“Don’t come back,” he grunts as he cracks the door for us once more.

Cal turns and fixes him with a cold stare.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” he says.

Even the air of the run-down rail yard tastes fresh after the inside of that warehouse. We head back to the Escalade, which is mercifully untouched. No doubt anyone watching recognized Callum and knew better than to fuck with his ride.

It was bizarre watching the charming and well-bred politician melt away so I could see the Irish gangster underneath. It’s easy to see the Griffins for what they are today—one of the most wealthy and successful families in Chicago. You forget that their empire was built on blood and crime. That Fergus Griffin, and his father before him, and his grandfather before him, had no scruples about crushing anyone who got in their way. I suspect Callum is the same.

“You don’t care if he kills Dawes?” I say to Cal.

“Why would I?” Callum fixes me with his icy blue eyes. “He’s a low-level criminal, not even loyal to his own boss. I don’t give a fuck about him. I’d strangle him with my bare hands to keep Riona safe.”

I nod. “Fair enough.”

I let Cal do the talking in there, because he knows these people and I don’t. But I want to get to know this so-called Djinn. If I’m going to protect Riona, I need to know who he is, and how he works.

For that reason, I call Dante and ask him to meet me at the Griffins’ house.

He gets there around 1:00 p.m., carrying a large bag of Thai food. He spreads it out across the long marble countertop, saying to Riona, “Take a break and eat with us.”

Riona sets down her pen, tempted by the scent of chicken satay and coconut rice.

“Alright,” she says.

Cal, Riona, Dante, and I all dish up large plates of food. Cal and Riona use chopsticks, but Dante and I grab forks out of the silverware drawer. Fucking around with wooden sticks is the reason you don’t see a lot of overweight Thai people, I bet.

While we eat, Cal recaps our meeting with Zimmer.

Dante doesn’t look pleased at all when he hears the name “Djinn.”

“You know him?” I ask.

“I don’t know him,” Dante says. “But I know he’s fucking expensive. The best you can get around here. A professional.”

I glance over at Riona to see how she’s taking this.

She’s picking at her Pad Thai, obviously not thrilled to know that the person hired to kill her is a little too good at his job.

“Hey,” I say to her. “We’ll find him.”

“I’d rather find the person who hired him,” Riona says.

“I went and met with the Russians this morning,” Dante tells us. “Yenin denied having anything to do with it. But he looked pretty fucking pleased about it all the same. And I doubt he’d tell us if it was him.”