“Yeah, I’ve been hitting the gym a lot,” I said.
“Good,” he said quietly. “You’re going to need it.”
I felt my heart sink into my stomach.
“We need to talk,” Landon said. “Let’s go.”
I followed him up Ocean Drive and past the park. We stopped at a little café called The Local House. Landon was silent as the server brought out fresh bread with marinara sauce. He took our orders with a practiced smile and served us iced coffee in little Mason jars, and Landon ordered salmon for both of us.
“What’s going on?” I asked when the server disappeared inside.
“I’ve got some news that concerns you,” Landon said flatly. He reached into his pocket and dropped a photograph on the table in front of me.
I dropped my eyes to the picture, and as soon as I saw what was on it, I grabbed it up and held it closer to me and out of the vision of anyone who might have walked by.
It was a body.
Actually, two bodies—a man and a woman.
“Jillian,” I heard myself whisper. She was curled up in a near fetal position, and there was an obvious bullet hole at her right temple. A few feet from her was the man she ran off with when she left me. He was on the floor in a similar position.
“Mrs. Koe and her husband, Ian Koe, were found in their Italian home last week,” Landon told me. “The police are investigating, of course, but they haven’t found anything.”
I moved my eyes away from the picture and to Landon’s face. Instinct told me everything—their blood was on his hands. He’d killed them, or at least had them killed, but why?
My breathing stopped. My heart might have stopped, too. All I could do was stare at the picture—the picture of a woman I hated. A woman I might have killed myself if given the opportunity, but I hadn’t seen her since she ran off with the other person in the photograph. I’d tried to stop her, but Landon intervened. He would have killed me before he let me go after her.
She’s dead.
“Apparently, there’s a child left behind.”
I flashed my eyes up to his. Of course there was a child. My child.
“Child?” It was the only word I managed to choke out.
“A little boy, six years old.”
I clamped my eyes shut. It was too much at once, and my brain was overwhelmed. Images of Jillian and me when we were together shuffled through my mind like pictures from one of those ancient toy movie projectors run with a hand-crank—all black and white and choppy. A flash from the diamond ring I had bought for her the day she left blinded me from the inside.
I opened my eyes and looked back at Landon. I wanted to speak. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions, but I couldn’t form a single one.
He leaned forward.
“Let’s get to the point, shall we?” he said quietly. “He’s alive. He’s safe. And he’s all yours for just one little favor.”
“Favor?” I could barely hear myself speak.
“One little fight, you and five others. Half of them have never ever done a real tournament before, so it’ll be a piece of cake, assuming you really are back in shape. Three weeks of a little catch-up training, a few days up north for the tournament, and you walk away with the instant family you’ve always wanted.”
I looked in his eyes and considered his words. I was about to deny it—there was no way I wanted a family—but before I could even consider the words, I knew they were wrong. It was exactly what I wanted. It would replace the family I had never known, and I could make my own shit childhood seem less crappy if I could give a kid the life I never had.
I’ll never be able to give Raine a child.
The server dropped off our entrees and refilled our drinks. He asked if there was anything else we needed, but a glare from Landon sent him scurrying away with a towel over his arm.
“Why this fight?” I asked, pulling myself from my thoughts. “Why now?”
Landon sighed and sat back.
“There’s war in Chicago,” he said as he forked a chunk of his fish. “The Greco family and the Moretti family have been fighting over heroin and caviar for a while now. Last year, the Russians moved in and stirred things up even more. There were a couple of confrontations, and people were killed on both sides. Now they’re in the process of reclaiming territory. Franks is losing money over the whole situation, so he’s come up with a solution.”
“A tournament,” I said.
“Exactly.” Landon leaned his elbows on the table and took a drink from the Mason jar. “Franks wants control of the caviar—it’s becoming more and more lucrative—and this was his way of getting both that control and ending the wars. Warring families hurt business around the globe.”
“What if I win?”
“What if?” Landon echoed. There was a challenge in his voice.
“When I win,” I corrected, “what does Franks get out of it?”
“He’ll get oversight of all the caviar business in Seattle, New York, LA, and Chicago,” Landon said. “The feuding between the Italians stops, which is good for business in general, and the Russians get their asses out of Chicago altogether and act as Franks’ supplier overseas.”
As I processed this information, my mind cleared a little. Though we hadn’t had such a conversation in many years, it was familiar territory.
“Who’s in from New York and LA?”
“Grant Chambers,” he said. “He’s big in the arms trade in New York. There’s also Maria Hill in LA, who’s been having problems with the heroin business since the war broke out.”
“Don’t know her,” I said. “I remember Chambers.”
“She’s not been involved in the tournaments before,” Landon confirmed, “but she’s pissed off enough at Greco and Moretti to get involved. Most of her business has been with Latin America—coke and the like. She also hates the Russians and wants them out of the picture.”
“So three from Chicago, one from LA, one from New York, and me. Six players.”
“Small game,” Landon said with a nod. “And only one who is of any concern.”
“Who is that?”
“Moretti’s man,” Landon said. “I’ll let you do your own research, and you can tell me what you think.”
“You are assuming I’m going to agree to this,” I said. Even as I gave voice to my observation, I knew he wouldn’t be here if there was any choice involved.
“You are.”
There was one question I couldn’t stop myself from asking.
“What if I refuse?”
“Well, who knows what will happen to the kid?” Landon asked with a slight shrug. “He’s technically Franks’ nephew or whatever, so he could end up living with him. Then again, maybe Franks doesn’t want a kid. Maybe he’ll get rid of him, foster care or whatever.”
I swallowed hard as the muscles in my arms tightened.
Not my kid. No fucking way will that happen to my kid.
“I know for a fact that he’d get rid of you and your little piece of Ohio-born tail.”
I knew the threat was coming; I didn’t really have to ask. Hearing it still sent my mind spinning. Most of me didn’t care if Franks decided to have me killed, and Landon knew that. Threatening Raine, though—that was a whole other thing. Threatening a child I didn’t even know shouldn’t have mattered to me, but it did.
A lot.
I guess I wasn’t a heartless bastard after all.
The server dropped off the bill when Landon indicated we didn’t want to entertain the idea of dessert. I hadn’t managed to eat my meal, anyway. Landon leaned back in his chair, handed a stack of cash to the server, and looked across the table at me.
“Well?” he said simply.
“You say that like I’m being given some kind of choice,” I spat back at him.