I don't like difficult.
Four strides and I'm in the door, surging through the old, fucked-up whore house like I own it. Three guys come out to greet me in typical fashion, two of them with guns aimed right at me.
"Where's Arch?" I ask, keeping my cool and ignoring the guns.
"Carter?"
The man in question comes in from the right, his top half exposed, showing gangland tattoos in an attempt to prove his worth. He has little worth to me, and just about none when he's walking all over the city without respecting my rules.
"You went over the river, Arch." He backs off a step, hands held up in surrender before anything has even started.
"Aww shit, man. It wasn't ... I mean, we needed to 'cause the deal went south and …”
I keep waiting for an answer I'll like, knowing there isn't going be one, and eventually zone into thoughts of how much I need to do here rather than listen. I already know the facts. And those facts mean they didn't care, didn't worry enough about what might come for them if they pissed me off. And him still backing off from me as he speaks, his eyes fidgeting between me and the other three behind me, tells me everything I need to know.
The switchblade is out of my pocket, struck open, and thrown at his inside thigh before I think any more of it. He shouts for help, his hands clutching at the blood that starts pumping out from the embedded blade. A quick glance to see if the fucks behind me might try something, and I find their eyes wide at what's happening in front of them. Good. No threat to deal with.
"Don't cross the fucking river, Arch. No reason at all," I mutter, turning back to him. "You fucking hearing that?"
He nods and tries to step away from me as I advance on him, my hand reaching for my blade. I grab it and twist slowly, listening to the bellow of pain that comes out of him. It sends him to his knees, pressure from me helping to put him on the damn floor where he belongs. "My fucking rules. You want to live, do not cross the river." I lean in some more, pulling my gun out and shoving it at his head until he's flat on the floor so he gets my point, still ratcheting the blade around. "Are we clear?" He whimpers like the dog he is, unable to form words through the pain I'm causing. "Are we fucking clear?"
"YES! Fuck, man. Yes."
I pull the blade out as soon as he's said the word, content to let him rule his little roost for a while longer yet. As long as his team doesn't cross the river and cause me grief from the other side, he's a good runner. And that means more money for Cane. More importantly, more power.
More control.
"Good. You should keep some pressure on that," I mutter, washing down the blade with a bottle of water and nodding at his leg. He grabs at it some more, trying to stem the bleeding, so I turn to leave. "I'll let the other side know you've apologized, Arch. Don't fuck up again, yeah."
Because that might piss me off beyond sense.
And no one wants that.
Four
Terrance was a life saver.
After I spoke to him, I packed a rucksack with a few essentials and then raided the stash of cash I had tucked away. When I was little, playing in my mom’s wardrobe, I came across a plain black rucksack filled with a couple sets of clothes and some money. She told me off for being nosey, but also told me it’s important to always be prepared. I never gave much thought as to why she’d have that. It was just another one of those odd things about my family.
I never did pack a bag to have ready to pick up and go, but the idea of having money appealed to me. My allowance was obscene, especially considering I wasn’t given a chance to spend it on anything I wanted. When I started at Columbia, I got in the habit of withdrawing a few hundred here and there and keeping it at home.
That not-so-little stash is now a godsend. Especially as using my cards will give Uncle Nate a direct trail to me, just as booking a flight would.
Terrance picked me up in Brooklyn and stayed with me until I boarded the Greyhound at nearly three in the morning. An edge of excitement helped to keep my eyes open and alert, but that excitement was tinged with trepidation and worry as to what would happen at the end of all this.
I've never been anywhere alone. Torino has always been my walking, talking companion for reasons still unclear to me. For the first time in my life, I have this feeling like something is missing. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything on my own, and all the natural reactions to that are bubbling under my skin, even at this ridiculous hour.
The journey is so long with far too many scheduled stops, but I don’t have a choice. Twenty-four hours and I’ll be in Chicago. After each hour or so, I feel my eyes growing heavy and threatening to close, but then someone on the bus moves or makes a noise, and I’m on high alert, my eyes flashing around at my surroundings.
