by A. C. Bextor
After I defused the situation downstairs, sending Wren to our room and negotiating a secured but temporary pardon for Calloy, Ciro warned me. Through his anger and disgust toward Wren, he threatened to end Calloy’s life if only because Wren was so adamant about saving it.
I negotiated Calloy’s release, vowing that I’d see to him personally.
A passing relief passed through Ciro’s features, as if he had won a prize I wasn’t sure was for the taking.
By no means is my care for Calloy to be construed as the start of my employment for this family.
That won’t fucking happen. I’m merely buying my time.
“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that was? You put not only yourself in danger, but Calloy, Angelina, and me.”
Her eyes narrow, then widen in surprise. She’s not only afraid of what happened but now pissed at my reaction.
Again, good. She needs to remember this. If we’re ever to have a future together, she must understand that she can’t interfere with my family or their business. The consequences of crossing a man like Ciro are grave.
When I walked into the foyer, thinking I was headed to bed after I’d been home to check my messages and my mail at the condo, I was blindsided by what was happening.
The image of Wren being held against her will by Xavier incited a burning rage. Ciro said nothing at my interruption, but the disturbing glance he gave as he ordered Xavier to free Wren was enough warning.
And it’s the only warning Wren will get during her stay here.
“He was hurting her!” she exclaims. “You weren’t there!”
“I don’t have to be there, Wren. I know what my uncle does. I know how he is.”
“She was crying!” she shrieks again. “My God, he was touching her. He hurt Cliff!”
Cliff was timid as he’d greeted me at the door when I arrived. Now, as he lies on the floor at Wren’s feet looking up at me with contempt, I’m relieved that he’s fine.
“Did it occur to you that maybe you could’ve gone to Pete?”
“Well, no.”
“Or called me?”
“It happened fast,” she smarts. “And anyway, if I’m here to be protected from Chase, why should I be afraid of the man protecting me?”
“Damn it. You can’t do something so stupid again.”
“I didn’t think it was stupid to want to help someone, Liam,” she chastises. “And if I didn’t at least try, who knows what would’ve—”
“You still don’t fucking get it.”
“Your family is crazy. They’re nuts.”
“You know this already because I’ve told you.”
Standing, Wren’s eyes don’t leave mine. As she walks toward me, she does so with cautious steps, the apology she refuses to give written all over her worried face.
“I should’ve woken Pete,” she tells me, cupping my cheek. “I should’ve called you first.”
“Yes,” I agree. “You could’ve been hurt or worse.”
“I don’t like it here. I want to go.”
I can’t tell Wren that there’s more at play than Chase. That Ciro is up to something bigger than she is. More important than me. I want to, though. And if I do anything for the rest of my life, it’ll be to keep her safe from this family—my family.
“You’re different, Liam,” she continues. “Every day I see it. You’re not who you were before we got here. Why? What is it about being here that puts you on edge?”
“I’m angry,” I admit.
I’m angry for Wren, dealing with Chase as she has and doing it alone.
I’m angry at Ciro and his conniving way of taking all my energy from a life I’ve been trying to build outside this one.
I’m pissed that I have no more answers than I did when this started.
“My family is who they are,” I explain. “I can’t change them. And if that’s what you need, I—”
“I don’t need anything from you,” she promises. “I want to help, but I don’t know how.”
Wren stands on tiptoe, kissing the side of my mouth. I try to pull away, but she doesn’t allow the space. Her hands reach the hem of my shirt, lifting it to caress the skin of my waist. Her touch is warm and shy, but deliberate.
Closing my eyes, I try to forget where we are. How we got here and why. I recall the diner, always seeing Wren’s face the moment I walked in. She was happy, waiting for my arrival.
There was a time that I think she trusted me. I don’t know that she does now.
“Wren, if you want to help, promise me you won’t do something so stupid again.”
“I won’t,” she agrees. “Now come to bed.”
“You have a few broken ribs,” I explain as Calloy lies in his bed at Ciro’s. “There’s nothing I can do about that or your face. The stitches will come out when they’re ready.”
He stares at the ceiling, not granting verbal acknowledgment or eye contact. My guess is that it’s not his body that’s in pain but his heart.
Leaving Wren upstairs asleep wasn’t easy. I talked to Pete, asking him to watch over her until I could get back. I explained what happened, what I thought was happening between Calloy and Angelina.
Pete was disgusted at Ciro and disappointed with me, as if he sees what Wren does. The change in me has become obvious to those I love.
“You’ll need to take it easy for a few days. Rest as much as you can,” I instruct.
“Why fuckin’ bother?” Calloy growls. “If Ciro doesn’t kill me tomorrow, he’ll put me out on the street. People in this city know I’m one of his. I’m a dead man walking no matter what he does now.”
“A dead man walking is still a man walking, Calloy. Consider yourself lucky.”
“Lucky?” he sneers. Holding his side, he sits up and exclaims, “That piece of shit raped my wife!”
“Calloy,” I caution, looking around his room for any witnesses to hear. “Lower your voice.”
Tears form in his eyes, anger and hurt coming together as one. He’s overwhelmed.
