It's Chloe that I see. All that I’m aware of.
You would think that my knowledge of her would soothe and pacify the anger churning in my blood, but it doesn’t. I feel murderous and straight out feral. This idiot was after her tonight, I can’t have that and I can’t be sentimental or merciful about it either.
I don’t know how much time passes until I feel Max’s hand on my shoulder, effectively halting any more terror and pain I still have to reign.
“Man, that’s enough. He’s ready to talk.” Max murmurs in my ear. He knows I feel edgy and restless. And he also knows if I keep going, I will do something that I will regret.
I step back and it’s only then I notice the blood on my hands and my clothes. I see the stains of red on my shoes as well as on my face. I look up and see Bryce, beaten to a pulp. The whole abdomen area of his body, bloody, bruised and he is spluttering blood from his mouth, but I’m not moved or bothered.
I know for certain that he has broken bones, cracked ribs. Internal bleeding is also a possibility, but he could have avoided this by not being involved with a plan to kidnap her.
I gesture for a damp towel, to wipe away most of the blood, Then I look up at him, seeing fear in his eyes. Yeah, he is ready to talk alright.
“Who were you after?” I demand.
“The girl. The one that works for that slime, Demetri.” he answers breathlessly, his voice breaking and blood coming out of his mouth like a flood.
I know they were after Chloe but I want to know why and who. So, I ask.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The reason is not exactly relevant. We just do what we are told to do.”
“And who tells you this?” I demand.
“You wouldn’t know him, even if I told you. Men like him are not known, but he no doubt knows about you. Always watching, seeing and tracing your every step.”
I incline my head to the side, studying him. Processing what he just said. My gut is screaming at me. I don’t like what he saying and a sense of doom is present in the air. “You really want to do this huh? I have all night.” I inform him, already mentally selecting my next torture weapon of choice.
“No, no! I can tell you. Please, don’t kill me.” He pleads, watching me with horror as I walk over to the small table.
“Tell me what you know then?” I demand softly. The churning in my gut too prominent to be avoided. I know it’s not Demetri for sure now.
“Lorenzo. Caleb Lorenzo.” he says
My mind is blank for a split second after he utters the name. Do I know of a Lorenzo?
I see Max step closer to me through the corner of my eye. Something that he does when he needs my attention. I make eye contact with Peter, and Tom. I need them to extract every bit of anything that our dear guest has.
“Of course.” Tom says to my silent request. We understand each other, with my men. No need to be loud, at times silence speaks louder than words or actions. With the right people of course.
I turn and make my way to the bucket of water left conveniently by the corner of the room and I wash my hands, removing as much blood as possible. Max waits for me, with a towel to dry my hands.
We make our way up the stairs, the silence between us deafening.
“I take it you know who this Caleb Lorenzo is then?” I say as we enter the backroom of the command center.
“Yes, and unfortunately, he isn’t good news.” Max says as he furiously types on his computer, the data processing just as fast. Images and digits coming and going on the large screen.
“Should I be worried?”
“Yes. I came across this just a few minutes before Tom came in with his catch for the night.” Max starts and I step closer to where he is seated.
“I was voice identifying that recording from earlier and well, according to the private data in the American security base, this voice doesn’t belong to anyone. Which is utter nonsense, there is no such thing. So, naturally I checked the other closed and encrypted database and well, I found the owner.”
Max explains as an image of a young man comes up. He looks around my age, maybe a year younger. The image isn’t clear, it’s a surveillance image, I notice.
“Lorenzo.”
“Yes. His identity is apparently wiped out every eight hours, as if there is a dedicated team that watches and cross references him to wipe him off. I think he is on the watch list. And for good reason.”
Max slides down to the next computer and types something on the board. “Because our new friend, Caleb Lorenzo, is connected to the MIAMI syndicate. More than connected.” Max spins around in his chair, looks me dead in the eyes and delivers a blow like none other.
“Infact, he is the son of the head of this syndicate, Giovanni Lorenzo.”
Chapter 6
Caleb
“I’m sorry sir, we checked everywhere, she wasn’t there.” I hear from one of the men I sent. Another disappointment, a strike against me.
“I told you not to come back without her! She is just a small woman for fuck’s sake!” I shout at him.
The one job I give them and they fail even at that. I’m surrounded by idiots. All of them.
“Sir, we left one of our men to stay guard and await her arrival. As soon as she is back, she will be delivered to you.” he quickly tries to explain but I’m no longer interested.
I guess when you want something done properly, you have to do it yourself.
“Get out!” I demand. I have no patience for their shortcomings. Just like my father has no patience or grace for me.
The old man has never given me the time of day. I don’t compare to all his other sons, yet I’m the oldest. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t see me as a man. I’ll show him!
New York City is the place where opportunities are in vast supply for those that can identify them. Here I am, with a single chance I have to prove to my father that I am a man. That I deserve the right to step in and take control of the syndicate.
But he doesn’t trust me. Has never really trusted me my entire life.