I counted six others as I walked onto the bus when we set out. We hit the road and travelled across state lines. With each state we’ve crossed, the number has increased, and my eyes have grown wary of each new passenger. I survey them, making up imaginary stories for each of them in my head, giving them epic motivations to be travelling across the country. Finding love, reconnecting with missing family, chasing dreams. The ordinary or mundane don’t have room in my sleep-starved brain, and the stories kept the guilt and paranoia at bay.
I can’t use my phone. It's been switched off since I got on the bus in case someone tracks it. I don’t want to see the messages of panic and worry from my parents or Torino either. By the time we transfer to the new bus in Indianapolis, I'm questioning the wisdom of my decision to take the bus. I want a shower, a bed and a decent meal. Plastic food from the roadside stops is anything but appetizing, and there are hours still to go.
When we finally pull up to Union Station, my heart jackhammers in my chest. What am I supposed to do now? It’s the middle of the night. Again.
I turn out of the station, cross over the river and all but stumble into the first hotel I see. After a late check-in, I fall into bed, and I’m out before I even bother to change my clothes.
* * *
My eyes unglue and my vision is flooded by an eerie light. It’s unfamiliar, and a bolt of adrenalin races through me for a second. Before I remember where I am and what I've done, I grab for my phone on the side, warring with myself and wondering if I should risk turning it on or even sending a message to put my mom’s mind at ease.
Am I being fair, running away like this? My father said that I acted like a child; that's the reason he treated me like one. Is this behaviour simply reinforcing his belief?
No.
I’m nineteen and free to travel on my own.
I don’t need their permission. I brush my mental argument away as I pull back the covers and dive for the bathroom.
The hot water is bliss on my skin. Washing off twenty-four hours of travel doesn’t take long at all. I change, repack my bag, and count my remaining money—just under two-thousand dollars after the bus fare and hotel stay. That won’t last long if Uncle Quinn doesn’t let me stay with them.
My sudden defiance and departure might not be in my nature, but this has been building for years. Years of unanswered questions and refusals, and the dam has burst. I need to experience freedom for myself. This is, in a funny sense, the first step on that path of discovery, and so far, I've done just fine. Nothing bad or sinister has happened. I want to see what Sofia Vico—or rather, Winters—is outside of her academic career. And if Benjamin Vico won’t let me, I’ll find someone who will.
After a much-needed coffee and breakfast, I head out and find the nearest store to buy an old model iPhone. I hook it up to the shop's Wi-Fi and restore some of my contact data from the cloud. This way, I can go online and use my phone without tipping off Uncle Nate or whoever else my dad has got trying to track me down.
I send a quick thank you text to Terrance and let him know I’m okay. The pull to hit the call button for Mom is so strong, I have to stow the phone away. This is my chance to do something, anything, on my own for the first time and get some answer
s. I don’t want to waste that within the first day.
The sun shines brightly through the towering buildings of the city, and I want to test my new-found liberty from my previous life. But that needs to wait until I'm settled.
It’s Monday morning, and I hope Uncle Quinn will be at work. I don’t want to arrive at the house unannounced, although I’m sure Aunt Emily would be pleased to see me. However, it's Quinn I’ve always gravitated towards, who I’ve always wanted to ask questions of. He's also the person my father has always wanted to keep me away from, more than any of our other family members. Another sign of defiance, perhaps.
The Cane head office is listed as downtown, probably in some swanky building. I’ve never been to it before. All of our family gatherings have been in hotels in various resorts or back home. I’ll try there first, and if luck isn’t with me, I’ll grab a taxi and try Emily. I walk to the office listed on the website and navigate via my phone to arrive at a wall of glass. The lobby has the Cane insignia etched into the wall, six gold plaques marking different levels of the building—marketing, finance, operations, corporate headquarters and ...
