Page 74 of Ruthless


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I lowered the knife, relief at the interruption evaporating my initial irritation. "Fucking announce yourself next time. I nearly put this through your eye."

"Promises, promises," Lo dismissed, setting his bags on the counter. He wore skin-tight purple leather pants, a mesh top that revealed more than it covered, and a cropped leather jacket criss-crossed by unnecessary zippers.

His eyes tracked between Vincent and me, narrowing slightly at the tense distance we maintained. Lo missed nothing. It was what made him both an excellent assassin and an annoying friend.

"Vincent!" he exclaimed, ignoring me entirely to air-kiss Vincent's cheeks. "You look absolutely ravished. Someone's been having fun." He shot me a knowing smirk. "Good job, killer. About time you put those ridiculous piercings to proper use."

Heat crawled up Vincent's neck, but he smiled despite the blush. "Is privacy just not a concept in the assassin world?"

"Privacy is for people who don't have fabulous news," Lo declared, pulling cups from a carrier I hadn't noticed. "Drink first, then I'll spill the tea."

He handed us each a cup, his fingers lingering on mine a second too long, his eyes questioning. I gave an imperceptible head shake. Not now.

I sniffed my cup suspiciously. "What is this?"

"Only the most incredible cortado in the Acropolis," Lo replied, already sipping his own. "Ambrosia, two extra shots and a hint of caramel. Trust me."

I took a cautious sip and had to admit it tasted pretty fucking amazing. Vincent made a small sound of appreciation that shot straight to my groin, his lips closing around the cup rim in a way that made my mouth go dry.

"Okay, news," I demanded, dragging my attention away from Vincent's mouth. "What's got you bouncing around like you're on a coke bender at eight in the morning?"

Lo perched on the edge of the table. "First, I have funeral details! The funeral is tomorrow at two PM, Westside Memorial Gardens." He said it as if he were sharing party plans rather than information about a dead man’s memorial service.

Only Lo would get this excited about a funeral. The man treated mortality like most people treated weekend brunch.

"The family wanted an autopsy, but they were... encouraged... to expedite things." Lo made air quotes around "encouraged."

"Prometheus," I growled, the name sour on my tongue.

"Almost certainly," Lo confirmed. "He's pulling strings, which means—"

"It's a trap," I finished. "We already knew that."

"It's a very elaborate one," Lo added, pulling a tablet from one of his bags and bringing up surveillance maps. "I've been doing reconnaissance. The cemetery is surrounded by perfect sniper positions on three sides. The fourth side is a lake. It's an obvious kill box, Luka. Every ferryman within five hundred miles will be there."

"And in a cemetery, no less," I muttered, disgust coloring my voice. "Breaking one of the few unspoken rules we actually respect."

Vincent's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Cemeteries and graveyards are sacred ground to ferrymen," I explained. "It's deeply frowned upon to conduct business there. No contracts, no kills, no negotiations. It's just... respect for the dead, I guess. One of the few decent traditions we maintain."

"I didn't realize assassins had a code of ethics," Vincent said.

"Not ethics exactly," Lo chimed in, examining his nails. "More like... professional courtesy. Like not killing someone while they're on the toilet. Some things are just tasteless."

"And Prometheus is deliberately violating this tradition," I said. "Which is exactly what we need."

Both Lo and Vincent stared at me.

"Have you completely cracked under the pressure?" Lo demanded. "Or is this just the brain-melting aftereffects of finally getting laid properly? I swear to god, orgasms have actually reduced your IQ."

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the knowing look Lo shot my way. His comment hit too close to the tension simmering between Vincent and me since morning.

"Think about it," I continued, focusing on strategy. "Prometheus expects us to either skip the funeral entirely or try to sneak in covertly. He's prepared for both scenarios. What he doesn't expect is for us to walk in the front gate, fully aware and ready."

"That's a huge risk," Vincent said quietly, studying our faces. "I appreciate that you're both willing to do this for me, but I don't want anyone dying on my behalf."

His sincerity tugged at something deep in my chest. Even now, with his own life in danger, Vincent worried about others. About me. The urge to cross the kitchen and pull him against me grew almost overwhelming, my body aching to reconnect despite my mind's defenses.