by Stasia Black
“You didn’t trust me. My own wife.”
“I’m sorry,” she cried. “Gods, I’d change it if I could. It’s my fault the cops came. It’s my fault…” She couldn’t finish, thinking of the way the blood poured from Iris’s wound. How her eyes went vacant as her soul left her body.
“This is why you ran. You were afraid to tell me.” She couldn’t see Marcus’s expression in the shadows.
“Yes,” she whispered. She’d lied to herself about it—his violence had given her an excuse—but ultimately, this was why she’d run.
“It’s getting late,” he said. “I got things to do. I’ll get someone to take you back.” Already his phone was out.
Cora’s heart thudded slowly, painfully. “Back where?”
“Your apartment.”
“Marcus, I’m sorry.” The words burned in her throat. Everything she’d wanted to say, but couldn’t bring herself to. “I never should have gone to AJ. I should’ve trusted you.”
She wanted to go to him, to convince him, to beg him to believe her. But he was now standing by the windows, drink in hand, and her feet were rooted to the spot. “I’ll tell Waters it was my fault the cops were there. It was an accident.”
“You stay away from Waters,” Marcus whirled and snarled so violently her feet came unstuck and, even though she was across the room, she took a step back. “It’s over. You’ve done enough.”
The door opened behind her, startling her, and a Shade walked in, glancing back and forth between the two Ubelis, before focusing on the one who gave him orders.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Please escort Ms. Cora back to her apartment. Or anywhere she wants.”
“Yes, sir.” The Shade held the door open, waiting.
“Marcus,” Cora whispered.
“Ma’am,” the Shade called. He was obviously picking up on the tension in the room and thought it wise to give her a hint.
With one last look at her husband’s straight back, Cora took her exit.
In two days, time would run out. They didn’t have Waters’ shipment. At least Marcus finally knew the truth. The fact was cold comfort. Especially when it hit her, in the car halfway to her place, that Marcus had called her Ms. Cora.
Not Mrs. Ubeli.
Thirty
The rest of the day Cora wandered around her apartment in a daze, analyzing Marcus’s every move.
It’s over. You’ve done enough.
At dusk, she lost the battle with herself and dialed his private number. “Marcus, we need to talk. I can explain.” She stopped there because she didn’t know if she could explain. Did it matter if she’d been trying to do the right thing when it all turned out so wrong? “Please call me,” she finished lamely.
Pacing restlessly, she checked the fridge for anything appetizing. No luck. She started drawing open a bottle of wine. When her phone buzzed with a text message alert, she dropped the wine opener to grab it.
M. Ubeli not at this number. It’s being monitored. Emergencies only.
She slapped her phone down with more force than necessary. Her husband was gone, disappeared behind the faceless Shades he used as an army. When she ran, she had to fight for her space, but he changes his number and, boom, she was cut off from him.
It wasn’t fair.
“What can I do?” she ranted as Brutus watched. “He holds all the cards in the relationship.”
Her dog cocked his head and rubbed against her, trying to offer comfort. She scratched his ears. “It’s okay, boy, I’m not mad at you. You sit and stay when you’re told.”
She laughed at this as she finished opening the wine.
A few hours later there came a rap at her door.
“Who is it?” Cora paused in her slightly off-key rendition of the song playing on her phone’s radio.
The heavy knock sounded again and Cora groaned, not wanting to move from her spot. She’d just gotten comfortable.
Marcus. What if it was Marcus? Her drink sloshed as she set it on the floor.
In a wine-induced haze, she barely remembered to peek through the peephole.
The man outside was so tall she could only see his neck.
“No,” Cora said. Oops. She said that out loud. Shit. Maybe she could hide in the bedroom until Sharo went away.
“Open the door,” Sharo commanded, in a voice that made it clear that he shouldn’t have to ask twice. Had Marcus dispatched his second-in-command to kill her for ruining his business? She giggled, the wine making that thought more fascinating than scary.
