by SR Jones
I grab her wrist, wanting her to tell me, but it makes her panic more. She flinches away from me, which I can’t lie stings, because I would never hurt her physically. “Maya, you have to tell me. What did you see? When?”
“No, you’ll tell my uncle.”
“I swear now, on my honor, I will not, but you need to tell me.”
“When I was fifteen, I saw… I saw you kill a man. Uncle ordered you to, in the basement, and you did it so … calmly. I’ve been scared of you ever since. But I rationalized it when we were in Paris, told myself you had to do it because you worked for my uncle, and you worked for him because you needed money. But you don’t need money. You choose this world. God, Damen, you could do anything, anything you wanted. You could make the world a better place, but instead you chose to be part of the darkness.”
She pulls away from me and runs up the stairs. She doesn’t even know which room is hers, but I let her go. My mind is whirring at all I’ve learned, both about what she saw and the way Maya views the world she was born into.
Fuck, this whole thing got even more complicated.
I’m so stupid. Such an idiot. I knew he was bad. He killed a man, and I witnessed it, but I tried to tell myself he was maybe a good guy deep down. He’d been in Special Forces, been injured, that much I knew, so perhaps I thought he couldn’t find regular work easily. There’s not a lot of support in our country if you don’t have a job or money, and I had believed this was the only way for him and Alesso to earn a living.
But Damen is rich. He comes from money, from a political and wealthy dynasty, and he’s still killing for my uncle?
I burst through a door, not knowing which room is which in this mansion of a house, and stop dead.
Oh crap, this must be Damen’s grandmother’s room. There’s some reading glasses on a night table, with a book too. It tugs on my heart to see those things there. A diorama of a life lived and now gone. And still here, after so long. No one has been in this room it seems. Not even Alesso and Markos when they cleaned the place up some.
The bed is large and ornate, made of a rich, warm wood. It has covers and blankets on instead of the duvet I favor in the winter months. There’s also a dresser to the back of the room, and it catches my eye as it is crowded with photographs in a variety of silver frames. Forgetting myself for a moment, I move deeper into the room. There are many pictures, and a fair few of them contain Damen. Even as a young child he’s recognizable, but different too; there’s an air of relaxed happiness about him which is utterly alien to the grown Damen. The ones of him as a teenager make me smile, because in a couple he’s got much longer hair, and it curls around his collar.
There’s one of him with Alesso, and they’ve being playing sports, it seems, as they are both wearing shorts and t-shirts with running shoes. Damen has his arm casually slung over Alesso’s shoulder, and they look to be young teens. Damen is much bigger, and he’s grinning in the picture, looking happy and relaxed. Alesso, on the other hand, looks sad. There’s a wistfulness to his expression.
It’s strange, as if somehow these two young boys swapped personalities somewhere along the way to becoming grown men.
I lean in to inspect another photograph. Damen’s father, I recognize him vaguely. The scandal that engulfed the family was huge, and even I had heard about it despite it being before my time.
A beautiful woman is in quite a few of the photos, and I guess she must be Damen’s mother. She’s stunning. I can see where he gets his looks from, because his father is handsome too, and the woman who must have been his grandmother, who is in a few of the pictures, has one of those faces that even in old age is classic beauty.
He comes from pedigree. Yes, there may have been scandals, but his family are blue bloods for pity’s sake, so why is he running with trash like our family? We’re wealthy, but everyone knows we are bad. My uncle most of all.
I pick a picture of young Damen and take a closer look. He’s sitting on his grandmother’s knee, and his chubby fingers are grasping what must be a terrifyingly expensive diamond bracelet. She’s not perturbed by it at all if her glowing smile is anything to go by.
“Seen enough?”
I squeal and nearly drop the picture, only just managing to put it back on the dresser with shaky fingers.
I hold my hand to my heart and take a deep breath. “You made me jump.”
“Clearly.”
He isn’t smiling; in fact, he looks pissed. He’s right to be pissed, because I’m snooping in his dead grandmother’s room. Crap.
