Nico had plans to test his new shadow ability the moment he got home. Before he could climb into the car, though, Lucas called out to him.
His assistant had just ended a call, and the frown on his face said whatever news he’d gotten wasn’t the kind Nico liked hearing.
"Boss, it’s from our guys at Saint Calder." He tucked the phone back into his suit pocket. "They have Stefan Reed—"
Nico tilted his head at him.
"What are you talking about, Stefan is dead."
"Leaves me just as confused, because they found him alive." Lucas continued. "And he wishes to speak with you."
Stefan had been one of Silas’s most loyal men, assassinated only a few months before Silas himself was murdered. He’d also been the most ruthless of the group, always choosing violence over strategy whenever the call was his to make.
That habit had earned him a long list of enemies.
Nico still remembered the exact moment Stefan’s body had been embalmed for burial. He’d made sure of the death himself, back then. There was no room left for doubt in that memory.
Which made it hard to swallow that Stefan was somewhere out there now, demanding an audience. Still, Nico’s curiosity had already latched on. If his long dead friend had somehow crawled back to life, that wasn’t good news for anyone.
"Alright then, let’s go." He said, walking toward the escort car parked out front. "Tell those guys to drive the girls home."
While Lucas relayed orders to the lieutenants, Nico pulled up the system in his mind, focus narrowing as he slid into the back of the Mercedes.
"Activate shadow mark."
[Shadow Marks Available: 3]
[Convenient Recommendations: Mira Fenris, Kira Fenris, Nira Fenris.]
[Apply Shadow Mark/ Select Different Target?]
"Apply."
[Shadow Mark Successfully Applied.]
→ User can now sense targets location and danger level within 500 miles.
__________
The mark wasn’t much, not enough to stop an active threat in its tracks. But it beat the alternative, which was having no clue at all if his wives had wandered into danger somewhere across the city.
And with Stefan supposedly walking around again, Nico wasn’t confident he could keep guaranteeing their safety for much longer.
Lucas climbed into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled out onto the road. The whole ride over, Nico’s thoughts kept circling back to Stefan, refusing to settle anywhere else.
The memories were sharp, almost too sharp. The bullet hole in his chest, buried deep enough that there should have been no walking away from it. The pale, waxen skin they’d kept preserved in the freezer for weeks before the funeral.
He’d watched the casket lowered six feet into the ground, white and gleaming, while the cleric murmured something about a second life Nico never bothered to understand.
Stefan had died. That much wasn’t up for debate.
And he needs to stay that way.
***
Shortly, they arrived at Saint Calder.
The neighborhood took its name from the church that anchored it, founded decades earlier by a man named Calder Paul. Unlike most corners of Fairmont City, this stretch stayed quiet, untouched by the noise that swallowed the rest of the streets.
Pedestrians strolled past without hurry, a few dogs barking somewhere out of sight, the kind of calm that felt out of place for a city that ran on chaos everywhere else.
Nico’s district sat inside a casino hall three streets down from the church. Mostly high schoolers wandered in on weekdays, chasing something to do, while old drunks took over the tables come weekend.
The place belonged to Santiago, one of the organization’s capos. A Mexican who’d climbed fast through Silas’s ranks, eventually recruiting enough soldiers under his own name to matter.
By mafia standards, recruiting a party of at least ten loyal men earned a man his own branch, his own slice of business, what the organization called a territory.
Santiago had built exactly that. And given that his slice happened to be a literal gambling hall, it was already one of the stronger territories on the board.
Nico stepped inside the casino, and the noise hit him first. Hard rock blasted from speakers mounted somewhere near the ceiling, loud enough to drown out most conversation. The air hung thick with cigarette smoke, curling under dim lights.
Near the far wall, a cluster of teenagers crowded a roulette table, tossing in what looked like their very last dollars, begging the attendant for one more spin before their luck ran completely dry.
Behind the counter stood a man in a light blue shirt. Santiago, brown eyed, cheeks rounded and full. The second his gaze landed on Nico, he stepped out from behind the counter in a hurry.
"Boss." He said it light-heartedly. "You’re here."
Before Nico could answer, Santiago had already spun toward one of the attendants.
"¡Ey, ey! Pendejo, come acá, come."
The attendant came running.
"Watch this place for me while I go attend to the boss. And don’t let those morros buy another pinche drink. If they can’t pay, I’m taking that money straight out of your paycheck, ¿me entiendes?"
Then he turned back to Nico.
"Come with me, boss."
Nico and Lucas followed him up a narrow staircase to the second floor, where a dim passage opened onto three doors. Locker rooms, Santiago called them, though nothing about them looked like storage for coats and shoes.
Santiago led them to one of the doors, where a man sat slumped in a chair, wrists and ankles bound with rope at the far end of the room.
His head hung down, tilted to one side. The clothes on him were ragged, torn in places, but Nico still recognized the black shirt with the New York print, the same one he’d seen Stefan wear more than once.
"He walked into the place, asking to see you." Santiago explained. "We assumed he was bad news, so we tied him up in here."
"Nice work." Nico said. "I’ll take it from here. Alone."
"Boss, wait!"
Santiago caught his arm just as Nico stepped toward the door, then pressed a short pistol into his hand instead.
"You might need this. I don’t trust that dude, he looks like he eats danger for breakfast."
Nico took the gun without comment, caught one last steady nod from Lucas, and walked into the room. The door shut behind him with a heavy click.
He found the switch along the wall and flipped it on. A single yellow bulb buzzed to life overhead, throwing weak light across the man tied to the chair, someone Nico still refused to fully believe was Stefan.
"Alright, let’s skip the theatrics." Nico said. "Who are you, really?"
The man lifted his head slowly, a smile spreading across his scarred, smug face. His lips were cracked and split. His eyes, pale as they were, still carried that same wild red glint Nico hadn’t managed to forget.
"Hello, friend." Stefan said, voice dripping with mockery. "Or should I say, my killer?"