She opened the door and looked up, and then up some more. Sharo was tall, like really tall. “Hey,” she hiccuped. “What do you want?”
“Came to check on you.”
“Did Marcus send you?” She squinted up into the midnight black face.
“He doesn’t know I’m here.”
That gave her pause. Sharo was intensely loyal, and as far as she knew nothing would entice him to go behind Marcus’s back.
Marcus. Who hadn’t sent him to check up on her. Who’d sent her away without even a backward glance.
“Well, I’m alive. Thanks for checking.” She started to swing the door shut but Sharo’s foot stopped it.
“Sharo, I want to be alone.” He didn’t budge at all and it only made her madder. “I can’t believe you. Move, you big mountain.”
But Sharo just herded her back into the apartment until he could close the door.
Brutus ambled over and sniffed the big man’s hand.
“Fantastic guard dog you are.” Cora glared at the Great Dane, who gave a woof and went to lie down on the hearth.
Meanwhile, Sharo was stalking through her apartment, first heading to her sound dock and cutting off the music.
“Hey!” she cried, but he ignored her, going to the balcony and looking out. He pulled the curtains firmly together, went back to the front door, and reached around her to dim the overhead light. The dimmer had been magically installed after she moved in, part of the ‘upgrades’ the super had instituted at the new building owner’s—aka Marcus’s—command.
“What the hell—” she sputtered.
Sharo leaned down and got in her face.
“People can see in here when you have the light on,” he rumbled, looking down at her.
Cora stared up at him with wide eyes. Losing all sense, she shoved him in the chest with both her hands. “I was having a nice, quiet,” she grunted as she pushed, not caring that she didn’t make a dent of difference, “night in. Alone!”
“Not so quiet. I could hear you singing down the hall.”
With a final grunt, Cora gave up pushing and stalked away. “Well, what am I supposed to do now that Marcus has decided we’re on a break? Sit in the corner and knit?” She flopped onto the couch and fished around on the floor for her wine glass, nearly tipping it and herself over when Sharo sat down beside her. When he settled on his own cushion, she noticed he took up almost half the couch.
Lifting the bottle to inspect it, he gave her an amused glance. There was only about a glass and a half missing.
She raised her chin. “What? So I’m a lightweight.”
Shaking his head, he leaned over and, before she knew it, he’d relieved her of her glass.
“Hey, I was drinking that.” She struggled but was no match for him. He held her off with one large hand planted on her chest while he drained the rest of the red liquid in one gulp.
“I don’t believe this,” she fumed. “What are you even doing here?”
“Got your message.”
She swallowed hard. “I thought that was Marcus’s line.
“It is, but he’s gone to ground again.”
“Did… Did something else happen?”
“More threats. Waters is on the move. A few of our men have been attacked, but he seems to prefer kidnapping over murder. No demands yet.”
Cora’s temples were starting to pound with another one of the headaches she’d been getting lately and ugh, she felt l
ike she was going to throw up. She rubbed her forehead and tried to focus on what Sharo was telling her.
“Waters is holed up somewhere, but he’s in the city. Gotta be. There’s a warrant for his arrest in connection to the Mayor’s poisoning.” Sharo grabbed the wine bottle and poured himself a glass. She’d never seen him drink before. “We think he’s working with the Titans.”
“The Titans want back in don’t they?” she whispered. “She won’t stop, will she? My mother?”
He looked her in the eye and shook his head. “The Titans want back in and they’re gonna get in, unless we can get Waters to join us. But with him scooping up Shades, it’s not looking good.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Unless you can magically produce Waters.”
She bit her lip.
Stay away from Waters. It’s over. You’ve done enough.
It’s over.
“Why are you telling me this?” Cora tried not to sound sad and failed. Her mother was up to no good as always, trying to hurt her husband. She winced, the pain slicing deep. Was Marcus even still her husband? Did he want to be? “He doesn’t want me involved.”
“You gonna give up that easy?”
She stared at Sharo but he didn’t look at her.
