Year of the Scorpio: Part One

by Stacy Gail

  Shona’s face twisted with such gentle compassion it was like a knife in the heart I was trying so damn hard to turn into stone. “Honey, you don’t know that.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know that. I don’t know anything except for the fact that the people I care about aren’t safe when they have me in their lives. That means you were right to walk away. You just...should have kept walking.”

  By degrees, Shona’s sweet compassion hardened over, and when she jammed her hands on her hips I had a sinking feeling I needed to brace for impact.

  “All right,” she said, her tone measured down to a razor-thin edge. “I get it. You want to think of yourself as a trouble-magnet, so okay. Fair enough. You go ahead and call yourself a trouble-magnet. Call yourself a sacrificing martyr too, while you’re at it. I mean, you’re cutting ties with me now because you care for me and you don’t want anything bad to happen to me, right?”

  I let myself relax. Thank God, she understood. “Exactly.”

  “Bullshit. If you’re claiming that, what you really are is a coward.”

  My jaw made an actual noise when it dropped open.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Shona stepped up, eyes blazing. “You should know that I don’t use that term lightly, and God knows that until today, I never thought I’d label you a coward. We might have had different zip codes when we were kids, but I know you grew up in a world that was just as harsh as mine, because we’re a lot alike. Your lady-balls have always been front and center, with no apologies and no backing down. Until today.”

  All at once something snapped deep inside, so loud it was a wonder it didn’t shatter the windows. “It’s a total bitch move to call me a coward, Shona, when all I’m doing is trying to think of what’s best for you and your baby. Or have you forgotten that point you made when you said you needed to be around for Arabella?”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything, and did you just call me a bitch? Because while I’m proud of being a bitch, I sure as hell don’t allow anyone to call me that.”

  Goddamn it. “A week ago there were four men who had guns in this room, and three of them had them drawn. A notorious hitman named BB, which apparently is short for Bloodbath, stood no more than ten feet away from you. And while that crazy circus was going on, Konstantin was slowly suffering the worst possible death that I can imagine.” My voice cracked, and I hated that my burning, cried-out dry eyes began to burn for another reason. “I have no control over the shit that’s hit my life—that much is obvious. But I can control who is in my life so that they don’t get splattered with it. So I’m controlling this. You’re out. Oh, and by the way, you’re welcome that I’m saving you from me.”

  “Don’t expect me to thank you for that self-sacrificing crap you’re trying to wrap yourself up in,” she shot back at me at the top of her lungs. And these were some ex-cheerleader, reaching-the-cheap-seats lungs, so I had to say I was impressed. “All that shit happened, yeah, and it got pretty fucking intense for a few seconds, enough to make me wig out, and that’s something I’ve already apologized for. But that’s not the reason you’re freezing me out now, Dash, so don’t lie to me about that.”

  I was flabbergasted. “Lie? Are you serious? I’m thinking of what’s best for you.”

  “Again, I call bullshit. You’re freezing me out because you don’t want to deal with the hurt and guilt that would come your way if anything happened to me.”

  That struck a sore spot I didn’t know I had, and I flinched. “What? No, that’s—”

  “And don’t tell me about how you’re doing what you think is best for me,” she added, talking over me with so much volume it drowned me out. “You’re not my damn mother.”

  Grrrr. “Doesn’t it matter to you at all that I’m trying to make sure you don’t wind up like Konstantin?”

  “What matters to me is that you respect me enough to let me think for myself, and to give me the truth about why you’re hitting the eject button on being my friend.”

  “I have told you the truth.”

  “No, you haven’t,” she denied, shaking her head so hard her thin braids went swinging. “Anyone with eyes can see that the pain of Konstantin’s death has just about crushed you. You don’t want to feel anything like this again, so you’ve decided you’d rather not feel anything at all, and that’s the truth I’m talking about. That’s why you’re pushing me away. You’re not doing it to save me. You’re doing it to save yourself, and that’s why you’re a coward.”

  She couldn’t have wounded me more if she’d punched me in the stomach. “The last person I’m thinking of is myself. You’re the one who matters here. There are people in your life who love you, who need you.”

  “Yeah, but obviously you’re not one of them.” Furious—and hurt—tears spilled out of Shona’s eyes a moment before she whirled and grabbed up the purse she’d left on her desk. “Look, I know you’re going through hell right now, okay? I do, really. I’m hoping that when this blows over, we’ll be able to talk it out, hug it out—whatever.” Slinging her purse over her shoulder she headed for the door, but paused as she opened it to look back. “But don’t you stand there and do my damn thinking for me, because it’s not up to you to decide whether or not my best friend and the woman I admire most in this world should be in my life. In case you missed it, I’d already made that decision myself by coming in to work today. Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to kick our friendship to the curb. Enjoy your cookies.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I had never felt less like attending a party in my life.

  One by one throughout the past year, the pillars that had held up my day-to-day existence—my father, my security, my friends and the people I loved—had vanished out from under me. True, it had been a conscious decision to put space between Shona and myself, and I had to admit I was now seriously questioning whether or not I had done the right thing, thinking for her instead of talking it out and coming to a mutually agreed-upon decision. She wasn’t like Emily Scorpeone, who didn’t have a firm understanding of violence and death on a day-to-day basis. Shona did, and I had the unsettling feeling that she’d been totally justified in verbally tearing me a new one.

