by Rina Kent
We knew this since Emilio Costa was alive. Paolo has been off for years and barely keeps track of his health. He can’t take over the Costa legacy like Lucio can.
In short, boring. Or interesting, depending on how you look at it. After all, with this, Lucio will have more fun for me.
“There’s another player.” Lucio smacks his lips together in complete disdain.
I raise an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“Paolo’s bastard son.”
“Didn’t you kill him twenty years ago?”
“Apparently fucking not. Paolo knows he’s alive and is searching for him. Which means I want him —”
“Dead.” I finish for him.
He snaps his fingers. “He should be twenty-five now. Find him. Kill him.”
“Got it.” I head toward the exit with a smile on my face.
Hunting then killing.
This should be…interesting.
Serrano’s wife is a head nurse in the emergency room at the Chicago State Hospital.
It’s been a long fucking day and I need sleep. I have spent the entire night with her dear husband and daytime is my down time.
Killing machines are more efficient when the darkness falls, and few humans roam the earth.
You know, so no one witnesses what they do.
My jacket is half-closed against the bloodied shirt. I didn’t bother to wash my hands, but I shove them into my pockets. Day time is also full of pesky witnesses. They’re like mosquitos, drawn towards blood.
Having learnt Mrs. Sorrano’s routine from the week I’ve watched her husband and his family, I wait for her near the parking lot. Clouds fill the sky with condensation, casting a blue, gray shift over the air. As if six in the morning couldn’t be more tragic, the city’s cold yet humid atmosphere adds more to the tragedy.
Though tragedy can be interesting.
Leaning against the wall, I retrieve my stash of whiskey and take a swig, letting the burn go down before I look down to stare at my watch. Rebecca Serrano takes her pause here in about… three, two, one.
There she is. Like clockwork.
She comes out from the side door with her phone to her ear, wrapping the thin jacket around her scrubs.
At first, she doesn’t notice me, even though she’s a few feet away. I have that effect, the blending with shadows. You never see me until I hit you in the face —and possibly carve it the fuck up.
“Pick up, Nathan.” She stomps her feet, her generous tits jiggling with the motion. “Pick up—”
“He won’t.”
She gasps, the phone slipping from her fingers and hitting the ground. The crack echoes in the otherwise silent early morning.
She runs her fingers against her cap in a nervous, unsteady gesture. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know someone was here.”
Rebecca doesn’t meet my gaze, staring at her cracked phone, her short nails, but never at me.
Interesting. Does she already know who I am? Serrano was smart enough not to get his family involved, but maybe he uttered the name one day; the name everyone in this city needs to stay the fuck away from —or rather, from Lucio.
“Jasper Cain.” I extend my hand, still coated with her husband’s dry blood. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Serrano.”
Her lips tremble, and her face pales beneath the mocha skin. I don’t have to say a word, this is evidence about where I’ve been last night.
And Rebecca here has definitely heard the name. Serrano was smart to warn his family about me, but he wasn’t smart enough to go unnoticed. He came close, though. So close.
When Rebecca doesn’t take my hand, I retrieve a pack of cigarettes and light one before blowing a cloud of smoke in the air.
I don’t hide my bloodied hand, even when Rebecca’s eyes fill with tears and she looks like she wants to stab me in the eye. She won’t, though, because like her husband, she has a weakness, too.
“Take your daughter and leave the city.”
Her gaze finally meets mine. “D-don’t.”
“Don’t what, Rebecca? Finish what you started. You dealt with gunshots your entire life here, you can say it.”
She remains quiet, her lips thinning in a line.
I tilt my head to the side. “Kill her? Kill you?”
A full body shudder goes through her. She’s scared. Good. Fear is the only incentive to get her out of here, and not in cement like her husband.
I reach out and take her cold, sweaty hand in mine. She looks on the verge of throwing up as I shake it. “Leave so you never hear the name Jasper Cain again.”
I release her and she jerks away as if she’s been slapped then runs back in the direction of the staff entrance, not bothering to gather up her phone.
