by Nicole Fox
“First of all, you didn’t fucking hire me,” she says, her voice rising slightly. “You kidnapped me and extorted me. Second of all, I am looking after Evie. We’re playing hide-and-seek.”
“She was in the goddamn wine cellar!” I growl.
Charlotte looks at me, clearly startled. “What the hell is your problem?” she demands. “If this is about the other night—”
“Don’t fucking flatter yourself,” I spit, cutting her off. “This is about Evie seeing me in the wine cellar just now, torturing a mole we uncovered.”
She freezes for a moment as that sinks in.
“You were torturing someone?” she asks, almost in disbelief.
“The fucker deserves it,” I tell her. “You don’t betray the Mazzeo to the Polish and live to tell the tale.”
24
Charlotte
Fear.
That’s the first thing I feel when Lucio lets slip that he’s uncovered a mole working for the Polish.
Because if this mole is in fact working for the Polish, he might have information.
Information that could put me at risk.
Lucio is no fool. He’s good at reading expressions, and he’s even better at reading me. I need to pass off my fear as concern for Evie.
Not difficult, considering I am actually concerned about Evie.
“Where’s Evie?” I ask, pivoting away from him.
He follows close behind me as I start to jog through the mansion. “She ran out of the cellar when I tried to go near her.”
“I don’t blame her.”
“She shouldn’t have been there at all!” he bellows.
I whirl on him furiously. “Don’t you dare blame me for this!” I yell at him. “You never said the cellar was off-limits. How was I to know it’s your personal fucking torture chamber?”
I pause and think for a second.
Then I add, “But maybe I should have, considering that’s where I was brought after you abducted me.”
“Jesus,” Lucio hisses. “Will you just—”
I stop short when I catch sight of blonde curls flying around the corner.
“Evie!” I turn to him. “You wait here.”
Then I fly off after her.
I burst into one of the rooms that overlook the garden. As I enter, I see the top of her head peeking out from behind a plush leather sofa.
“Evie,” I say quietly, approaching her slowly. “Princess, it’s only me.”
She sticks her head up and looks at me with tear-filled eyes.
“Charlotte?” she hiccups.
“Hey, kiddo,” I murmur, inching forward.
Evie bolts from the behind the chair and plows straight into my arms. I grab her and hug her tight, trying to give her as much comfort as I can.
A hug isn’t much.
But it’s all I have.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She just shakes her head. I feel fresh tears soaking through my t-shirt.
“It’s okay,” I mumble in her ear. “You’re fine now.”
Evie’s still shaking, so I hold her until she finally starts to ease.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” I ask.
Evie pushes away long enough to look at my face. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out.
“You know what? It’s okay,” I say quickly. “We don’t have to talk about it at all. Do you wanna take a walk in the garden with me?”
Evie shakes her head.
“How about we go upstairs then?” I suggest. “Play in your room for a bit?”
She nods, but I can see that the light has left her eyes.
It breaks my fucking heart.
Then she flinches at something behind us and immediately clings to me again. I turn slowly, realizing that Lucio followed and is now standing in the doorway.
His goddamn daughter is scared shitless.
Of him.
“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “I’m here.”
I take her hand and lead her towards the door. Which of course, puts us directly in Lucio’s way.
He looks pissed, but I can see that the concern behind the anger. He doesn’t say a word as Evie and I pass by him and head upstairs.
Once we’re back in the room, I can tell that Evie is out of it. She doesn’t smile at all and her eyes have this far-off look that I don’t like one bit.
I try and engage her in different activities, but nothing seems to work.
She just clings to Paulie and doesn’t say much.
In the end, I sit down opposite her cross-legged and take both her hands in mine.
“Hey, kiddo,” I prod gently. “Can we talk for a bit?”
Her eyes flit over my face and more tears well up in her big, gray eyes all over again. I hate it, but I think it’s important she gets it out.
Nothing good comes of suppressing emotions.
Suppressing memories is worse.
“I know you went through something big today,” I tell her. “But I need you to tell me what you saw down in the cellar today.”
“I… I…”
“It’s okay, Evie,” I tell her softly. “Take your time.”
“I was hiding in there when lots of big men came in.”
“Yeah?” I nod, encouraging her to keep going.
“I was scared, so I just hid behind a big box,” Evie tells me. “I thought they’d go away.”
“Did you see Lucio?”
She nods. “He went into a room… and then… then… there was lots and lots of screams.”
“Screams?”
“He was hurting someone. It was really mean…”
Her voice catches and I know we’re headed for more sobs. I grab her hand and stroke the back of it to try and calm her down.
“What did you see him do, Evie?” I ask after she’s settled back a little bit.
“He hit the man,” Evie tells me, clutching my hands a little tighter. “So many times.”
“That must have been scary for you.”
She nods. Her chin drops down towards her lap.
“Evie,” I say, “I know Lucio can be scary sometimes. But he would never hurt you.”