“Can I help you, dear?” A polite but stern looking woman wearing an earpiece raises one arched brow at me.
“I’m here to see Mr Cane.”
“Do you have an appointment?” She eyes my casual look and bag, making a judgement in her own mind before she’s even heard me out.
“No. I don’t need one. Excuse me.” I raise my head, square my shoulders and head to the elevators. She doesn’t challenge me, and I have to wonder why that was so easy. However, which floor? I scan the buttons in the elevator, searching for something that might say his name. Nothing. But one button is gold. I press it, hoping.
When the doors finally open, they reveal another tidy lobby area and a corridor with a handful of offices on either side. Another woman sits behind a desk, but her eyes are sharp and threatening.
I march over to her desk. “Can you point me towards Quinn’s office please?”
“And you are?”
“A visitor.”
“He doesn’t have any visitors scheduled for today. If you’d like to make an appoint—”
“No, that’s fine.” I ignore her and walk off, hoping it’s in the right direction. I mentally study the distance between the doors on my right, calculating the width of the offices behind and hope that I choose the right one. My hand twists the shiny gold handle, and I enter the last office in the corridor.
As I sneak in and close it behind me, I mentally breathe a sigh of relief for guessing correctly.
“Sofia?” Quinn’s voice travels to me over the sparse room.
“Hi, Uncle Quinn,” I chirp back at him, stepping closer to his desk.
“Is everything alright? Is Hope okay?”
“She’s fine. At least, she was when I left.”
“Why does that sound like you’re up to no good?” His eyes narrow at me as he stands. He buttons his jacket and then fetches a bottle of water from the bar to hand to me.
He perches on the edge of his desk, eyes still trained on me.
“Look, I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Oh God. Sofia, please tell me that Hope knows you’re here. Benjamin?”
“Not exactly.” I shrink into one of the seats opposite his desk.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, bringing his hands to his temples. “At least tell me your dad knows you’re out of town. At a friend’s?”
“No.”
“Fuck, Sofia, are you out of your mind? What the hell are you thinking?”
“Stop, I know. I’ve felt the guilt the whole trip here, but please hear me out.”
“You’ve got about five minutes before I call your mother, and that’s only because I don’t want to be on a phone with Benjamin when I tell him where you are.”
“Don’t chastise me like I’m a child. That’s what I’m here to escape.”
His eyes run over me, assessing for a moment. “Running away is the fucking definition of a child, Sofia.”
“Well, you try living with Benjamin Vico and see how you get on with him. Childish behaviour is all I have left. And I’ve been patient, Quinn. I’m nineteen, not six.”
“I’m well aware of how old you are.”
“Good, then maybe you can do me the courtesy of treating me like an adult.” It’s my time to raise an eyebrow.
“Okay then, why are you here?” He crosses his arms over his chest, his face morphing into that version of him that tells me he's thinking.
“Well…” I take a deep breath. I have to make this work. “You and Aunt Emily were my first choice. I knew you’d at least put me up if nothing else while my dad thinks about how he treats me and the consequences to his actions.”
“Sounds like there’s more to that story.”
“Yes. But you wanted to know why I’m here,” I say, as I slip my bag off my shoulder.
He nods and circles his hand, signalling for me to get on with it.
“I’m stifled in my own life. I’m nineteen and I’ve barely had the freedom I need to complete my degree, let alone have any semblance of a life. He never answers my questions about anything, especially not the business. He won’t even get close to that topic, and forever sees me as a fragile flower that must be kept in the dark for her own protection. Well, I’m through with it.” My hands slash through the air, emphasising my words. “All of it. He’s never treated me like a Vico, and he never married my mother, so that makes me more Cane than anything. I’m choosing to be a Cane. That’s the other reason I’m here. I need you to fill in the blanks. Give me the answers to why people fear my father, what his name means in New York. Help me understand.” I take a pause to catch my breath and finish gathering the words to explain my plight. It's not like he doesn't know all of this anyway. And he knows the truth; I know he does.