  So, yes. That particular relationship was a wound that had been self-inflicted.

  Everything else, though, had come unglued all on its own.

  At least I still had Polo.

  Except I wasn’t sure about him, either.

  The night before, I hadn’t been in the best of moods when my new bodyguards handed me off to Polo at his penthouse. After a long conversation between the three men out in the foyer, Polo had been solicitous but oddly distant, listening to how things had gone with Shona while making a savory spaghetti dinner. I told myself that odd distance was because he was busy and concentrating on not burning the food, which was what always happened when I tried to cook.

  But after dinner, he’d disappeared downstairs into Heaven while having Andrew the Giant stand guard out in the foyer. I didn’t see Polo again until morning, where again he made it clear that he was concerned with how I felt, how I’d slept, and if I was hungry.

  All of that was nice, of course. I was glad he cared.

  But he hadn’t come in after closing up the club to sleep with me.

  And he hadn’t kissed me good morning.

  He didn’t even touch me.

  Not once.

  I told myself I was imagining things. I told myself it was stress and grief, for both of us. I told myself we were entering a new phase in our relationship where we didn’t need to reaffirm our closeness whenever we were in the same room together.

  I told myself a lot of things.

  That didn’t make any of them true.

  After working so hard on the gala preparations for Chicago’s Future, now that it was here I could barely stand the thought of attending. But I got my game-face on, along with my new backless, long-sleeved red lace over a flesh-tone shell dress. Rubies and diam
onds dripped from my ears and wrist, something my father would have been proud to see, and my platform scarlet red, crystal-accented Versace stilettos made my legs look about a mile long. Even if all I secretly wanted to do was put on my pajamas and hole up like a hermit, at least I looked good.

  Hopefully Polo would appreciate the effort as well.

  As we pulled up to the Peninsula Hotel an hour later, however, I had no idea if I’d made an impression or not. He and about a dozen or so security people—some of his, some hired from PSI—were fanned out throughout the hotel’s restaurant and terrace area, learning the layout and the faces of the people working the event. No one was thrilled that I had also reserved the rooftop terrace looking out onto the Magnificent Mile, and was surrounded by a manmade canyon of countless buildings. It wasn’t my fault. At the time that I’d reserved the space, Konstantin had still been alive and my world had still been whole.

  On the upside, the weather was gorgeous for indoor-outdoor entertaining. Not a cloud was in the sky and a brilliant three-quarter moon was on the rise, its light competing with the never-ceasing glow of the city below. Inside was just as inviting; the hotel staff had done a first-rate job at decorating the space. In addition to the five-star restaurant’s neo-Asian atmosphere, graceful swaths of shimmery gossamer draped everywhere, from ceiling to floor. A dance floor had been created, spotlighted by banks of lights that also called attention to the stage area, where the band was already warming up. Later in the evening, Chicago’s own Latrice Zendiah would sing a few of her top hits after everyone had dinner chosen from a menu that was second to none.

  Beyond the stage was a large screen, set up to display a slideshow of children’s faces, and the reason Chicago’s Future had been created in the first place. Items for a silent auction were already on display in the restaurant’s expansive foyer, and people were already beginning to filter in, dressed in their glittery finest.

  Showtime.

  I didn’t see a lot of Polo as people began to connect and find their seats around the multitude of round, linen-draped banquet tables. As I circulated, meeting and greeting guests, part of my brain was focused on where he was, which seemed to be the polar opposite of wherever I was. His positioning was too obvious to be accidental, and as the night progressed and our bizarre keep-away game continued, my confusion deepened into hurt, and hurt into a slow-burning anger.

  If he was pissed off at me, why the hell was he playing this stupid game? If I’d done something, he needed to man up and tell me whatever it was so that I could go about fixing whatever damage he thought I did so we could move on from there.

  Unless...

  He didn’t want to move on.

  Or maybe this was his way of moving on.

  Without me.

  “Dash.”

  Pulled out of my churning thoughts, I turned to find my brother cutting a path through the crowd toward me, looking sharp in a stylized tux with no tie. Two of his guards, one with his wrist now in a cast, followed faithfully in his wake.

  “Hey.” Tension drained away like a toxin bleeding out of my system, and with a sigh I allowed myself to be enfolded in a hug. Despite the recent friction between us, it was impossible to resist a friendly face in a world that had become so hostile. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come. I know you’re not a fan of these things.”

  “True, but I am a fan of you.” He gave me a nice big squeeze before kissing the top of my head. “Don’t ever forget that I’m always in your corner, even when you think you don’t need me. Family first, yeah?”

  “Yeah. And don’t be silly, I’ll always need you.” God knew that seemed especially true nowadays. Somehow, in just a few short weeks, I had gone from finding a certain peace in my life after my father’s death, to having no place on earth that felt like home. I was strong, heaven knew, but the increasing sense of isolation was suffocating the life right out of me. “I’m sorry I kicked a chair through a wall.”