“He told her if she came to me, he’d fucking kill her. My wife can’t come to me.”
“I didn’t know.” I suspected, of course, but my stomach sinks to hear it’s true.
“He’s not right. Your uncle, Doc. He’s desperate.”
Already well-aware of my uncle’s mental instability, I still ask, “What else don’t I know?”
No longer torn by his allegiance, Calloy explains, “He’s ordering his men to do things. He’s—”
“What things?”
Hesitantly, Calloy lies back, resting his head on the pillow. He’s confused, agitated. The drugs I administered for pain have begun to take effect.
“You’re his nephew, and I’ll die an even slower death for opening my mouth, but I can’t keep quiet anymore,” he states. “Angel and me, we’ve been together since we were kids. I’m all she’s ever known. He hurts her. She won’t talk about it when we’re together.”
Running my hands over my face for clarity, I utter a string of curses. It’s only a matter of time before Ciro turns against Wren in ways I can’t undo as well.
Clearing his throat, then lowering his voice, Calloy adds, “A few of the men and I have decided it’s time to say something to someone who matters.”
“Say your piece,” I urge. “Whatever it is.”
“Ciro’s been sending us out into the streets—”
Anxious to get to the heart of his concern, I cut him off. “I already know this.”
“He’s having us take from the innocent. These people we’re stealing from don’t understand what we’re doing or why we’re doing it.”
“Stealing what?”
“Money, product, whatever else they fuckin’ have.”
“Why?”
Irritated, he asks, “Don’t you get it?”
“No, Calloy. Explain.”
“Ciro is fuckin’ broke. There’s no money coming in. He’s got us tasked to get it for him. Without money, his entire o
peration goes away.”
“Isn’t that part of your job?” I try to reason. “You’ve been with Ciro a few years now. I’m lost.”
“But we’re doing it unarmed. No weapons means no protection. We’re robbing the poor, Liam, and it’s only a matter of time before they figure out we’re doing it with nothing.”
“Fuck,” I hiss through a clenched jaw as I toss a blood-soaked towel onto the bedside table.
I haven’t known Calloy as I have some of the others. He’s much younger than I am. I’ve never asked his story, how he came to become one of Ciro’s trusted men. The last few years haven’t been good to anyone working within this family, and I’ve always tried to stay as clear of it as I’ve been able.
Until now, of course.
“And with most of Ciro’s men quitting, running, or dying….” He slows, taking in a heavy breath before finishing with “He’s recruiting kids.”
Images of young men, specifically those like Elevent, flood my thoughts. “Kids?”
“Children. He doesn’t have to pay ’em in money. He’s keeping them with threats. He’s promising to kill their families, parents and siblings, if they don’t comply and do as he tells them. They’re scared.”
“Children,” I repeat.
“Yes. Ask Angel. She’ll show you. There’s a kid I keep hidden. His name is Jamal. He’s twelve. His mom is working her ass off to keep him from the shit Ciro is pulling him into.”
Disturbing thoughts race through my mind. By having this conversation at all, I’ve admitted to myself that I’m now part of this operation. And my introduction is a man on the inside questioning the leader who runs it.
Fuck.
“You don’t believe me?” Calloy taunts. “Meet him. He’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
Wondering what part in this I’m to play next, I ask, “Why are you telling me all of this?”
In pain, Calloy holds his side and winces. “Because I don’t know who else to fuckin’ tell.”
As he starts to blink slowly, I step away and watch the broken man succumb to sleep. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.
If what he says about Ciro is true, odds are, I won’t.
As I walk out of the room, I’m stopped in the hallway. Angelina looks up, eyes beaten but wide in surprise. Ciro took his hands to her again, or rather had one of his men do it.
“Liam,” she whispers, casting her eyes down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Let me see your face.”
“I’m fine,” she replies, her focus anywhere but on me. “Is Calloy going to be okay?”
“Yes. For now.”
“Thank you.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I don’t know. Weeks? Calloy never let me come see him at work before. I did once. That’s when Xavier caught us in Calloy’s room.”
Xavier, Ciro’s pet. Makes sense that he’d see a prize for Ciro and offer it up.
“I need you to leave,” I insist.
“I can’t. I can’t leave my husband. Not now. Not ever,” she pleads.
“If you want to see him again, you’ll do as I’m telling you.”
Desperate and clinging to all the time she has, she murmurs, “Ciro is going to kill him.”
“Not if I can help it.”
“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, you crazy fuck. Now get out of here!” Chase demands.
Ciro holds back a bitter laugh.
The woman who had been straddling Chase’s lap scurries off, grabbing her clothes and racing toward the door. Before she can make her attempted escape, Xavier grabs a fistful of her hair, using it as leverage to slam her face into the wall. The swift action sends her naked body flying backward before she drops to the ground.
Out cold.
Shaking his head and releasing a deliberate tsk, Ciro challenges, “You owe Saint’s Justice, Chase.”
Chase’s eyes widen.
The room smells of dirt, body odor, and whores. Beer bottles scattered along tabletops, condom wrappers littering the floor. The bed, just a dirty mattress and dirtier blanket, sits in the corner with visible stains. The rotten curtains do little to hide the black-barred windows.