A few days is all she gets, and I’ll watch to make sure she’s gone. If she doesn’t leave, Lucio will have Stephan and Marco take care of them, as in rape then kill them, then rape their corpses and shoot them for porn.
The icky factor is real with those two.
I’m about to turn and leave when Rebecca bumps into someone. A nurse. She’s wearing blue scrubs and an open coat that stops at her knees.
She reaches to steady Rebecca and her lips pull in a warm smile. It reaches her eyes and makes her small face radiant and like a fucking cliché of an angel coming down to save lost souls.
Even Rebecca in her flustered state stops to return an awkward smile before she dashes inside.
The moment Rebecca disappears, the other nurse’s smile falls as fast as it appeared, almost as if it were never there, almost like she never smiled. Never cared.
My head tilts to the side. Her dark hair is tied into a conservative bun. The rest of her face is normal, uninteresting, all small with a tiny nose and mouth, rosy cheeks and pale skin that resembles porcelain. There’s one thing that’s interesting though, or rather, two. Her eyes that nearly closed with her smile are now huge, round and with a gray cloud that mimics the metal of my gun.
How would those eyes look if they had the blood in my knife on them?
Exquisite, for sure.
As she heads toward the parking lot, my own feet move of their own volition. I remain in shadows, keeping a parallel line opposite her as she strides. And she does stride, which is odd considering her tiny frame. It’s like she’s running away from something.
Or someone.
She unlocks an old green Honda and throws her bag inside then stops in front of the driver’s door and abruptly turns around, toward me.
Her metal eyes meet mine and she freezes, her hand suspended mid-air. Actually, her lips aren’t tiny, but they aren’t big either. They’re full and well-shaped with a teardrop at the top lip. Her mouth is slightly parted as she stares at me.
A second passes, five, ten…
If she thinks I’m the one who’ll break eye contact, then we’ll be standing here all day.
Her lips thin in a line and then, just like earlier, her neutral expression blossoms like a petal well-nourished and she smiles the same one she just gave to Rebecca. Warm, innocent, angelic.
Fucking fake.
How can she fake a smile to that level so well? If I didn’t read people for a living, I wouldn’t even have noticed it. I almost thought it was real a second ago.
As quickly as she smiles at me, she breaks eye contact and slips into her car.
Is the smile gone now? Is her show over?
Maybe the petal is dead.
One way to find out.
I don’t even think about it as I head out to my Mercedes and hop in it.
Carving up people’s faces isn’t the only thing I do. I also like carving up their fucking lies.
2
Georgina
The spider is huge, and it wants to fucking hurt me.
Its body must be the size of my head, with strong, furry legs scrambling as quickly as Mr. Bingley’s. It's making some creepy otherworldly noise and I start to scream at the top of my voice, louder with every decibel that leaves my body.
>
My eyes fly open, and I stare at the bare ceiling of my bedroom. There's a pair of eyes there. Bright blue-gray eyes, staring back at me with an intensity that's almost painful. I remember those eyes. I saw them, just a few days ago...
A nightmare. It was only a nightmare.
I'm soaked in sweat, covered in it. My duvet feels heavy on top of me and I groan, pulling myself up and making my tabbies, Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson, mewl in displeasure. I shush them softly and pad over the floor into my bathroom. It's two hours before my alarm is supposed to go off, but this is nothing new for me. I've had trouble sleeping since I was a kid.
I splash cold water on my face, and notice my fingers are trembling as I pat myself dry. And so, another day of the grind begins.
It's a well-established routine by now. I brush my teeth, take a quick shower, dry my hair, apply minimal amounts of makeup and make myself a quick breakfast. I feed the tabbies, their tails and button-noses rubbing against my feet. The whole time, I fight back the thought of the stranger who'd stared at me the a few days ago at the hospital. It was the kind of chance meeting you struggle to forget, trying to understand whether fate put that person in your way for a reason... or whether you're just being a naive fool by thinking that.
