Page 29 of Vows of Blood

But yesterday isn’t quite over for us. There will be no sleep tonight.

“Corso has no more news yet.” Nico volunteers, still glued to the screen in his hands. "But the Russians are the obvious answer. They've been trying to renegotiate territory for months. Maybe they got sick of talking. This could be an opening move."

The Russians are the obvious answer, too obvious for my liking. Plus, for reasons I’m not inclined to share with my brother just yet, I'm confident it wasn't them.

Or at least, it wasn't authorized by their leadership. There's always the chance someone's gone rogue.

"They wouldn't risk starting a war. Not like this." I cross my arms and stare into the glass I’m still clutching in one hand. "And if Mikhail was sent to kill me, I'd be dead, but without a room full of witnesses to the event." I swirl my drink, watching the amber liquid catch the light.

A public attack with this much law enforcement and media attention isn't the Russian’s style. They prefer clean and deniable. A fall out of a window. A tragic car accident. Poison. Not sloppy shootings.

Nico shudders but reluctantly accepts my point. "The Irish then. They hate us. And none of them attended the party, conveniently."

It is convenient, there’s no denying that.

"They hate our father," I correct. "We're just guilty by association." It's taken me years to rebuild those bridges. Tonight was meant to be the first step. Instead, it's all gone to shit. "And why would they sabotage their own deal? Or risk Kate?"

Nothing about this is adding up.

"So maybe not Finn himself, but someone who didn't want Kate married to you? And thought removing you from the equation was worth the risk."

There's merit to the theory, but if so, they fucked up royally. It's Kate that’s lying in a hospital bed, not me.

I set my drink down harder than I intended, frustration bleeding through. “None of this makes fucking sense."

We sit in silence for a moment, weighing all the unanswered questions and trying to make sense of the fragments of information we have. But it’s not enough.

On the monitors, a guard makes his rounds along the perimeter wall, rubbing his hands together to fend off the cold dawn air. Normally, my men keep to the comfort of the huts dotted around the property. Not today.

"So if it's not the Russians," Nico says slowly, "and it's not the Irish, then who? An unsanctioned attack? A personal vendetta?"

There are plenty of people who would like to see me dead, that comes with the territory, but nothing stands out.

"Maybe." I stare at the wall of screens. "Or maybe it's someone closer to home."

Even saying the words aloud feels dangerous. We both know what that means. Another family watching my father weaken, watching me prepare to step up, unconvinced I'm the right man for the job, thinking their bloodline would do a better one.

Nico's eyes dart briefly to the door to make sure it’s shut. Even under this roof, there are ambitious men who don't always agree with my plans. But to question the trust and loyalty of our own is a grave matter.

"Who else wants to take over?" Nico asks, palms up. “I sure as hell don’t.”

Lots of people want my job, or more precisely, they want the money and power that come with it. The old guard thinks I'm too young, too reckless, too willing to shake up how things have always been done. The young guns always think they could do better.

And nobody likes change. Rich, powerful men, least of all.

"It's not just who wants it. The real question is who has the balls to do something about it."

That’s a far shorter list.

"Which reminds me." Nico reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a phone. "There's something you should see."

He connects it to the monitor system. The wall of screens flickers, the security feeds replaced by a single frozen image of Bellini's dining room, captured from what looks like a camera held at chest height.

"I had the men collect footage from everyone who did any recording," he explains, fingers moving across the phone screen to queue up multiple files. “Most of it is useless, but…” He hesitates, and I wonder why it hasn’t started playing yet. “Luca…”

"Just fucking show me."

He hits play, then backs away as the chaos unfolds across the screens in front of me.