Ciro stands near the door of the run-down motel room, dressed in his signature suit and polished shoes. Xavier found the worthless deviant had been staying here since he decided that, if he wanted to live, he needed to head underground.
The motel clerk happily gave up Chase’s room, the gun Xavier pointed at his slimy forehead swaying the night manager’s initial hesitation.
Walking toward him, Ciro nods to Chase’s pants wrapped around his ankles. Chase starts to move, but Ciro lifts a finger for him to stop. He does, mouth open and fear in his eyes.
No one will miss Chase. The police won’t question where he’s gone, not only because they’re paid to turn their head, but their families will be in harm’s way should they decide to pry.
“What do you want?” Chase seethes, clutching the arms of the chair tightly. His bare chest is moving up and down, the scar of the letter Z taunting Ciro where he stands.
“I want nothing from you,” Ciro returns.
“Then what the fuck are you doing here?”
Ciro’s gaze moves to Xavier’s, an unsaid command to follow. Xavier takes point, walks forward to stand behind Chase, then waits.
Bending to his next victim, Ciro rests his hands on either side of Chase’s chair. He figures if anyone knows about Wren’s past, it’ll be the man she lived with for years.
After confirming Wren’s importance to Russian family, Ciro made quick work of setting a new plan into motion. He believes he has Liam tethered to the name—no one in this city will fuck with him, especially the Russians. The Palleshi’s hold the key to Vlad’s heart and the bastard doesn’t even know it yet.
“Tell me, Chase, does Wren have any idea who she is?”
“What?” Chase snaps, impatience and fear covering his face. “Wren is Wren.”
So incredibly stupid.
“Does she know who her mother was?”
Chase glances left. The cogs of his drug-riddled mind are twisting, but Ciro recognizes he’s not thinking of his answer, only ways to escape his latest predicament. Chase has expertise in escape, but there’s no more running after this.
“Wren never talked about her parents,” he finally answers. “She said they were good to her. She misses them.”
Giving up and deciding Chase’s life has run its course, Ciro stands straight.
“Make it look like an accident,” he bids. “Bathtub, trauma to the head, whatever. I’m not spending more time on this fuck.”
“What?” Chase questions, attempting to stand. Clearly he has no clue what’s happening.
Before he has a chance to run, Xavier wraps his hands around Chase’s neck from behind. It takes him only second to extinguish the light in Chase’s eyes.
They remain open, still, and very dead.
“Do what needs done in here,” Ciro orders. “Once you’ve finished, take care of the other loose end.”
“Liam!” a familiar voice calls from outside the emergency room door.
I’d come to grab the rest of my personal belongings from my office. Years of hard work given away with my resignation, the remnants in one box.
“Mike,” I acknowledge, puzzled by his arrival.
Mike is sweating in the late winter chill. His clothes are disheveled and he’s not wearing a coat. The breaths he’s fighting for rush out, a cloud of mist billowed with each exhale.
“Why do you look like you ran all the way over here?”
“Damn it,” he curses once he reaches where I stand.
The parking lot is nearly empty, with the exception of a few guests coming and going in the distance. Everything else is dark. The flickering lot light overhead shines on my friend, reflecting his exhausted state.
He holds his chest, gasping for air. “If you’d answer yo
ur goddamn cell phone, I wouldn’t be so close to a fuckin’ heart attack right now.”
Setting the box at my feet, I watch as my out-of-shape friend braces his hands on his knees, bending over to catch his breath.
Mike is a large man. He’s never cared about his appearance. His hair is too long and his belly is too big. Mary’s cooking threatens to undo me on the occasion I have dinner at their place; clearly, it’s wearing on Mike with his age.
“Why in the world are you out running in the dark?”
“I fucking found what we’ve been looking for,” he responds, still looking to the ground. “And like I told you, this woman is wrapped in this shit tight, Liam. Shit that is not good.”
“You mean she’s wrapped in Chase Avery,” I correct. “She was at one time, but they’re over.”
“No, Liam. She is wrapped in this. Chase is nothing. He was being used as bait. He was just a decoy to get to her.”
Mike is wrong. No way possible Wren could’ve gotten on my uncle’s radar.
“Explain,” I insist.
“Ciro is about to use Wren as a weapon.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Wren,” he exclaims. “She’s Ciro’s revenge!”
None of what he says makes sense. He has to be confused.
“Mike, revenge for what? On who? I don’t understand.”
Standing, he places his hands on his hips but continues to look winded.
Taking in a deep breath, he further explains, “Ciro has wanted a reason to piss the Russians off since the last time he pissed them off. I have no idea how he found Wren, but she’s a good enough reason.”
“Mike, what the fuck are you saying?”
Looking around the parking lot, Mike steps closer, lowering his voice. “Wren is a goddamn Russian. And your crazy uncle has to fuckin’ know that.”
All the blood drains from my face and my head grows light. “How’s this possible?”
“Remember that Zalesky girl?”
“Faina, Vlad’s sister. I remember.”
“Wren is Faina’s.”
“What?”
“Wren is Faina’s daughter. Don’t ask me how. Don’t ask me when. But she is.”