  Knives made a sound of amusement. “What’s a dented wall between friends? I’m sorry I called you a bitch.”

  “Hey, yeah. You did call me a bitch. And a cunt.”

  “I shouldn’t have reminded you.” With a groan that ended in a chuckle, he pulled away far enough to grin down at me. “It’s breaking the rules if you get mad at me all over again for that. Get mad at me for something else.”

  “Knowing me, I probably will.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw the bodyguard with the cast on his wrist, and I couldn’t stop myself from grimacing. “The last time I saw you, I was so mired down with shock and grief I couldn’t even communicate, so I’m glad I have this chance to patch things up with you. Have you had a chance to patch things up with Pavel Medvedev?”

  Knives waved at my comment like it was an irritating gnat. “Dash, that man is so old-school I don’t even know how to speak his fucking language. And even if I did know what to say to him to smooth his ruffled feathers, I don’t know how I’d get the message across. He won’t return any of my calls or texts.”

  “Maybe that’s a clue right there—old-school ways and texting don’t mix, generally speaking. Why not drop by the Medvedev house and have a respectful sit-down with him? I bet Pavel would appreciate some personal attention from you.”

  “He’s the one who needs to show the proper respect for me. He never would have treated Papa that way, yelling at me in public. It’s like he was totally unaware that I’m the one who has control over everything now. I almost pulled my gun and shot him for insubordination.”

  My brows shot up and I couldn’t help but take a half-step back. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What?” His scowl-dark eyes focused on my face, and like an internal switch being thrown, that darkness vanished. “Yeah, of course I’m kidding.”

  No, he’s not.

  As clearly as if we were sitting at a poker table and he’d just gone all-in, I knew as I looked into my brother’s eyes that he was not bluffing. He’d wanted to kill Konstantin’s dad for doing nothing more than acting like a grieving father. A grieving father, moreover, who’d had a valid gripe about not being told that his son was missing. I still didn’t know what to make of that.

  Maybe it was best if my brother and the Medvedevs went their separate ways after all.

  I felt Polo’s presence at my back a scant second before he made physical contact, yet I nearly jumped a foot when his hand slid up my naked spine. I glanced quickly over my shoulder to confirm it was really him—so much for being aware of him wherever he went—only to find his unblinking attention was laser-locked on my brother.

  “Knives.” Polo’s voice...I frowned questioningly up at him, because there was something in it, something I couldn’t put my finger on that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. I studied him as he tucked me under his arm and held me to his side, but his poker face was light years better than my brother’s. “You made it. I thought you would be too busy preparing for your war to show tonight.”

  “I’ve been preparing for war ever since my father died,” came the shrugging response. Then he stepped forward, offering his hand. “It’s good to see you, brother.”

  It had to be my imagination that made me think Polo hesitated before taking it. “We’re definitely seeing a lot of each other lately.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “I wonder why that is?”

  Knives lifted a brow. “Between you and me, I always thought Papa was wrong to encourage you to step away from the business. Retirement doesn’t seem to be working out for you, so maybe this is fate’s way of telling you to come back home where you belong.”

  “You kidding? Retirement’s been an action-packed blast,” Polo said, and the irony dripping from every syllable was so dry it burned. “From dawn to dusk it’s been nothing but go-go-go excitement. Working for a living was never this much fun. Aren’t you having fun?”

  “Not sure fun is the right word.” Knives watched Polo with narrowed eyes, and I had to say that I did too. There was
something dangerous boiling just underneath the surface in him, and the survival instinct in me wanted to run and hide in the deepest hole that I could find before it exploded. “Things are probably going to get worse before they get better.”

  “Probably? Oh, I’d say that’s inevitable.”

  “We suffered an attack, and no one’s paid for Konstantin’s death as of yet, so yeah. Things getting worse before they get better is inevitable. But they will get better. As long as we stay together, we’ll all get through this, and this time in our lives will become nothing more than an unpleasant memory.”

  Polo’s arm tightened hard around me. “Someone’s definitely going to pay for what they did to Konstantin, and for everything else. I guarantee you, the world will never be the same once they’ve paid that bill.”

  Knives nodded, though he was watching Polo as if he expected him to continue on with that thought. Polo didn’t, and when the silence lengthened into the realm of awkwardness, I shifted beneath Polo’s arm.

  “How’s the search going for Konstantin’s killer?” I tried to make sure no one overheard us since I was fairly certain this wasn’t the usual conversation for a black-tie charity affair. “Uncovering who the doer is and handing them over to Pavel Medvedev might be a great way to mend fences with that family.”

  “I’ve got people looking into who did the actual job, but we all know who ordered the hit.”

  “The Scorpeones.” Just saying the long-hated name made my stomach clench, while at the same time the reality as Emily Scorpeone knew it came to the surface. I sighed, and Polo put his other arm around me to hold me close, as if he wanted to shield me from the world. I leaned into him, grateful both for the support and for the fact that he was no longer a million miles away. “Are you sure it can’t be anyone else? There are other players in Chicago—”

  “Dash, you stick to the charity business, and I’ll stick to the family business, all right?”