She looks up at me. “Because he’s my daddy?” she asks.
I swallow and nod. “Yes, that’s right. He cares about you.”
“He doesn’t play with me, though,” she accuses.
I suck in a breath. “That’s because he’s very busy.”
I don’t know why the hell I’m defending the bastard, especially after how horribly he’s treated me. But I feel a strange kind of responsibility here.
Evie needs to hear this.
She needs to feel safe in this house.
She needs to feel safe around her father.
And I won’t always be around to calm her fears and hold her at night.
As a matter of fact, if it turns out that this mole has blown my cover …
I might not be here much longer at all.
“He loves you, Evie,” I say. “Even if he doesn’t always show it.”
Her eyelids start to droop. The trauma of what she’s seen today has tuckered her out. Maybe sleep is the best medicine in this case.
“Hey, how about we go to sleep? And when we wake up, we can bake some cookies.”
“Chocolate chip?” Evie asks hopefully.
“Double chocolate chip,” I promise her.
She nods slowly and I release her hands. Immediately, she reaches for Paulie and plants a long kiss on his beak.
When she’s ready, I lead her to her bed. I give her a glass of milk before she sleeps, with a tiny droplet of Benadryl mixed in.
Hopefully, that will prevent any nightmares.
After she drinks her milk, it takes only a short bedtime story before her head slumps against my shoulder. I disentangle myself from her and tuck the sheets over her body.
Then I head right for the door to finish what needs finishing.
My anger has simmered somewhat. It’s been replac
ed with worry.
I’m genuinely concerned for Evie.
It’s even put my panic about the mole on the back burner. No doubt that will resurface later, when I’m alone with my thoughts.
But for now, I have something else to deal with.
I go to Lucio’s office, but the door’s locked this time.
Frowning, I turn from the door to find Enzo regarding me curiously.
“Looking for someone?” he inquires.
“The big bad boss,” I reply acidly. “Is he in there?”
“No.”
I sigh in frustration. “You going to tell me where he is?”
“I wouldn’t.”
I frown. “Wouldn’t what?”
“Wouldn’t approach him now,” Enzo advises me. “He’s not in the greatest mood.”
I grit my teeth. “Torturing some asshole should not be the highest thing on his priority list right now.”
“That’s not the reason his mood is sour,” Enzo tells me. “Pretty sure it has to do with the kid.”
That surprises me a bit.
But in a good way.
“Where is he?” I ask again, refusing to give up.
He sighs. “Out in the garden by the fountain. But you didn’t hear it from me.”
I don’t actually find Lucio by the fountain. But I keep moving through the gardens until I spot him sitting by the lilac bushes.
Our kiss is still burning in the back of my head, but I push that distraction away.
I know he senses me coming. His breathing stills and his eyes sharpen. But he doesn’t so much as glance up at me.
Not until I’m standing right in front of him with my hands on my hips.
“Is the torture session over?” I ask.
He keeps staring into the ground. Doesn’t even blink in response to my obvious jab.
“Where is she?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“Upstairs in her room,” I reply. “Sleeping. Hopefully, not having night terrors.”
He nods numbly. Slowly. “Did she talk to you?”
I hesitate before I sit down next to him, making sure to keep a good few feet between us. It’s still annoying how charged the space is. Like the air itself hums with tension, with electricity.
“She mostly heard the screams,” I say in a hushed voice. “And she saw you punching him. The mole.”
I glance towards Lucio. A vein in his jaw twitches.
“Anything else?”
I frown. “Is there anything else you’re scared she saw?”
He breathes for a long moment. “I cut off his finger before Evie was discovered,” he says bluntly. “The door was open.”
I cringe at the thought. “You cut off a man’s finger?”
“He wasn’t talking.”
“Oh, well, then I suppose that means you’re completely justified,” I mock.
He turns to me, his gray eyes piercing. “This is the fucking underworld, Charlotte,” he says. “This is how things are done. That rat knew the consequences of betraying the Family and he did it anyway. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t do what needed to be done? What kind of don would I be?”
Goosebumps prickle my skin, but I try not to let my body betray me. I’m pretty sure that if the mole had outed me, I wouldn’t be sitting here next to Lucio.
Or is this just another game? Like when he knew I went hunting in his office?
Is he setting me up?
I shudder. My fingers have never felt more precious to me. I tuck them between my thighs and try not to be too obvious about the fear brewing in my belly.
“Is he dead?” I ask.
My motives for asking are ninety-nine percent selfish.
But there’s that one percent of wondering about the mole, too. If he had a family. A child. A lover or a wife.
Would they miss him? Did they love him?
Would anyone miss me?
Lucio shakes his head. “No.”
I don’t know how I feel about that. Relieved, maybe? I’m not sure.
“Did he give you what you wanted?”
Lucio’s eyes harden. “Even if he did, it wouldn’t be any of your business, would it?”
I shrug as though his words are of no real consequence to me.
Stay calm, Charlotte. Just breathe.