“What do you mean? I hurt him, I know that. I know he feels betrayed. But he won’t even talk to me.”
Sharo chuckled without mirth. “Not fun being shut out, is it?”
“No,” she said, chin dropping to her chest. She’d given Marcus the same treatment for months after she’d left him.
“Two months gone and you grew a backbone. But you still haven’t grown up.”
Would she break her hand if she punched him? She’d probably break her hand. “Maybe when you all stop treating me like a child.”
Sharo just shook his head, taking a long drink. “You wanna know what he’s thinking? You wanna know everything?”
Cora frowned but nodded, tucking her legs underneath her on the couch, making her into the smallest ball possible. Brutus sat close by, looking unhappy until she reached out and stroked his soft gray head.
“You sure?” Sharo finally looked at her and the warning in his dark eyes was serious.
“Yes.”
“You sure you wanna wake up? After this you may never sleep again.”
Somehow she knew he wasn’t talking about literal sleep. She nodded.
“Alright.” He toyed with his empty glass, pausing for so long that she wondered if he forgot she was there. But she didn’t dare break the silence. “You know Marcus’s sister?”
“Chiara.”
“You know how she died?” He picked up the wine, refilling his drink and keeping his hand on the bottle’s neck.
Cora looked at her hands. “My mom killed her.”
Sharo downed his second drink. “That wasn’t till after. First the Titan brothers raped her. All three of them. She was stabbed, multiple times—I guess when your mom came in and found what they’d done. Maybe she was mad at Karl for cheating on her. Maybe she hated old man Ubeli that much. Or maybe it was for the power. But Chiara bled out on the mattress where they had her chained up.”
Cora sat frozen, her hand still on Brutus’s head. She’d never thought through the particulars of that night so long ago. She hadn’t wanted to, she saw now. She was going to be sick.
But Sharo wasn’t having any mercy on her. He was going to tell the story no matter how much it hurt either of them. And it hurt him, that was clear enough to see by the glaze in his eyes and the hitch in his voice.
“Chiara was safe at the Estate, but she got a wild hair and took off. That’s when they snatched her. We knew she was missing, pulled every fucking string we could to find her. In the end, a snitch found her. Too late. She’d been dead for a day. Fuckers left her alone to die, stabbed, covered in their filth.”
Sharo’s hand shook a bit on the bottle, a gold ring he wore on his right hand’s ring finger clinking against the glass until he clenched it, hard enough for his knuckles to pale.
“Marcus saw her and lost it. He was still a kid.” Sharo looked across the couch at her, his eyes filled with black memories. “But that was the day he grew up. Not the day they took his parents, not the year after. It was the day we found Chiara, that was when he left. Didn’t even wait until she was laid to rest. Cried, last time I’d see him cry, and disappeared.”
Cora gripped her arms around her legs to keep from shaking. Her eyes were dry; she had no tears for this. Sharo kept speaking, his deep voice echoing in the pit of this bottomless night.
“Took me a year to find him. He was fucking homeless for months before he found his way. Trained as a fighter, and came back to New Olympus. By that time, the Titans had been in power two years, and most of Old Man Ubeli’s empire was gone. Marcus built it back, and didn’t stop until the last one of them was driven out.”
Silence.
So this was why he’d left her. “I betrayed him and gave the Titans an in.”
“Woman.” Sharo shook his head at her like she was dense. “He sent you away because he can’t deal. Everything he’s done has been to protect you. And you leave your safe home—just like Chiara—and run to the bad guys. Doesn’t matter why you did it. He already lost his family once. He can’t lose you too.”
Cora didn’t know what to say to that. He was wrong, though. He didn’t see the look on Marcus’s face. He didn’t hear how cold Marcus’s voice was when he told her it was over. Marcus was a man who valued loyalty above all else. And she’d betrayed him. Without trust, what was left?
“You remind me of her, you know?” Sharo said, breaking the silence. “Chiara. She was sweet, but underneath was fire.” His voice dropped, so she strained to hear. “We’d do anything to protect that.”
