She nodded. “He’s not the most communicative person, but then, most of the older ones aren’t.”

That was probably the most truthful thing she’d said all night.

“As I’ve told some of your den mates already, we didn’t murder De Luca.” I peeled a sliver of fire away from the rope corralling her torso and wrapped it around her neck. “Frank Parella took that honor.”

Her eyes narrowed. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” I released my grip on her and thrust upright. Her neck was burned and blistering, and I hoped it was as painful as hell. “It’s almost as if the sindicati generals haven’t spent centuries murdering their counterparts. Oh, and if you move, those ropes will burn you.”

She obviously didn’t believe me, because she threw herself sideways, teeth bared as she tried to slash open my leg. I didn’t move; I didn’t have to. My fiery leash immediately tightened around her throat and chest, and in an instant, she was gasping for breath.

“I did warn you,” I said, and walked away.

Only when I was back in the living room did I loosen the leash enough for her to breathe.

Jackson moved past me and squatted beside Shona. After gently closing her eyes, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“May your next journey in this world be filled with love, happiness, and a long life,” he said softly. “And as you move on, rest assured that your death in this lifetime will be avenged. That I promise you.”

I didn’t say anything, but I had everything crossed that it was a promise we could keep. “We have to call PIT. But we also need to find out what happened to the werewolves. Baker wouldn’t have gone back on his word; I’m sure of that.”

Jackson thrust to his feet. “Depends if he got a better offer.”

“Who from? He’d already refused Rinaldo’s offer of a partnership, and it’s hardly likely the sindicati or the rats would pay him to back away from our deal given they want information about Rinaldo just as much as everyone else.”

Especially after Rinaldo had raided several of the rat shifters’ main underground gambling operations here in Melbourne.

“Good point. I’ll go outside and see if I can find the wolves. You ring PIT.” He tossed me his phone, then turned and headed outside.

I opened the contacts list and pressed the chief inspector’s number. It was a direct line, and, as far as I knew, we were the only ones outside the organization who had it. Hopefully, that meant it was secure.

The phone rang several times; then a somewhat plummy and decidedly unfeminine voice said, “Chief Inspector Henrietta Richmond speaking.”

“Inspector, Emberly Pearson here.”

“Indeed,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Jackson made a call about a security guard in need of protection—”

“And he’s been checked and is secure,” she cut in. “We have temporarily relocated him.”