’t be alone at all. I’ll be there with you every second of the way.”

Meredith

Now

A couple of weeks later

“Just like that…” Michael stands behind me, his hands gripping my waist. “Curl your finger around the trigger and make sure your grip is right.”

I oblige and stare ahead at my ‘target’, a potato sack that sitting several feet away. I take my time positioning the gun, and as usual, it takes me double the time that it should.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve gotten a small taste of the gritty ecosystem of New York under Michael’s guidance, and I feel as I’m drowning in a world I never noticed before.

The Paper Café, where I used to get my morning coffee, is a large-scale money laundering business, owned by the mafia. Two of the men who often waved at me during my emotional runs through Central Park are two of the biggest drug dealers in the city. And every miscellaneous fee that I’ve ever paid to my bank has gone directly to the shared account of the “A brothers.”

“Now, aim and shoot it like I’ve taught you.” Michael’s deep voice makes me focus again.

I move the gun a few inches to the left, making sure my eyes are in line with the sack. Then I fire seven shots, hitting the sack right on all its red marks.

“Good job.” He kisses the back of my neck. “Reload and do it again.”

I look up at him. “I don’t want to kill anyone, Michael. Ever.”

“I know,” he says. “I would never let you.”

“Then why are you making me learn this?”

“So, that if you’re ever alone, I won’t have to worry,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “You also look sexy as fuck doing it, so reload the clip. Now.”

Blushing, I open the chamber and insert the ammo. As I’m preparing to fire again, the doors on the far side of the room open, and Trevor steps inside.

He walks toward us, a cigar between his fingers, a smirk on his lips. This is the first time I’m seeing him in person, and the more I look at him, the more I can’t help but think about the pictures I once found in Michaels’ bedroom. They’re definitely identical under this set of lighting, but their demeanor and the way they walk easily give away their differences.

“Well, hello there, Mrs. Anderson.” He smiles and extends his hand. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Nice to meet you too, Trevor.”

“I went to your memorial a while back,” he says, letting go of my hand. “It was a very lovely affair, but I must say, you look a lot sexier up close and in person. I can now see exactly why my brother—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” Michael says, rolling his eyes. “Are you finished with the phone taps and video patches we need?”

“Of course,” he says, pulling a manila folder from his coat. “This is all you need for the end, Mr. & Mrs. Batshit Crazy. It’s been a pleasure, and I can’t wait to see how this ends.”

“You already know how it’s going to end if I’m involved. It’ll be perfect.”

“Maybe.” He smiles, looking over at me. “If it was just you, I would. I’ve never seen your wife’s work before, though, and I don’t think she has any idea how much research truly goes into this. But hey, she knows how to shoot a gun she’ll never use and she’s intrigued by crime, right? I’m sure that’s all she needs…”

“Get the fuck out of my building, Trevor.”

He laughs and gives me one final wink before leaving.

When the door shuts, Michael gently grabs the gun from my hands. “He has a point…”

“Does he?”

“Yes.” He looks at his watch. “You’re taking your father down the night of his victory gala, and that’s two weeks from now. You’ve done some research, but—”

“I know every move in his daily routine, everything in his business history,” I say. “Give me the time of day and I’ll tell you exactly where he is. Give me the name of the business deal and I’ll tell you everything about it.”

He raises his eyebrow. “What about your aunt?”

“You’re researching my aunt,” I say. “That’s what you’re supposed to know…”

“It’s a shared job,” he says, his tone a bit terse. “You’re