“I’m sorry. I ran in here. I didn’t realize it was her room, and then I saw the pictures.”
“Can you leave, please?”
My heart stalls… Does he mean the house? Where will I go?
“Maya, get out of my grandmother’s room.”
The order is so stern, I do as he says without thinking. My feet carry me out of the room, my heart picking up speed as I squeeze past him at the door, and I stall. Where do I go?
“Your room is this way, follow me.” He leads me down the hallway to where it branches off to the left, and takes me down to a room there.
“This is the room you’ll be in.” His voice is all business, no hint we were ever anything more to one another than bodyguard and client. I should be glad, but it stings. “There’s a bathroom through the door there, and this door here.” He goes to another door on the opposite wall to the bathroom. “This connects to the room next door, which I will take. Alesso is across the hall, and Markos is on the other side of your bathroom. I chose this part of the house as it is the easiest place to keep you safe. You want to go outside, for a dip in the pool, or a walk around the gardens—you tell someone. Do not go outside alone. Our priority is keeping you safe.”
“Thank you. And… I’m sorry, about the snooping, I mean.”
He gives a shrug and regards me coldly. “It’s okay, but don’t go in there again.”
“No, of course not.” I am mortified and want the ground to swallow me up.
“I’ll get your things sent up, and you can unpack.” He heads to the door, but pauses there and turns to face me. “You want to know why I work for your uncle?” He doesn’t wait for me to reply. “My family was perfect. Beautiful mother, beautiful grandmother, and wealthy grandfather on the maternal side. Brilliant grandfather and beautiful grandmother on the paternal side.”
He takes a deep breath, pauses, and then with his face tight, goes on. “Then there was my father—a politician, businessman, philanthropist. That man never met a cause he didn’t like. We were perfect. But it was all a lie, because inside we were rotten to the core. My father was a bastard of the highest order. His father before him, cold as fucking ice. And my great grandfather on my father’s side?” He laughs. “The man collaborated with the Nazis during the war, and that’s where some of the family wealth comes from. This house is from the maternal side, so at least it’s not brought with money from Fascists, but it is still tainted by all that happened here. Our family was perfect, and then the truth came out, and the world saw the ugly underbelly, but they didn’t see it all. No one has. Your uncle? He’s a bad man, yes, but he’s openly and honestly bad. And he may deal in a murky world, but he treats his family, his employees, and those close to him with respect. The man you saw me kill, I don’t know who he was, but you can bet your life he deserved it. Your uncle rarely takes anyone out, and if he does, they’ve done something truly terrible to deserve it.”
He sighs and gives a shake of his head. “There are two kinds of people in this world, Maya, those who think they’re good and virtuous and lie to themselves about all the bad things they do, and those who know they aren’t and try to limit the bad they do. The first are nearly always the most dangerous because they have conviction on their side that they’re doing the right thing in life.”
I’m not sure I agree with him there, but he’s not finished. “You know, in war, the biggest horrors I saw weren’t committed by soldiers, but by supposed
aid agencies, and people who thought they were do-gooders helping the less fortunate. The guy who worked for a charity rehoming those dislocated by war, but couldn’t resist screwing the poor woman who’d lost her husband, kids, and home; never mind if she wanted it or not. I mean, he’s a good guy, right? And he’s there, helping these ungrateful people, in this war-torn shithole, so why shouldn’t he get to feel good, right? He might have to lie to himself, tell himself really, the women wanted it, or it wasn’t doing any harm, but he still did it. Now someone like me, a person who would shoot one of those women if she had a gun trained on me, would never do such a thing. But I was the bad guy in that situation. Me. Not him. Or that’s how he saw it.”
I swallow hard. “What happened to him?”
“I killed him.”
Jesus. It’s right here in front of me. The truth of Damen. A man who would never take advantage of that woman, but who would kill her if she threatened his life or the life of his men. A man who killed the guy who did take advantage of poor women who were helpless. Is he bad? Good? Or is he merely human? Is the truth of him one I can live with?
