The Deliverance of Dilan (The Syndicate #4) by Kathy Coopmans Page A

Let’s get this done.” I nod toward my uncle. However, if I didn’t love this crazy fucker, I would smash his head in for being here and for his smart mouth. I tuck my guilt away. No one will know. Not Anna, not anyone. It will stay in my head. I will deal with it on my own. If I were honest, I’d admit it’s taking this huge boulder off of my shoulder I’ve been carrying around for years, knowing this revenge is now in the hands of more than just me.
    For two hours, we all listen and eat as my uncle and John tell us their plan. Both of them have been up all night, disposing of our vehicles and setting our own security in place. One of the big issues we have is that the Carlos family has just as many cops in their back pocket as we do, which leaves us no choice but to not call ours in for help, or at least to try and get us out of here. We don’t have them kill for us, like some do. We use them for protection, killing only if they have to, while we pad their wallets with a shit ton of money. Corruption is every fucking where. It doesn’t matter with whom or why. It’s there.
    “I have no qualms about taking them out. They started this war. We’ll finish it. Now, for the next few days, we will enjoy the amenities this fine establishment has to offer. No one does a thing. And Dilan,” my uncle addresses me, “when that bitch contacts you, and trust me, she will, you tell her to pass a message to her brother.” I raise my brows, waiting diligently for what this particular message will be.
    “You tell her he’s a dead fucking man for every mark, every punch, and every bit of harm he caused you. And then you tell her to expect a phone call from the prison where her beloved ex resides.” He tilts his head in Ivan’s direction. Then nods and folds his hands neatly on the table in front of him.
    “Miguel will be dead by this evening,” Ivan proclaims. I’m not shocked at all by his words, not from either one of these notorious leaders. I nod once again to both of them, my gratitude of thanks marking them with my expression.
    “What the fuck?” Roan stands as if he’s holding all the power in this meeting.
    “Roan,” my uncle warns. “No, dad. Don’t ‘Roan’ me.” He leans in, placing his palms flat on the table. I can feel the blood boiling in his veins. There’s no need for him to glare at me like he wants to shoot that hot red family blood we have running through our bodies all over this damn table. I feel his pain. If the tables were turned, and thank god they aren’t, I know damn well I’d be standing over the top of him, ready to kick his ass for keeping shit from me too.
    “You forget to tell me something?” His aim is planted directly at me.
    “Didn’t forget, man. I didn’t want to tell you.” I stand and meet his gaze.
    “That’s a bunch of shit, goddamn it. If my intuition works correctly—and trust me, brother, it does—that motherfucker should have been dead a long time ago. Fucking hell, Dilan. What the fuck did they do to you in there?” He closes his pained eyes and inhales deeply. When he opens them, I see a storm, more like a hurricane, in his glare. A mixture of pain, anger, and frustration.
    “I survived, that’s all we should care about. So he roughed me up a bit. Now he dies.” I toss my hand out, letting them all know I’m good. And I hope the piece of shit suffers before he draws in his last breath.
    “Motherfucker.” My dad stands, voicing his rights as my father.
    Then Cain and Aidan join in. If this shit weren’t so important to me, if I didn’t want to begin a life with the woman I care deeply about, I may laugh at these brothers of mine. How each one of them is standing here with clenched fists and a troubled appearance, ready to fight for me. There’s no pity though. I might have to knock them on their asses if they show pity. And the steam hammering out of Aidan would be downright fucking funny if our situation weren’t deadly. It’s as if he