It hasn’t been a full twenty hours since landing here in Manhattan, with the number one objective already a failure.
Maybe my father was right. I’m a disgrace after all and don’t deserve to reign the helm of authority and power the likes of MIAMI, if I can’t even get a simple task fulfilled. But I’ll be damned if I will prove him right on this one. Or on anything for that matter.
I told him that I would watch over that bastard, Stefan Demetri. He came to my father, asking for his backing in his political race to be a mayoral candidate of New York. I don’t trust that asshole; needless to say, neither does my father, not a hundred percent anyway. So, I volunteered to handle the matter.
He was skeptical at first, but at the prompting of the other head members he reluctantly agreed that I trace and follow all things concerning Demetri.
His dismembered family, his ‘business’, his connections. All of it.
I know that Stefan did some work for the syndicate before in order for him to get that business he has been running. I know that Stefan houses and passes through dirty money to make it clean for the syndicate. I know all that, but that bastard is slimy at best, and I just have to prove it.
The plan is simple, and a bit old fashioned even. Get eyes and ears in his direct life. No one can say no to the Lorenzo name, to the name I trade on in the underbelly of every city that my father has some modicum of control over. New York City is no different.
No one can say no to money. Not even that drop dead gorgeous Executive Assistant to Demetri. Money talks and it has muscles that no one can out-wit. I just need to flex a few of those muscles to show her, as well as Demetri. And ultimately, my father.
All I need to do is use her to spy and report back to me every move Demetri makes. In turn, I will pay her and maybe spare her life. It’s as simple as that.
Work for me or die trying to escape.
No one can say no to the syndicate and live. No o
ne.
And now, that plan has to take another direction. How can a single, young woman, who sticks to her daily routine of work then home, just suddenly not be home?
Something else must be at play here. I need to check it out again. At this point, I’m not taking anything to chance, I need to collect all the facets of the situation, evaluate them, then form another plan.
“Tee, get in here!” I shout to one of my men and he appears soon after.
“Yes, sir?”
“Check in with the man you left at Miss. Smith’s place and ask him if she is back yet. If not, I want you to go with a team and set up surveillance equipment all over her place.” I instruct as I pace in front of my window in this grand office of my new townhouse.
“You mean, we should bug her apartment?” Tee questions in a confused manner.
“Yes!” I say, exasperated. “Why do I have to be surrounded by idiots?” I question to which he just shrugs. Not concerned in the least.
“Go over there and place audio equipment all over her apartment. I want to hear what she says, who she says it to. And get in at least two small cameras as well. I want to see everything.” I say as an afterthought.
I know that what I’m doing is invasion of privacy, but who am I kidding here, I don’t care. But I will admit, I’m overly curious about this girl. She is fascinating and I want to know more.
Tee just stands there, blinking at me, as if he can’t fully process my instructions. I swear, my father allowed me this group of incompetent men to lag me down and maybe to report my moves back to him.
If they are, I hope they tell him that I’m determined to get this done. That I’m putting my all into this.
“Go. Now!”
He is startled for a minute but quickly recovers and he all but sprints out of my office.
He better be scared. Soon I will assume the most powerful position and all of them will come to me, begging for mercy, for work, for a better life. They will be swearing their allegiance and devotion to me.
Not to my father. Just me!
Chapter 7
Chloe
IT’S REALLY COLD OUTSIDE. I’ve never really liked winter. Everything is covered in snow. Snow is hard, icy and just dead.
Winter makes everything dead. I can’t go outside. I can’t go and play. The sun disappears earlier than usual. I don’t like winter.
Other kids do though. Everyone is always so excited because of winter. They all talk about some guy that brings them gifts and toys. Sweets galore.
They say this guy is fat but he comes down the chimney to bring the gifts. I don’t believe that. I have seen the chimney of this dingy house, there is no way any guy can fit. Let alone an old, fat and fully-grown man. My parents were always truthful with me, telling me that Santa was a nice sentiment in life but life is too real for that. And really, where was he going to fit through to leave presents in a trailer?
Growing up in a trailer park, you’ll notice that most of the kids don’t really believe in a Santa, for obvious reasons.
They talk about the lights, I guess they mean Christmas decorations, they are pretty but ever since my parents died, I have never believed in Santa Claus or Christmas in general. The kids here talk about the songs they are going to be singing. Christmas carols no doubt. Well, I don’t sing.
“Charlotte?” the girl who sleeps on the top bunk whispers my name in the dark of our room.
We are eight girls in this small bedroom, with peeling paint and a roof that might just fall in over our heads. Everything in here is old and dilapidated, including the curtains over the one window.
There are four bunk beds and I sleep on the one closest to the window. The same window that I’m looking out now. Looking out at the vast acres of snow that blankets the earth as if to suggest warmth. There is no warmth out there though, just biting cold.
“Charlotte, are you awake?” she whispers again. I don’t want to reply. I don’t want to talk to her or anyone for that matter—not really—but Mary is a nice girl. Younger than me, by maybe two or three years.
