“Suka.”
I cringe, hearing that word in his voice.
“Yes,” I say. “So after I escaped him, I covered it with her… the only good thing that ever came from me being his suka.”
It’s quiet after that, the two of us sitting here, as I stare out along the roof.
He knows my truth.
“What’s your first memory?” I ask after a while.
He doesn’t hesitate, answering, “The night my father was murdered. I remember coming down the steps and seeing the gun in the man’s hand. First time I ever saw one.”
“Do you remember your father?”
He shakes his head.
“I don’t remember my parents,” I say. “My first memory is of a social worker telling me the home I’d been living in didn’t want me anymore. I was five. I remember being so upset. I just wanted a family. I wanted a mom, but I never got one. So when I had Sasha, I was determined to give her what I never got. I was going to be the best goddamn mom on the planet.”
“I’m sure you’re a great mother.”
“I tried to be,” I say quietly. “I was only sixteen when I had her, and I had no idea what I was doing, but I knew we had to get away from Kassian, so I took her and ran. It wasn’t perfect, but we were happy… until he caught up to us. He took her, and he left me for dead. I haven’t seen her since. I don’t know where she is.”
Tears break free again.
I’m trying not to cry, because the man is actually listening, but it’s hard holding it back now that I’ve been cracked open.
I went to the police. I went to Child Protective Services. I’ve talked to lawyers and social workers and private investigators. Nobody wants to get involved. They all refuse to help.
Kassian is powerful. He’s wealthy. He’s terrifying. So they all just called it a ‘domestic problem’ and sent me packing.
In the beginning, I staked out his house. I kept an eye on the club. I followed his men around. Not once did I see her, or any sign that Kassian even had her, but I knew.
I know.
He’s got her somewhere.
“Did you...?” I trail off. “I mean, was she...?”
“I didn’t see her,” Lorenzo says, answering a question I can’t bring myself to finish. “The bear was on a fireplace mantle. He said it was just collecting dust, so he figured you’d want it.”
I close my eyes as those words sink in. They hurt, like a punch to the chest, strong enough to knock my heart out of rhythm so it might never beat right again. “Buster was her security blanket. She loved this bear. She carried him everywhere. She wouldn’t... she wouldn’t just give him up. Especially now. She’s gotta be terrified. She just turned five, and she’s never been away from me until this happened, and now... now she’s really alone, and there’s nothing I can do to help her.”
“If she’s anything like you, Scarlet, she’s resilient.”
“But she shouldn’t have to be,” I whisper. “She doesn’t deserve this. She’s… perfect. She’s smart, and beautiful, and so just good. There’s this kindness inside of her that is so pure, like they took the sunrise and stuck it in this fierce little body. She’s walking sunshine. And ten months is a long time for the sun to go without shining. It’s a long time for her to go without being shown she’s loved. And I don’t know how much longer it’ll be, and all I can think is... will she even remember me? And I think that’s what terrifies me most, that when my story ends, the very last words will be, ‘and she never saw her again’. Because that could happen.”
“Fuck that.”
I look at Lorenzo as I brush stray tears from my cheeks.
“Seriously, fuck that,” he says. “That’s not happening.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’m not going to let it.”
I shake my head, letting out an incredulous laugh.
“Look, I get it,” he says. “You have no reason to trust me.”
“You have no reason to help me.”
“Oh, bullshit,” Lorenzo says, shoving to his feet. “I’ve got plenty of reasons to help you.”
I stare at him. “Name one.”
“I can name a dozen.”
I wave at him. “Well, then, go on, I’m listening.”
“One,” he says, “I’m bored as shit and it’s something to do. There’s not a lot else to do right now.”
“That’s a terrible reason.”
“But it’s a reason, nonetheless,” he says. “Two, I don’t like the guy. He thinks he’s better than me. That, alone, makes me want to go after him.”
“That’s a slightly better reason.”
“Three, I’ve already knocked out...” He pauses, counting under his breathing, using his fingers. Unbelievable. “...five self-proclaimed mob bosses, and six is a nice, well-rounded number, so number six needs to happen.”
“That’s just a ridiculous reason.”
“Four,” he continues, “I don’t like kids, don’t want kids, but one thing I dislike more than kids are people who hurt kids, so fuck him.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Five, I raised my brother to save him from a father a lot like Aristov. So if I can help save your daughter, to spare her the same way, you’re goddamn right I’m in.”
“I get it. You’ve made your point.”
“I don’t think I have,” he says. “Six, I like you.”
That one catches me off guard. “You like me.”
“Yeah, I mean, you’re a pain in my ass sometimes, but you’re not half-bad.”
“I’m not half-bad.”
He gazes down at me, a slight smile on his lips. “You’re gorgeous, and smart, and funny... you eat the whole orange and don’t just suck the juice out and throw it away like other people. That makes you a catch in my book.”
I’m not sure how to react to that. Tears swim in my eyes, but now he’s got me blushing. What the hell? “I’m a catch?”
“Don’t let that shit get to your head,” he says right away. “Never in there did I say I wasn’t still throwing your ass back when this is all done.”
He says that, but I’m still blushing. “Noted.”