“You don’t get to choose to be a Cane, Sofia. You’re born a Cane. Or marry a Cane. End of.”
“Well, my mother’s a Cane. What does that make me?”
“A problem.”
I stand, balling my fists at my side. “I swear, if you don’t help me, I’ll just disappear and find someone who will. I’m so angry, so frustrated, and I’ve only just begun to realise that, and—”
“Sit. Down.”
I obey without question.
“I thought I’d dodged this particular bullet with Logan. I can’t handle girls.”
“I’m a woman, Uncle Quinn. And your niece.”
“Fine. And I’m well aware of what you are. You’re also going to be dead when your father catches up with you.”
“And you won’t let that happen. Not yet anyway. I’ve come to you for help, not to tell on me and send me packing. If that’s your intention, I’ll leave now.” I grab my bag and start walking to the door. I can come up with another plan on the road.
“Sofia, calm the fuck down.” I freeze. “And sit the fuck down.” I crawl back to the chair again, dumping my bag. My uncle’s language is worse than Dad’s. At least he doesn’t try to hide it from me.
“Look. Maybe—and it’s a big maybe—you can stay at the house for a few days. Emily would love to see you. And Logan is around. He’s… learning the ropes so to speak.”
“See, he’s a year younger than me, and you have him ready to take over the business.”
“He can take you out, show you around, help you find your freedom, as you say.”
“Great.” My smile is big and fake. I don’t want a babysitter.
“He’s at the office now. You can head back to the house. Relax, see Emily.”
“And?” I prompt. I didn’t come to Chicago for a holiday.
“And, do whatever Logan has on the schedule. Carter is overseeing him. You can ask him questions. Business. That’s what you want to understand, right?”
“Very well, Uncle Quinn.” I know he’s placating me. But right now, I’m winning, and I know this could have gone a lot worse.
I go over t
o him and wrap my arms around his neck. Ever since I was little, I’ve insisted on hugging him, even though he isn’t comfortable with that kind of affection. It's become a standing event to offer him my hugs, and feel his awkward reply, each time he's been to visit us.
“A few days. Then you’re on a plane back to New York.”
“Great. Of course.” My fingers cross out of sight.
He rounds his desk and grabs his phone, punches a few buttons and waits a moment.
Logan strolls into his office less than two minutes later.
“What’s up, Pops. Whoa, Fia. What are you doing here?” He flicks his eyes between his dad and me.
“She’s here to do the same as you for a couple of days. Work experience before she buries herself in the next layer of education. Isn’t that right?” Quinn prompts.
“Yeah. Work experience. You don’t mind? Uncle Quinn said you’re learning things at the moment, anyway.”
Logan, the spitting image of his father, stands there lost as to what to do next.
“Great. Alright.” He pushes the words out between clenched teeth.
We’re cousins who've seen each other only a handful of times over the last ten years. We can hardly call each other friends.
“But first, you’ll take Sofia home, fill your Mom in and take the day off. Carter can go with you. Whatever.” Quinn waves his hand as if dismissing us.
“Okay.” I shrug my bag onto my back and wait for Logan to lead the way. I’ve never met Carter anyway. Guess now is as good a time as any.
Logan smirks at me, now acting every part the Cane I guess he wants to be. He doesn’t hide the drop of his eyes to my chest, and my scowl tells him I noticed.
“Um, right. I’ll just head back out then and meet Carter. Fill him in.” He indicates with his thumbs that he’s going to duck out, and I’m left waiting.
I’m not thrilled by the idea of Logan’s company for the next few days, but in the space of ten minutes, I’ve gotten closer to the business Quinn operates in than I’ve ever done with my father’s. The business that has my name all over it; if I choose to take his surname after all. The business that I’m barred from asking about or knowing what it does to earn me the allowance and luxury that I’ve been brought up surrounded by.
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