“Yes.” I whisper back. I don’t want to make noise. The woman of the house doesn’t like me much and if she comes in here and finds me talking, I’ll get in trouble.
“Good. What do you think Santa will bring for us?” she whispers conversationally.
I don’t feel like having a conversation with anyone this time of night, and I surely know that Santa doesn’t exist. But I know better than to tell that to a sweet, rosey eyed six year old.
“I don’t know. What do you want?” I ask her.
I don’t want to hurt her feelings. From the very first day that I came to this foster home, Mary has been nothing but kind to me. Which is much more than I can say for everyone else here.
“I want a mama and a daddy.” she confides, quietly, with a note of heavy sadness in her voice as well as longing. I think she is about to cry, maybe she is crying already. I don’t want to find out.
A mama and a daddy. Don’t we all want them?
An unbridled picture of my mother laughing at whatever my father said invades my mind with so much clarity that I vehemently shake my head. I don’t want them in my brain. No!
“. . . they would love me and play with me.” I come back to and catch the last bits of whatever Mary was whispering, with ill-veiled excitement.
“Do you want parents too Charlotte?” she asks to which I remain silent, startled that she could even ask.
Kids here don’t really talk much about parents. Theirs or otherwise. It’s a hard topic and no one wants to talk about it. Understandably so.
“Charlotte, did you hear me?”
I hear shifting from above and I know she is moving in her bed, making the unstable bunk bed shift along with her and I cringe internally.
“Yes, I heard you. Stop moving or she will come and check what all the noise is about.” I harshly instruct, whispering so fast, glancing at the door half expecting it to open at any moment now. I don’t want the other girls in here to wake up or to hear us, because I know they will only tell on us.
“Oops, sorry. I’m just so excited for Christmas.” she whispers back. Of course, you are excited, I think to myself.
“So. . . ?” I hear once more, after a blissful beat of silence.
“So, what?” I whisper back, now getting even more irritated. I know what she wants to hear. I just don’t want to talk about it. I don’t have an answer to her question. But Mary is also a very persistent little girl.
“Do you want parents too? Maybe yours are coming back to get you soon.” she declares happily.
And all I just feel is pain. A pain so sharp, it startles me, fills my chest and I almost cry out but I get ahold of myself.
How can she not know? Every other kid talks about it here whenever I’m in the room. How can she not know? How can she say such a careless thing?
Pain. Just pain.
“No, they won’t.” I respond. I feel the moisture in my eyes. But I refuse to cry. Mama always said big girls don’t cry. I won’t cry.
“Why not?” she asks once more, yawning, a sign of impending sleep. Her voice is slower this time, I guess she needed this conversation to help her fall asleep.
I ponder over not answering back. It doesn’t matter, she won’t remember this conversation and she doesn’t need to know the reason why my parents won’t ever come back. I keep quiet and don’t respond to her, hoping that the silence between us will lull her to sleep.
I’m right. Soon I hear the unmistakable soft snores coming from above and I look out the window from before. There is no way I will sleep anymore. I gaze out the window and notice the glittering of the Christmas lights from the porch of the house across from us.
I wish I believed in the festive air around me. I wish I was like Mary, naively believing that this is the time where dreams and wishes come true. Wishing and hoping that my parents come back.
“They won’t come back because they were murdered.” I say, my vo
ice coming out hard and sharp.
I will get him. That, I can swear on Santa.
Chapter 8
Chloe
I SLOWLY OPEN MY EYES, surprised to feel the tears that coat my cheeks. I hate crying, but I guess I did it when I was unconscious. So, it doesn’t really count.
My head is resting on a soft pillow, most likely a very expensive one, and I can feel the wetness that’s on it too. I must have been crying for a while.
I haven’t had that dream before, not as far as I can remember. I don’t think I have thought of little Mary or dreamt of her since the last time I saw her. Which so happened to be a few days after Christmas.
I guess Santa did come through for her.
I also know that I have never slept for more than four hours each night, let alone sleeping through a whole night. I guess it’s because of a change in environment?
“Good morning.” comes a throaty, deep voice from somewhere within the room, making me tense up. I know it’s him, no need to be shocked, it’s his penthouse after all. I wasn’t expecting that he would be in here when I wake up.
He is the last person I want to see right now. My thoughts and emotions are running rampant and I’ve been hit by nostalgia so deep, it aches in the depths of me. I wonder what happened to little Mary. I do know that she was adopted by a fairly young couple but not much.
I slowly start to look up, my gaze seeking him out hungrily. Our gazes clash, like they have been able to do since the very first time we met. And they stay.
He looks at me and doesn’t say a word. He takes in my tears, my upheaved, messed up state and still doesn’t say anything.
But his eyes. . . those forest green pools, they do speak. Speaking a type of language I’m not sure I really want to know. Nor am I versed in it.
A Billion Broken Pieces (Incongruity Series Book 2) Page 6