For a second, it feels like time itself has stopped. Like the whole world has ground to a numb, creaking standstill.
What the fuck am I looking at?
Two fucking Vaughns, that’s what. One stands a dozen feet away, the gun in his hand pointed at my chest with unflinching precision. And across from him—still tied to the chair, still catching his breath, still bleeding—is the other Vaughn, staring at his double with the same confusion I feel tightening in my gut.
In that frozen moment, I drag my gaze back to the Vaughn holding a gun at me and start to dissect the details.
He’s got the same face as the Vaughn I know. But everything about it is a little more serious. More hardened, rougher around the edges. He’s got the same bright blue eyes and same dark brown hair. But his is cut a little shorter, with less of that “messy cool” style.
And sure enough, when my eyes drop to his exposed forearm, they’re devoid of any tattoos.
“Untie him,” the doppelgänger holding the gun says, his voice a more roughened, razor-edged version of Vaughn’s.
I hesitate.
“I said untie my brother, right the fuck now.”
The old slaughterhouse is pin-drop silent except for a distant drip-dripping in the shadows. The rustle of a pigeon.
My brother.
Houston, we have a fucking problem.
Slowly, I turn to look back at Vaughn. He’s got the same stunned look of disbelief and confusion on his face that I do.
Holy shit.
“I’m not going to ask you again,” the gunman growls thinly. “Fucking untie him, or this goes very differently.”
I show the guy my hands as I turn and walk over to Vaughn.
“I’m going to reach for a knife.”
“Do it fucking slowly,” the man says.
I pull the blade out of my pocket and reach down to free Vaughn’s wrists. He groans as the pressure releases, slumping forward, catching himself with a wince.
He looks up at me, whispering. “What the hell is this?”
“Fucked if I know,” I mutter as I squat down and cut his ankles loose.
Vaughn stands on shaky legs, his face twisted in pain. Then I’m shoved aside, and before I can even register what’s going on the guy with the gun is throwing his arms around Vaughn and hugging him fiercely.
Vaughn stiffens, that utterly confused look still on his face. But then he’s hugging the guy back, sagging against him a little.
“There’s a lot to say,” the doppelgänger says softly, holding Vaughn’s shoulders as he steps back, looking at him. “A lot.”
He glances over his shoulder at me, then back to Vaughn.
“I’ll explain everything, but first, I need to talk to Nico. Alone. It would be better for your safety if you don’t hear.”
Vaughn nods, wincing as he lowers himself into the chair. His eyes lift to mine, glinting darkly. “Don’t think for a second that you and I are done, motherfucker.”
That’s fair. I reach into my pocket and toss him my cigarettes and lighter. He catches them with a grunt, glancing back at me. “Yeah, still not fucking done.”
New-Vaughn glances at me and gestures with his jaw. I follow him a few yards away, still eyeing the gun in his hand.
There’s another difference between him and the Vaughn I know. Vaughn walks like a dancer. An athlete. This guy walks like a soldier.
We stop near a shattered window and a pile of bricks and he curiously puts the gun away.
“Firstly, I owe you a thanks.”
My brow furrows. “Excuse me?”
“Omar was trying to play me, sell me out. You took care of that problem for me.”
My eyes darken. “Who the fuck are you.”
He smirks. “I told you. I’m Vaughn.”
“Stop talking in riddles,” I spit.
“I’m not. I’m Vaughn. And that is my brother.” He turns, his mouth pulling into an almost sad smile. “Val.”
“You’ll need to expand on that.”
“I will, but we don’t have time for that right now.”
My jaw tightens. “Why is—”
“I need you to listen, Mr. Barone.” He rolls his neck. “You think I’ve been trying to pry into your secret society,” he says. “You think I’m a threat to the Black Court.”
“You’re Obsidian Syndicate,” I hiss.
He shrugs. “The Obsidian Syndicate isn’t a hive-mind, Nico. For a long time—some would say too long—it’s been helmed by one man and his…singular visions.”
“The Marquis,” I murmur.
He nods. “His leadership has grown stagnant and self-serving. The Obsidian Syndicate is not just some mercenary force,” he growls. “It’s home to the people who exist within it. A brotherhood. A community.”
“I’m getting some serious cult vibes,” I mutter.
His blue eyes flash. “You’re talking about my family, Mr. Barone. Kindly show some respect.”
Something Prince said to me on the phone earlier clicks in my head.
“You’re the head of the splinter faction, aren’t you?”
He nods. “Some of us remember what the Obsidian Syndicate used to stand for, what it was capable of. Not just soldiers for hire to serve one man’s ambition.”
“And you want the throne.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I’m not embarrassed to admit it. Yes. I do.”
“So…take it,” I grunt.
“It’s not that easy.”
“Bullets to the back of the head have a way of making things very easy,” I drawl.
He shakes his head. “Not in this case. This is why I’ve been trying to get the attention of the Black Court, Mr. Barone.”
My nostrils flare. “I don’t know what—”
“Or Raven, if that feels a more suitable name for this conversation,” he purrs.
For a second, I contemplate killing this fucker right here and now. I don’t know how the hell he knows all this, but it’s fucking…concerning, to say the least.
“That isn’t widely known by the brotherhood, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he murmurs, like he’s reading my thoughts. “Only by me.”
“How,” I growl.