The tenderness in his deep voice made her turn to look at him. Sharo’s muscular form was balanced, rigid, but he’d let the mask slip from his face enough for her to see the man beneath, the years of pain and torment.
Cora leaned against the arm of the couch, suddenly seeing so much.
“You loved her,” she whispered. Her stomach swam with nausea. “How can you even stand to look at me, Sharo?”
“Get some rest, Cora,” he murmured. And that was it. He walked out the door.
But all Cora could see was that young girl, violated over and over again by Cora’s uncles…by her father. And Mom had finished the job by…
Cora barely made it to the toilet before emptying the contents of her stomach.
Thirty-One
Zeke Sturm eyed the male nurse with thick, curly hair and enough muscles in his arms to suggest a fine body lay under his scrubs. He had to applaud his concierge medical care service—they’d hired a young man who was exactly his type. Watching the curly-headed lad move around the room, he contemplated pushing away the portable desk that was hiding his erection so that the nurse—Paul was his name—wouldn’t be able to miss it. With these young bucks, that was sometimes all it took.
“Sir, it’s almost midnight. You need to rest.” The nurse bent to pick up some clothes that had fallen to the floor and Zeke got a glimpse of his bright red thong peeking out from his turquoise scrubs. Bingo.
“I’ve been resting all day,” Sturm said, and it was true. The doctors had released him from the ICU and he’d done a photo shoot meant to assure the public their mayor was on the road to health, but that was about it for the day. He’d insisted on coming home to sleep in his own bed, under the care of his private doctor. “I have so much to do…it’s hard for me to relax.”
The nurse—Paul—straightened slowly and grinned at him.
Voices outside the room interrupted.
Zeke frowned and jerked his head. “Go find out what that’s all about.”
The nurse only had time to open the door before an aide popped in. “Sir, Armand Merche is here to see you.”
Zeke lifted an eyebrow. What was the young Merche doing here? “Send him in. And, take
the night off, Jones. I’m in good hands here.”
“Yessir.” The aide disappeared and Armand popped into his place, his thick hair wild over his more staid suit.
“Am I interrupting something?” Armand wore his usual mischievous grin.
Zeke sighed. “No, no, come on in.” He watched the young nurse leave along with his aide and didn’t bother to hide his disappointment.
As usual, Armand picked up on it. “Glad to see you’re feeling better. Any luck on nailing the bastard who did this to you?”
“We have a warrant out for Waters. We traced things back enough to charge him, but for the life of me I can’t think why he’d want me dead.”
“I can.” Armand sashayed up to the bed, drawing off his suit jacket and tossing it on a chair. Underneath he wore a lavender shirt, its slim cut outlining his lean, attractive torso. He held up a bag of white pills and Zeke immediately snapped to attention.
“Are those what I think they are?” Sturm held out his hand and Armand dutifully gave him the bag.
“Ambrosia. Brew, or Bro, they call it on the streets now.”
“Have you tried them?”
“I have actually. I thought they were sleeping pills. Took one and…” Armand smiled coyly. “Well, it turned into a pretty good night actually, but that’s neither here nor there.”
“I see.” Zeke wasn’t in the mood. The fact that Armand had this contraband was a problem. “And how did you come by these?”
Eschewing the chair, Armand seated himself right on the Zeke’s bed, facing him. “Your own police office. You have a breach.”
Dammit. Zeke frowned. “Who?”
“Your charming ex-wife.”
“Olympia?” Zeke tried to lift off his bed, but then groaned and laid back. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She used to treat the evidence room as her own personal locker.”
He tossed the pills down the bed and Armand picked them up again. “Why’d she risk it?” Zeke asked. “Stealing evidence isn’t a great career move for a former D.A., especially if she has designs on running for my office.”
Armand shrugged, fingering the bag longingly. “I guess she still cares about you. She knew they were Waters’ and returned them to him.”