“Seven, you just cried like a bitch in front of me, and I never want that to happen again. I don’t like it.”
“Are you done yet?”
“No,” he says. “Reasons eight through eleven, that pussy of yours is beautiful.”
I roll my eyes.
His leg shoots out, kicking my shin hard enough that I wince.
“I’m serious,” he says, his voice sounding pretty damn serious as he says that. “Roll your eyes all you want, but I happen to think pussy is a damn good reason to go to battle.”
“Fine,” I say, “is that it?”
“Just one more,” he says, squatting down in front of me. “Reason number twelve, you’ve got a mini-me out there somewhere, and I kind of want the chance to meet a little Scarlet.”
“You don’t like kids,” I point out.
“True, I don’t,” he says. “But she’s your kid, which means there’s a decent chance she’s not half-bad, either.”
I stare at him.
I don’t know what to say.
His words sound so genuine. This isn’t the reaction I expected. Not to say I didn’t think he had it in him. But I’m used to being kicked while I’m down, and I haven’t quite figured out what to make of Lorenzo. Sometimes, when I look at him, I see the dangerous, cold-hearted criminal, the one that has killed at least two men since we met two months ago, but other times I see a man with a deep soul, generous and warm, the kind of man a woman could fall in love with if she wasn’t careful.
But I have to be careful.
“Come on,” Lorenzo says, standing up again, offering me his hand. “The sun’s up now, which means another day of bullshit is upon us, and I really need to acquire some breakfast if I’m going to do something about your little Pearl.”
I take his hand, letting him yank me
to my feet. I know I must look like hell, having cried my eyes out and forgone sleep, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Pearl?”
“Yeah, the kid in The Scarlet Letter? Didn’t you read the book in school?”
“I dropped out at fourteen,” I remind him. “I was pregnant at fifteen. Reading the classics wasn’t really on the syllabus at the Aristov residence.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his face twisting with a grimace. “I just did math in my head.”
“And that disturbs you?”
“When the math I’m doing is how old Aristov was when he knocked you up, yeah.”
I want to point out that he has no idea exactly how disturbing that time of my life was, but I let it drop. I’m tired of thinking about Kassian. I’m tired of the way he still controls my life. So I pull myself together, tuck Buster under my arm, and glance around, my eyes grazing over the colorful horizon.
The sun is up, shining brightly.
I didn’t watch it happen, but I still feel like a weight has been lifted. I almost feel hopeful again.
I glance back at Lorenzo, noticing he’s watching me. “I still think you’re a fool for helping me, but thank you. Really.”
He stares in silence for a moment, his expression passive, before he says, “Yeah, well, who’s more foolish... the fool or the fool who follows him?”
“Good question, Obi-wan.”
I start to walk away when Lorenzo grabs my arm, stopping me, pulling me toward him. “You’ve seen Star Wars?”
“Of course.”
“See, I’m sure now more than ever before that I’m going to help you.” Lorenzo’s expression cracks with a smile. “Reason number thirteen, Scarlet: I may just be your only hope.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The little girl didn’t like playing games anymore.
She was stuck in a stupid match of tug-of-war, digging her heels into the ground, trying to hold on, but the Tin Man was too strong for her.
Every time she pulled away, he tugged harder.
She locked herself in the bedroom, not wanting to ever see him, so he took the door off of the hinges, giving her no space. She refused to eat, not having an appetite, not even when he got her some peanut butter and jelly, so he force-fed her, shoving the food in her mouth.
He said if she starved to death, it would be because he decided it.
So she took up Hide & Seek again, but he’d proven to be persistent. The best part about living in a palace, though, was that there were so many hiding places. A new one every day. Sometimes he found her. Other times he didn’t even look. She preferred him not to bother, because whenever he sought her, he made her heart hurt. His words got all ugly. He always made her cry with his lies. ‘Your mother does not love you, kitten. If she did, she would be here with us.’
It was a cold night, snowing outside, when the little girl lay beneath a bed in a guest room on the second floor, right above the den. Noises filtered up, reaching her ears. The Tin Man hadn’t looked for her because he had visitors, his flying monkeys and some women. It was late, pitch black, when the noise below got louder, chanting, counting backward.
New Years.
The little girl had really missed Christmas. No Santa Claus had come. She thought maybe something had stopped him, like maybe the Tin Man scared him, too, or maybe she just hadn’t been good enough that year, but a mean voice in her head whispered, ‘maybe he’s just not real.’
It was a whole different year now. She tried to remember the one before it, but her memory was being fuzzy.
She didn’t like it.
She lay there with her eyes closed, trying to remember her mother, how she laughed, and loved, but the little girl could only seem to picture her sleeping on the kitchen floor.
She wanted to remember the happiness. How could she do that? Maybe she’d just have to go out and find her mother. Seek her out, instead of the other way around.
Some of the noise from downstairs came closer. Whispering, footsteps along the second floor. The little girl tensed when it moved into the guest room, feet shuffling in the darkness.
Two people.
High heels and a pair of boots.
