“Leland Bennett.”
Hale’s words fall like a hammer, heavy and dark.
My eyes widen, my heart stuttering in shock. Leland Bennett. One of my father’s old friends. One of Damian Novak’s captains. One of the most trusted men in the syndicate.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, even though I already know the answer.
Of course they’re sure. The look on each of their faces tells me that they aren’t operating on a suspicion or a wild hunch anymore. I may not know Leland well enough to recognize him by voice, but these men do. They’ve known him for years.
“We need to listen to all of it,” Ciro tells Hale, his voice low. “We need to find out as much as we can before we go after him. We need to know everything.”
Hale nods, a rough jerk of his head. Lucas’s laptop is sitting on one of the large chairs nearby, and he brings it over so Hale can plug the flash drive in. They start with the first message again, and now that I know what to listen for, I can pick out the cadence and tone that identifies this as Leland’s voice.
There are only about ten voicemails, but it’s more than enough. We listen to them one after the other, and as we do, several things become clear.
First, Leland was in league with Brian, coordinating with him the night Brian kidnapped me and tried to kill me.
Second, the two of them weren’t working alone.
And third, Leland was plotting against Damian.
There’s no mention of it in the voicemails since Brian died before the night of the drive-by, but it’s clear that Leland must’ve helped set up the attack at The Blind Pour. He was probably the one who called in the shooters, alerting them to the fact that Damian was outside and in position.
He betrayed the syndicate.
Worse than even my father did.
“Goddammit,” Hale mutters when the last recording ends. “Goddammit. The fucker was working with Brian. And he must’ve had other flunkies working for him too. He was at the bar the night of the shooting; he gave himself the perfect damn cover.”
His voice is hoarse, and I can tell he’s working hard not to fly off the handle. He looks like he’s about to lose it, and I can’t blame him.
Leland might as well have held the gun himself. He may not have fired the shot, but he called in the hit. He coordinated the whole thing.
“Fuck, that’s why he was still in the bar.” Lucas looks murderous. “You sent me to get him, remember? He was still inside because he wanted to make sure he didn’t get hit in the crossfire.”
The angry tension in the room pulses like a living thing. Hale’s jaw clenches, then he looks over at Ciro. “Keep that flash drive close. We’ll comb through the whole fucking thing later, but I think it’s about time we get answers from the man himself.”
Ciro nods, his expression serious. The two men were always close, but they’ve grown even closer since Damian’s death. The quiet, tatted man has stepped fully into his role as Hale’s second, and I have no doubt he’d step in front of a fucking bullet for Hale—and vice versa.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Hale taps the screen and then puts the phone to his ear. We all wait in silent suspense as the phone dials softly, and a muffled voice on the other end picks up.
“Leland,” Hale says, slipping into a perfectly normal tone of voice. “I need you at my house in half an hour.”
The change in him is almost scary. It doesn’t start and end with his voice—it takes over his entire body, like a costume. He’s not the Hale from seconds ago, the Hale from a week ago, but the business-like, cold Hale I knew when they first took me.
It sends a chill down my spine, although I know it’s necessary.
“Stanley and Frank are already on their way,” he says. “Something’s come up with the Boston deal that needs our attention, now.”
I strain to hear what’s being said on the other end. I can’t pick up the exact words, but Leland doesn’t even seem to question Hale, thank fuck. Hale chose a good lie. These kinds of impromptu meetings are frequent and common in their line of work. My father was called in often by Damian Novak at all hours, summoned along with the other captains to deal with some new issue or problem that popped up. That kind of dedication is what allows mafia organizations to run so smoothly. No one gets to call in sick.
The Boston deal has consumed the Novak Syndicate for months. Any threat to the deal going through would be cause for immediate alarm and would require all hands on deck. So Leland should have no reason at all to suspect that something might be going on—no reason to suspect that his cover has just been blown.
Hale listens for a second, then nods. “Good.” He hangs up, his expression hardening. “We’ve got half an hour. I want everyone ready and armed.”
“Right.” Zaid runs a hand through his hair as we all stand and silently begin to exit the room. Lucas sticks close to me. With a hand on the small of my back, he starts to lead me toward the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask, stopping in my tracks as a flash of panic floods me.