"Come on," I usher the cats away from the door, grabbing my keys. "I'll see you later, guys. Be good!"
I blow them kisses, blushing as I meet the eyes of my next-door neighbor in the hallway. She must think I'm going crazy at only twenty-seven, talking to my cats like that. But they're the only family I have, and if my uptight neighbor wants to judge me for it, so be it.
I give her a perfunctory smile before taking the stairs, so I don't have to talk to her in our shitty elevator. It keeps breaking down, anyway.
I've got the mathematics of walking to work down, pat. I know which route will get me there the fastest. I know the route that's three minutes longer makes me walk past a stray cat I've named Phoebe, a couple blocks away. I take that path now, clutching my messenger bag where an unopened can of tuna is waiting for Phoebe. It's not much, but I reassure myself it's better than nothing. Phoebe's been waiting for me lately, meowing with delight when she sees me coming up to her.
Sure enough, my new friend is waiting, and I scoop out the tuna can on the pavement for her before giving her a few head pats. And then I have to rush off to the hospital for another day of misery.
It's not like I hate my job.
I just hate the people.
Working as a nurse in the ER, you see everything, from domestic disputes to child abuse. It all makes for a mélange of memories I'd rather forget.
Still, it's not as if any of it is as bad as my life was before the hospital.
Growing up in a boarding school, being tossed from foster home to foster home until I finally got to leave at eighteen. I got a scholarship and worked two jobs besides college to get myself through. I couldn't afford a medical degree, so I settled as a nurse. The pay was better than average, the hours were horrendous, and yet it offered the kind of security I'd been craving my entire life.
"Hey, Georgie." Dinah, my friend from the intensive unit wing, bumps her hip into mine and winks at me as I pass her in the hallway. "Dr. Martin's been asking about you again."
"He has?" I groan inwardly. "Wow, um..."
"Lost for words?" Katya laughs as she joins us, and we walk down the hallway together. We make quite the trio – Katya with her distinct Russian accent, a doll-like face and thin, perfectly poised body, and Dinah, who has ebony skin and wears her hair in braids woven together in an impressive bun. "Isn't it such an honor? He's totally into you, Georgie. Everybody knows it."
"I don't know if I'd call it an honor," Dinah cringes. "He's always seemed off to me. The guy's creepy."
"And you're jealous." Katya rolls her eyes.
“I’m happily married with three kids, bitch.” Dinah wiggles her fingers at her.
“And without sleep,” Katya teases and tugs on my arm. "What are you going to say when he finally asks you out?"
"I don't think he will." I dread the thought. I've always been a loner, and I'm not exactly looking to add another person to my tiny family. My cats are all I need.
"You're delusional, girl." Katya comes to a stop in front of the elevator and makes a face. "Well, it's down to the morgue for me. Let's hope the zombie apocalypse doesn't start today, ladies."
"Good luck!" Dinah and I say in unison, crossing our fingers. Our friend gets in the elevator and we take the stairs to floor one, where the good coffee machines are, and where Dinah works.
I'm not due at my station for another hour, but since I couldn't sleep anyway, I decided to surprise my friends with some fresh pastries from the corner bakery on my street. Now, as Dinah tucks into a bear claw, I'm glad I made that decision.
"So... About Dr. Martin," I mutter, looking down the hallway to ensure we're alone. "You really think he's going to ask me out?"
"Pretty sure he might." Her eyes sparkle as they lock with mine. "Would that really be so bad, Georgie? How long has it been since your last date?"
I grumble a reply, unwilling to admit the shameful truth.
It's been over a year since I broke up with my boyfriend Gabe, a guy who was recently promoted from intern to doctor and has since deemed me beneath him. I haven't even attempted to date since then. It's hopeless, and I've accepted a long time ago I'll just end up alone, anyway.
"I'm just not sure I see myself with him," I mutter. "He's what, forty-five?"
"So?" Dinah scrunches her face up at me. "Is that too old? Since when do you care about age? I thought you didn't want a family or to get married... This could be the perfect situation for you."