They moaned, making kissing noises, before falling onto the bed, hitting the mattress so hard the springs almost squished the little girl’s head. She gagged as a cloud of dust surrounded her, tickling her nose. Oh no. Uh-oh. She had to sneeze.
She tried to stop herself, so they wouldn’t hear, but holding it in only made it come out louder.
The sneeze echoed through the room.
The kissing abruptly ended.
Feet hit the floor and the blanket flipped up seconds before an upside down face peeked between a set of legs. The Cowardly Lion. He scowled before dropping the blanket again and sitting back up with a groan.
“Everything okay?” the woman asked.
“Can you…?” He groaned again. “Go back downstairs. There’s something I need to take care of.”
Uh-oh, for real.
The woman didn’t argue, leaving the room. As soon as she was gone, the blanket flipped up again. “Get out here.”
The little girl crawled out from under the bed and stood up beside it, frowning. She tried to just leave, but he grabbed her arm.
“Whoa, busybody, where do you think you are going?”
“To bed,” she said. “I’m tired.”
He cocked his head to the side, giving her a glassy stare. “Me, too. I’ve been tired for a long time.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, grateful when he let go of her arm. “You should go to sleep.”
“Tried,” he said. “Found a little monster hiding under my bed.”
She scrunched up her face at that, which made him laugh.
“Come on, tell me,” he said. “Why are you hiding?”
“Because he’s mean.”
“And?”
“And that’s all,” she said. “He’s just not nice.”
The Cowardly Lion blinked a few times, like there had to be more answer, but she didn’t have anything else to say.
Wasn’t that enough?
“You’re right,” he said. “He’s not nice.”
Her eyes widened. “You think so, too?”
“Of course. He’s a mudak. A real piece of work, that one. But hiding from him will not make him nicer.”
“What will make him nicer?”
“You,” he said. “Believe it or not, you make him nicer. It softens us, love. It makes us all squishy. But sometimes that same love becomes a liability.”
“What does a lie-bully mean?”
He smiled. “It means he can’t live with you, but he can’t live without you. Either way, it is a problem. So you should give him reasons to live with you, because your mother gave him too many reasons to live without her, and we see where she is now.”
“Where?” the little girl asked. “Where is she?”
“Not here.”
‘Not here’ sounded good to the little girl.
“Come on,” he said, standing up, grasping her shoulders. “Let’s go say goodnight.”
He led her downstairs, keeping his grip on her, taking her straight to the crowded den. People were drinking and sniffing white powder again. The Tin Man’s eyes were straight black as they zeroed in on her. She didn’t like his black eyes. They scared her.
“Found this one up in a guest room,” the Cowardly Lion told him, “hiding under the bed.”
“That is not very creative,” the Tin Man said. “Of all places to hide, you choose where everyone knows to look. Did you want to be found?”
She shrugged.
“She says you are mean,” the Cowardly Lion added. “You aren’t very nice. She asked how to make you nicer.”
The little girl glared back at the Cowardly Lion. “Nobody even likes tattletales.”
The Tin Man laughed at that, like she amused him, opening his arms and motioning for her to come closer, but she didn’t budge.
&nb
sp; “You know, obedience makes me nicer, kitten. Maybe if you give a little, I will give a little back.”
“Will you give Buster back?”
“No.”
Then no, she wasn’t moving. She wasn’t giving. She didn’t care if he got nice. She’d already decided she was leaving. She didn’t need him. She was going to find her mother and they were going to stop playing all this Hide & Seek. She didn’t need a daddy.
Especially one so mean.
The Tin Man dropped his arms, giving up, waving her away. “Go to bed.”
“I’ll make sure she makes it there,” the Cowardly Lion said, pulling the little girl from the room, leading her upstairs.
The little girl ignored him, pretending he wasn’t even there, as she settled into the bed, covering herself up with the blanket, pulling it the whole way over her head.
The mattress dipped, the Cowardly Lion’s hand ruffling her hair through the blanket as he sat down beside her. “It is New Years, sweet girl. It is the time for new beginnings. Resolutions.”
“There’s no point,” the little girl muttered.
The blanket was ripped from her head, and she made a face, trying to snatch it back to cover up, but the Cowardly Lion refused to let her. “What is wrong?”
“It’s all stupid,” she said, tears in her eyes. “I don’t like holidays no more! Santa didn’t come, I got no presents, and I didn’t even get my wish to come true!”
“What was your wish?”
“I want Mommy. I wanna go home.”
The Cowardly Lion blinked at her for a long moment before throwing the blanket back over her head, covering her up as he stood to walk away. The little girl listened to his footsteps crossing the floor before he called back to her quietly, “Goodnight, sweet Sasha. Happy New Year.”
The story concludes with Grievous (Scarlet Scars Book Two), available February 6, 2017!
Acknowledgments
Truth be told, I never expected to write a book about Lorenzo Gambini, much less give him his own series, so never in my wildest dreams did I expect him to weasel his way right to the top of the list of my favorite characters I’ve ever written (I know, I know… we’re not supposed to play favorites). So first and foremost, I want to acknowledge you all… all of the readers who wrote me or tweeted me or visited me at book signings to tell me that they needed more of this man. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, and I truly hope you enjoy his crazy little journey.
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