Elite (Eagle Elite #1)(72)

Nixon nodded once. “Done.”

Exhaling in relief, I walked over to Nixon, but he had turned to talk to Faust who had at that point woken up and stood.

Chase held open his arms. I walked into them and laid my head against his chest. “You should have let me kill him.”

“Sorry to ruin your fun,” I mumbled.

Chase sighed. “Not fun. Just pleasure.”

****

What felt like hours later, Phoenix awoke, screaming in pain. Nixon had contacted Phoenix’s father and asked him to meet us at the site.

Dean De Lange walked in and swore. “Phoenix, what have you done?”

“Yes.” Nixon sneered. “What have you done?”

Phoenix smirked. Blood stained his teeth where he had been punched repeatedly. “You think you can silence me?” He laughed. “Father, guess who our little Tracey is? You should know, after all, you killed her parents.”

“What?” Mr. De Lange paled and gaped at his son. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s over. And I’m not stupid.” Phoenix spat. “You set them up. I know everything and now they do too.”

“I didn’t—” his father repeated, but his words were silenced, by the crack of a gun. I gasped as he fell to the ground, blood was everywhere. I looked to Nixon, but he seemed just as shocked as me. But Grandpa, he wasn’t shocked at all. In fact, he was the one aiming the gun.

“It is over,” Grandpa said hoarsely.

Phoenix laughed from his position on the ground, blood trailing down his chin. “Oh, it’s far from over… you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“Killed the man who murdered my son!” Grandpa yelled.

“I lied.” Phoenix grinned. “And now you’ll never know. By the way, congratulations on killing the one man standing in the way of making me the boss. You just bought me my freedom.”

“Like hell he did!” Nixon stepped forward, but Grandpa held out his hand to stop him.

“War is coming,” Faust said from behind me.

“The Sicilians are coming.” Phoenix laughed from the ground.

“God help us all.” Chase swore and tugged me out of the room, swearing in Sicilian the entire way.





Chapter Thirty-four I didn’t hear from Nixon all the next day. Chase was eerily quiet as he walked me back to my room. For once I was okay with him having his gun out as he searched around me for any sort of sketchy person.

Once we reached my room, I asked. “War? And the Sicilians?”

Chase swore. I’d never seen him freaked out, but he looked about ten seconds away from losing it. “Our family — we’ve been in charge of keeping the peace for over a hundred years, Trace. Your grandfather just shot the De Lange mob boss in cold blood, who the hell knows what’s going to happen to Phoenix? We either have to kill him or buy his silence. You can’t just go around shooting people.”

“Yeah, got that part. But aren’t you the mafia, I mean—”

Chase swore. “Trace, listen, you clearly don’t understand. You don’t want the Sicilians here. Hell, I don’t even want them in Sicily. If they come, and if they find out everything that’s been happening. Shit!” He kicked the bed.

“But they won’t find out. I mean who’s going to tell?”

Chase looked at me like I was insane. “Trace, did you see all the men in there? Do you realize how desperate some of them are for money or to get on the good side of one of the originals? You can’t control people, and you sure as hell can’t keep them from looking out for themselves.”

“What does this mean, for… for all of us?” I asked, numbly sitting on the bed.

“It means we face them. Together,” a voice said from the door. I gasped and looked up. Nixon was sporting a black eye and bloody lip.

“What happened?”

Nixon shook his head and winced. “Don’t worry about it. Pack your stuff, you’re leaving.”

“Leaving?”

He ignored me and looked at Chase. “Get a bag?”

“Hold on one second!” I threw my hands into the air. “You can’t just make me leave!”

“Trace.” Nixon pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your grandfather and I decided it’s safer for you to be with me at all times. I can’t exactly shimmy into your dorm at all hours without people finding out. It’s just not safe.”

“So I’m going to be a prisoner in my grandfather’s home?”

“Of course not.” Nixon smiled. “You’re going to be a prisoner in mine.”

Chase snorted.

“What was that?” Nixon snapped at Chase.

“Air. I coughed. Found a bag.” He handed Nixon my small duffel and saluted me. “Love ya, Trace. I’ll be waiting at Nixon’s. I think it’s best if we all pow-wow together.”

“Okay.” I waved goodbye and turned back to Nixon. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Probably.” He pulled me into his arms and sighed. “I can’t lose you again.”

I started crying softly. When had things gotten so screwed up? “I’m scared.”

“I’ll be scared with you,” Nixon murmured, repeating what I told him when I was six. “I’ll be scared until you aren’t scared anymore, okay?”