But it’s hard to ignore one simple fact: I’m in the lion’s den—and the king of the jungle is clearly very fucking hungry.
“Why would he choose the Polish over you?” I ask.
Lucio shrugs. “Ambition can unmake a man just as fast as it can make him.”
“Words of wisdom from your father?”
He snorts, a humorless smile on his face. “‘Wisdom’ and ‘my father’ don’t really go together.”
I raise my eyebrows. This is the first kernel of personal information he’s given me thus far.
“You weren’t close?”
“Not quite, no.”
He has a beautiful profile, made prominent by the straight line of his nose. The dark of his hair catches the moonlight. It looks like rivers of molten silver, flowing down to pool in those deep eyes.
“Your mother was not what I expected,” I tell him.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Someone different.”
“My mother withdrew from life a long time ago,” he offers, surprising me again by how willing he seems to be to discuss this with me. “Another side effect of my father’s personality.”
I’m interested, but I know I need to be wary. “He was… abusive?”
“In every way,” Lucio whispers. “My mother’s way of coping was to dissociate from everything and everyone around her. She’s frozen now. It’s what she had to do to survive.”
“That can’t have been easy,” I say, feeling a wave of sympathy for the woman now.
And for her son.
Lucio shrugs, but I can see past the bravado. It affects him.
“Do you spend a lot of time with her?”
“I see her at the Sunday dinners.”
It’s not really an answer, but it’s as close as I’m going to get to one, I think. I have a feeling that Lucio hasn’t really talked to his mother in a long, long time.
“I haven’t seen my mother in several years now,” I admit. “Not since I left the trailer park I grew up in.”
“A trailer park,” Lucio repeats. “That must have been interesting.”
“It wasn’t,” I say with bitter finality. “It was overrun with addicts, alcoholics, and bad parents. I spent most of my childhood vacillating between taking care of my mother and fighting off the latest man she brought home.”
He looks at me again. Like really looks at me.
And I know what he’s asking even though he hasn’t actually asked.
Why did you leave?
I don’t know why I feel the need to tell him.
“I was fourteen,” I say. My breath is a little harder to come by. And each word seems to rasp painfully on the way out of my mouth. “This particular boyfriend had lasted a full five months—a new high score. He actually seemed sorta… decent. He had this ‘kindly older guy vibe’ that made me trust him.”
The garden around us is quiet and glowing softly with moonlight. The lilacs are bright.
Everything is still. Vivid. Gentle.
“I guess the reason I really liked him was because he took care of my mother. Which meant I didn’t have to. Then one day, I came home and Mama was passed out on the sofa.”
I remember it so sharp and clear in my head. The awful plaid of the couch. The way one end was lower than the other, so Mama’s head was sloping down towards the cigarette-stained carpeting.
I remember how the guy stumbled out of the bedroom. Eyes bloodshot. Jaw hanging loose. Hair mussed and wild.
“He started asking me about school and boyfriends. And the next thing I knew, he was kissing me.”
Lucio’s hands clench into fists so fast that it’s impossible for me to miss it.
I swallow down the urge to gag, to vomit.
No matter how many times I reopen this memory, it hurts just as bad.
“I pushed him away, but he just kept kissing me,” I continue. “He ended up right on top of me. He even got his pants down, but I managed to kick him in the nuts and run.”
His knuckles are white. His clenched jaw is alive with tension.
“I stayed with a friend for a few weeks after that,” I say quietly. “I only went back home once I found out that he had left Mama.”
“I see. Were there others?” Lucio asks.
“A few,” I say. “But after the first time, I took precautions. I made sure never to be alone with Mama’s boyfriends. I wore baggy clothes that hid my body. I did my best to look as unattractive as possible.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I shaved my head, got a bunch of piercings, dressed like a burnout,” I tell him.
He raises his eyebrows.
“Hey, it worked,” I shrug. “But I hated my life. So I left and never looked back.”
“What happened to the piercings?” Lucio asks.
I smile. “They came off,” I chuckle. “I grew back my hair and I dressed the way I wanted to. I think I realized that it’s not up to me to keep men from thinking they can put their hands on my body just because they want to.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes. There’s a certain level of comfort that’s slipped in between us when neither of us were paying attention.
“Sometimes, I wonder if my life would have been different if I’d had a father,” I think out loud.
Lucio’s grimace is audible. “I doubt it.”
I turn to face him. His face is half-lit and half-cast in shadow. “Was your father that bad?”
“Worse.”
Then he stretches his arm out towards me and lifts up the sleeve.
First, all I see is the tattoo. An intricate phoenix rising from black ash.
But when I look closer, I see that the dark ink of the ash is hiding a scar. A bad one. Thick and knotted skin.
“Is that… a burn?” I gasp when I realize.
Lucio nods. “I was seven,” he tells me. “My father did that.”
“Oh my God. Why?”
“Because he was a monster,” Lucio replies quietly. “And I was his favorite victim.”