“Because I’m very fucking good at what I do,” he snaps back. “Nico, I haven’t been prying into the Court to find its weaknesses. I’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“And why is that?” I mutter.
“If I simply kill the Marquis, I’m viewed as a traitor. And the second his body drops, half the Obsidian Syndicate goes to war with the other half.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice.
“But if the Black Court executes him…?”
I bark a laugh. “We’re not mercenaries, fuckhead.”
“I’m not saying you are. I’m merely asking you to do what you do: seek the wrongs within the underworld and be the corrective force that…fixes them.”
He pulls a manila envelope out of his jacket. “I believe the Court takes a dim view of those who reneg on, or cheat their way out of, a blood marker?”
“You’ve got my attention.”
“Fifteen years ago, the Marquis was in a bad spot, and he got help from a Bratva kingpin out of Novosibirsk—Boris Vabnik. He saved the Marquis’ life, but made the Marquis sign a blood marker owing Vabnik a debt.”
He clears his throat and hands me the envelope.
“You’ll find indisputable proof in there that the Marquis had Vabnik killed a year ago for no reason other than to erase his debt to him.”
Fuck.
Murder doesn’t mean shit to the Court. But a broken blood marker? That’s sacred.
“The whole case is right there in that folder,” he says. “I just need you to bring it to the Black Court. And I need your word that you’ll convince them to act, and to carry out the execution.”
“What are you about to tell me you’ll do for me in exchange?” I murmur. “I know that part’s coming.”
He nods grimly. “Indeed. Mr. Barone, at this precise moment, a squad of hitmen is on its way to kill Naomi Kim.”
Everything goes from zero to a thousand miles an hour in a quarter of a second. Adrenaline explodes through my system as my heart explodes into my throat.
“What!?” I roar.
When he doesn’t immediately respond, I launch myself at him, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him as I snarl into his face.
“What the fuck did you just say?!”
“A hit squad,” he grunts. “Obsidian Syndicate-trained. With orders to find Naomi Kim.”
Everything inside me goes cold.
“It’s not about you. It’s about her father. They’re hitting Leonard where it hurts. She’s the only piece he can’t control anymore.”
I slam him back into the crumbling stone wall, my face a mask of livid rage.
“I can call them off, Nico.”
His voice is completely devoid of emotion, but there’s a finality his eyes as they lock with mine.
“But I need your word first.”
I snarl as I slam him against the wall again. “Make the fucking call.”
“Your word, Nico. Promise you’ll follow through with my request. Guarantee it.”
“What you’re asking requires the whole Court to vote!” I roar. “I can’t—”
“You can. And right now, you really should.”
“We don’t have fucking time for—”
“No, Naomi doesn’t have time,” he replies. “Again: if you want my help stopping those men from spilling her blood in the streets of New York, you will make this happen, right now. And it should go without saying that if I help you…and you fail to help me…there is no length I won’t go to make sure you have a front row seat the next time one of your family members gets into a car.”
My blood turns to acid. But it’s an easy call to make. Naomi’s life is on the table. If I have to cut out my own fucking heart to make sure the Court follows through on this, that’s what I’ll do.
I whirl away from him and yank out my phone.
Five names on a group chat in a secret, secure messaging app. One we only ever use in case of dire emergencies.
The Raven
We’re bringing the head of the Obsidian Syndicate to trial. Immediately.
The Bull
C’mon, man.
The Wolf
We already fucking talked about this. You know I sympathize with your situation, but this is NOT a court issue.
The Hound
Calling you in a sec
The Raven
It’s different now. I have proof of him offing a Bratva kingpin to weasel out of a blood marker.
The Raven
I need this voted on RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.
The Stag
How serious is this proof?
The Raven
Concrete. Iron-clad. He’s OURS. But it needs to happen immediately.
The Bull
We’ll set up a meeting
The Raven
Not fucking good enough. Naomi’s life is on the line. VOTE. NOW.
The Hound
If you can send us this proof, we’ll have him picked up asap. Trial by this weekend. But we NEED that evidence.
I crouch down, spreading the files, photographs, and documents from the manila folder on the dirty ground. This guy wasn’t fucking kidding. They have phone taps, explicit directions from the Marquis, photos. It’s all here.
I snap some pics and then send them to the group chat, my pulse throbbing.
The Wolf
Fuck me, I’m in.
The Stag
Yeah, clear to me. I’m in, too.
The Bull
Let’s get this motherfucker TODAY
The Hound
It’s a yes from me as well.
My phone dings with a private text.
Carmine
Well done, man. Really fucking well done.
I whirl back to Vaughn’s clone, or twin, or whatever the fuck he is.
“You’ve got your ask,” I hiss. “Now make the fucking call.”
“May I remind you—”
He grunts when I slam into him, driving him into the wall behind him.
“Make. The fucking. CALL.”
He nods once. When I release him, he turns away from me, pulls a phone out of his pocket, and lifts it to his ear.
Suddenly, he stiffens. With a curt nod, he pulls the phone away and turns back to me, face grim.
“The hit team is already en route, and they’re ignoring my orders. Which means they’re loyal to the Marquis.”
I see red.
I start to reach for my knife but the other man shakes his head.
“You gave your word, and I gave mine. In this world, our word is all we have.”
He fixes me with a hard look.
“So now I’m going to help you stop them.”