“Have you?” I ask.
He frowns.
“Ever had to kill a woman or a child?”
He shakes his head. “No, luckily I never have, but Alesso has, and so has my friend Andrius.”
“Alesso?” I can’t keep the shock out of my voice, and Damen’s face twists.
“Yes, Alesso. What, you think he’s so much better than me? Still?”
He steps into the room and closes the door. I move back toward the wall on instinct. “No, it’s not that at all. I’m shocked because I always thought he was less … dangerous than you.”
“No. Well, maybe a little less dangerous, depending on the circumstances. I have certain skills that Alesso and Markos don’t have, but Alesso? He’s not some sweet little puppy dog of a guy. He’s a trained killer, same as me. When he shot the woman he killed, it was because she was about to shoot a child. The only reason he took the kill shot, and not me, is because he was the one there in time to stop her. If it had been me, I’d have done the same thing. We aren’t murderers, though. We don’t take lives in cold blood or for fun. The way I see it, your uncle is fighting his own kind of war, and I’m now his soldier. If he needs me to remove someone from the fight, I will.”
“Just following orders?” I say before I can stop myself.
“Yeah, following orders, but also making a decision on the facts. If your uncle told me to go to someone’s house and murder their family, I would never do that. But if he asks me to take out some guy who has threatened his wife or gone to the cops, then that I will do.”
I sit on the bed heavily. “I suppose I can’t get my head around taking a life. It’s so … huge. The time I saw you, I closed my eyes and didn’t look, but I could still hear. I put my hands over my ears and tried not to scream. It’s one of the defining moments of my life, for you it was another day at the office.”
He paces the room and rolls his shoulders as he stares out the window for a moment, before resuming his pacing. “It’s not another day at the office, Maya. But it is something I’ve done before, and may have to do again. It’s not a normal part of my job. Your uncle is a clever man, and he’s made people fear the three of us enough we rarely have to do more than threaten someone before they fall into line. You don’t get to judge me. You live a life of luxury because of your uncle, and I don’t see you leaving it all behind to start out on your own. You were going to marry into a family who is evil. So you can stop with condescending bullshit, okay?”
He’s angry, and to some extent he’s right, but not totally. “We’re different. I was born into this. From a young age, I knew I had to marry some boy from another family, and I was groomed for it, brought up to be a good mafia wife. I knew no different, and I was scared to leave because I didn’t know what it would mean for my mother. I pretty much knew they’d find me, then what? I didn’t choose this life though, you did.”
“Yeah, and thank God for you, Maya, I did, because someone has a hard-on for you and your mother, and I don’t think it’s that stupid shit, Yannis. You’re in danger, and I’m about the best protection you can get. Instead of getting all high and mighty, why don’t you try shutting your mouth? Unless it’s to say thank you.”
Then he tips my chin up and brushes a finger over my lip. “You’ve got some growing up to do, baby. The world isn’t black and white, it’s not even shades of grey; it’s every color under the rainbow, including blood red. You’re not so innocent as you think. You could have refused to spend a penny of your father’s money if your ideals were strong, but you didn’t. The bag you bought in Paris? Soaked in blood money. The shoes you love? The same. You spend your daddy’s money, and your daddy’s money comes from your uncle. You’re as deep into this life as the rest of us, until the day you walk away completely and start over afresh. If you don’t understand that, you’re always going to be in danger. With your family ties, you can’t afford to be naïve.”
He seems done, then he sighs. “You’re right to be wary of me, though. I’m not the man you want me to be. I’d never hurt you physically, but I come from a long line of fucking awful men, and I have their blood in me. Maybe you ought to view me as the Devil you seem determined to. Maybe you ought to run as far from me as you can, Maya.”