I groan, rubbing my eyes and watching her sink her teeth into a jam-filled donut. "I just don't want to make another mistake."
"Look, babe." Dinah reaches over and covers my hand with hers. "I know what happened with Gabe was a disaster, but you can't let it hold you back forever. There are plenty other fish in the sea, and you deserve to be happy."
I don't exactly agree with her, not because I don't think I deserve happiness, but because I don't need a man to give me that kind of security. I'm perfectly fine with my cats and my job – my life is full and busy enough. Adding a man to the mix would only bring trouble.
"Maybe we can figure out a way so I can let him down gently," I mutter, and now it's my friend's turn to groan.
"You can't spend your life running away," she reminds me. "Life's giving you another chance at happiness, Georgie. If you ask me, you should take it by the balls."
I laugh out loud and lift my head at the sound of approaching footsteps. My smile instantly fades when I see the person approaching us is none other than Dr. Martin. Speak of the devil...
"Hello, young ladies," he says in his deep, booming voice, and my stomach does a flip. I'm not sure whether it's because I'm icked out by the term he used, or because I'm excited.
Admittedly, Dr. Martin is a very handsome man, and as Dinah and I say good morning to him in unison, I find color flushing my cheeks. Damn my pale skin. I can't hide anything when I blush like an embarrassed five-year-old any time a man so much as looks in my direction.
"What a wonderful day we're having," Dr. Martin goes on pleasantly, and I give him a doubtful look. It's raining outside, and it's foggy as hell. Plus, working in the ER isn't exactly an experience I'd describe as wonderful.
Still, I find myself nodding to his words, sheepishly agreeing with anything he says. After all, his position is above mine in the hospital. I don't want to risk pissing him off. Dr. Martin is a powerful figure around here.
"I was wondering if I could speak to your friend in private, Dinah?"
"Of course," Dinah replies with delight, shooting me a meaningful look that seems to say two things – good luck, and don't fuck this up.
I manage a nervous smile before Dinah slides away from her seat, taking the box of pastries with her and winking at me. Then it's just me and the
doctor, and my nerves which are already getting the best of me.
"Is this about a patient in the ER?" I ask dumbly, my heart pounding as Dr. Martin laughs easily. Of course, we both know it's not, but I still don't want to embarrass myself by being presumptuous. "If you need my help before my shift starts, I'd be happy to come down with you now."
"Don't worry, Georgina," he says with an amused glance my way. "This has nothing to do with work. I was just wondering whether you'd allow me to buy you a cup of coffee sometime."
"Oh?" I ask lamely, my heart racing. "You don't have to, Dr. Martin."
"I know I don't have to," he says firmly. "But I'd very much enjoy your company."
An uncomfortable silence descends upon us and I chew my bottom lip nervously as I whisper, "I'm just not so sure it's a great idea, Dr. Martin, I –"
"Andrew," he interrupts with a blinding, pearly white smile. "Please, sweetheart. Call me Andrew."
I don't like the pet name he's used, but I tell myself I'm picking up on the smallest of things again, so I swallow my reply and manage a shaky smile in his direction, repeating the name with an uncomfortable edge to my voice. "Andrew."
"Good girl."
Fuck.
Those two little words floor me, reminding me of all the other times I've heard them. The dirty videos I watch, where men whisper those two little words in whimpering women's ears, reminding them exactly who they belong to.
Instantly, I'm putty in the man’s hands, and I find myself smiling deliriously as he goes on.
"Well, how about dinner tonight? Let me treat you, the way a girl like you deserves."
I'm about to bite back and tell him I'm not a girl anymore, but I save my breath, remembering Dinah and Katya's words. They're right. I've been pushing men away for far too long. Maybe it's time for me to get back in the game.
"Okay," I reply hesitantly, fighting back my instincts that are telling me to run. Dr. Martin shoots me a brilliant smile and I do my best to replicate it, but I'm tense, nervous. "I would love to have dinner with you tonight, Dr. Mart… Andrew."