And then he lets go of me and leaves. He doesn’t slam the door; he closes it quietly behind him. When he’s angry, my father shouts. He rages and raves and makes a total scene. Damen doesn’t, and his quiet anger is much more effective. I also sense he’s somehow disappointed in me, in my reaction, and it stings, even though I shouldn’t care.
I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me. But, I do. I also care that he seems to view himself as somehow tarnished by what his forebears did. It strikes me as kind of crazy that he justifies the lives he takes as being for the greater good, then thinks he’s flawed because of what his great-grandfather did. Damen is messed up. It seems I’m not the only one with issues here.
I spend as much time avoiding Maya as I can the next two days. I can’t be near her because I’m livid at her, but I want her even more. It’s like my body is fucking with my mind for shits and giggles. Something tells me she feels the same way, because when we are in the same room you could cut the sexual attraction simmering between us with a knife and serve it up on a plate.
She doesn’t need a hard hate fuck for her first time, and that is how it would go between us right now.
I’ve been to see Stamatis, leaving Maya with Markos and Alesso at the house. He’s no closer to figuring out who is sending these messed up messages. It’s not Yannis, of that we’re now certain, which doesn’t mean to say Yannis isn’t a danger, but does mean to say there’s someone else out there with Maya in their crosshairs.
Who though, and why? Why Maya and her mother? It makes no sense. Unless someone knows about who Maya’s father truly is. Again, though, who? Stamatis’ wife? Would she do something this crazy? I think she’s far too scared of Stamatis, frankly, and far too aware of how much being married to him gives her. Money, status. I doubt she’d rock the boat in such a way.
It all boils down to someone having a target on Maya and her mother, and we have no clue who.
This evening, I’m taking her to the homeless shelter where she volunteers, along with Alesso for extra backup. It’s going to be harder than usual to keep her safe there, so I’m not over the moon about it, but it means a lot to her. Despite being livid with her, I still want to make her happy for some stupid reason.
She comes down the stairs, an hour before we’re due to be at the shelter. She’s wearing skinny jeans tucked into biker boots and a soft looking sweater. Her hair is pulled back, and she has on only a little makeup. I’ve never seen her look so beautiful.
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask her.
“Yes, I need to. There’s a guy who got an infection in a cut on his foot. I want to see how he’s doing and make sure
he’s keeping it clean and dry. There are people there I want to check on.”
“Okay.”
Alesso comes into the room, and he lifts his shirt to put his Sig into his halter. Maya’s eyes widen. “Guys, I don’t think you can take guns into the shelter.”
“Tough,” Alesso says. “Because we are. Only way to ensure you’re kept safe, and that’s our priority.”
She flinches a little at the matter-of-fact way he lays it out for her. I’m not jealous of her feelings for Alesso anymore, because I know for a fact she doesn’t want him in that way. It’s in her gaze when she looks at him, and in her manner around him. She doesn’t want him because of me, because I put myself firmly where he’d been, and I don’t feel sorry about that for one moment. What gets me, though, is this weird image she had of him as this nice, friendly, dependable ordinary guy. He’s not; he’s a killer—like me.
Alesso might have an easier manner and be a bit more friendly, but it only makes him deadlier. Maya knows him, though. She knows. Knows that he kills for her uncle same as I do. Knows that he fought in the same wars, so where did she get the idea he was some nice, safe guy?
I want to shake her sometimes and tell her to wake the fuck up to the world she lives in, because the way she misreads people? It’s dangerous.
“Come on,” I say. “We need to go. I have to swing by your uncle’s office in the city before we go to the shelter.”
She nods, grabs a plain brown purse, and follows me to the door.
When we reach the set of offices Stamatis uses downtown, I sigh when I see Costas’ car parked. Stamatis’ son is a fuck up, and he always wants to know what’s going on, sticking his coked-up nose where it doesn’t belong.
We head inside after I park, and I enter the main room to see a sight I want to erase from my memory bank immediately.
Costas is drilling some chick over one of the desks, his white buttocks moving back and forth as he slams into her.