by Xavier Neal
Because they won’t stop shaking.
I cut the two men in the lobby who are, needlessly, washing the glass windows a small glimpse.
To the outside world, they look like diligent janitors.
No one would ever guess the one to the left used to be a Mossad agent and that the one to the right is concealing an assault rifle in his window washing kit.
This is what has become necessary for the time being.
Until I have more answers than questions, until the love of my life – who is carrying my fucking child – is home in my arms, in our bed, this is the way it must be.
Everyone is to be watched while being led to believe they’re just being protected.
Those doing the watching of those who were there that night are being watched by Miko and Miko is being watched by me.
It is not that I do not trust him.
It simply provides me with a sense of control I desperately need.
Cooking for Chantal used to do that.
It calmed my nerves and cleared my head – all while nurturing the relationship we were cultivating.
I often find myself wondering if my pursuit in trying to rule her heart caused me to lose rule over my kingdom. Was I so blindsided by the bizarre act of falling in love that it left me perfectly exposed for this attack? Is this really the reason my father never bothered to love the woman he was with? Was it because he was actually a selfish, self-serving prick, or was it because he knew the risk was much too high?
Upon my arrival at Cerise’s desk, I politely state, “Miss Rodriguez.”
She jumps in her seat, knee banging harshly into the desk.
“Non romperlo,” Miko quietly chortles. “Sai che la tua futura moglie ti ucciderebbe se lo facessi.”
Don't break her. You know your future wife would kill you if you did.
The comment almost puts a smile on my face.
Chantal would want me to go to extreme lengths to keep the only piece left of her life outside of me alive. While I do not want to believe Cerise had anything to do with her best friend’s disappearance, I am not naïve.
Everyone has a price.
It is simply a matter of knowing and exploiting what that is.
Cerise tries to push the pain away, “Good afternoon, Benicio.” Her face quickly flinches. “Mr. Bennett.” Another wave of uncertainty crashes over her. “Mr. Benicio Bennett?” Panic pierces her brown gaze as she verbally flails, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say anymore. I don’t know how I’m supposed to react. I-”
“Mr. Bennett in the office.”
She forces herself to stop talking and rapidly nod her understanding.
“I would like to have a word in private, Miss Rodriguez.” Her immediate glancing around the workspace for eavesdroppers leads me to adding, “Behind closed doors.”
Cerise’s hands fly up in a twist of question.
Instead of answering, I simply motion my head for her to follow me. I lead us to the set of cubicles on the other side of the elevator, take a right, and stop at the first closed door available. I don’t bother knocking nor do I hesitate to open the door.
The woman inside who happens to be on the phone gasps at the unexpected invasion.
My command is presented in a non-negotiable tone. “Out.”
Her eyes immediately bulge in disbelief.
“Take any longer to leave and you won’t be allowed to return.”
“I’ll have to call you back,” the woman hurriedly states into the phone before hanging up.
Without another word the employee makes her way around her desk and past the three of us.
Afterwards, I instruct to Miko, “Aspetta fuori.”
Wait outside.
There’s no reluctance to do so. “Si, Capo.”
He steps back out and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of us alone.
As soon as there’s a click that indicates the moment is secure, Cerise draws in a shaky breath, tears congregating at the base of her lids in what feels like an instant.
“No,” I coldly state, hands diving into my pockets. “That is unacceptable.”
Her chin trembles in the obvious attempt to cease the silent crying.
“You have to hold it together better than this.”
Resentment ripples through her watery stare.
“Her life depends on it, Cerise.”
The declaration causes her to glance away, forcing me to watch a single tear trickle down her cheek.
I envy her.
I envy the ability to shed the sadness eating her alive on the inside.
Yes, I am denying her to do it here, in a public setting.
Where watchful eyes of the enemy could be observing.
However, she can unleash the heaviness on her heart in private.
She can lie in her bed and sob until it hurts to breathe.
I am not even allowed that.
I cannot allow Miko or anyone else to see copious amounts of pain pour from me in such a behavior.
I am left with no choice but to bury the misery that plagues every aspect of my current existence. The one person I would allow to see me in such a weakened state is the same one I am weakened from.
“We must continue on as though she is at home at the estate simply sick in bed.”
No words slip free.
Just more tears.
“I’ll have a memo sent out shortly that will confirm the created fabrication.”
Cerise sniffles yet remains silent.
“Your job will be to assist in aiding the rumors that she did indeed fall ill during her time away. Avoid condemning the meals that were consumed given that the places we would’ve attended we have contacts with as a company. Stick to specifics that only would pertain to you and your activities, for they’re less likely to cause possible contradiction upon her return. Also, the rumors revolving around my proposal are somehow already circulating, so you may confirm them, yet do not release any other details from the evening. Any questions?”
“Can you say her name?”
The unexpected retort causes my facial features to flinch.
“Can you, Benicio?” Cerise’s unsteady voice challenges me a second time. “Can you say my best friend’s name like she’s a fucking person instead of a problem you’re simply trying to fix?”
Her accusation burns more than I would’ve ever anticipated. Despite the anger and agony amalgamating in my veins, I keep my voice even and my volume just above a whisper. “She is my fiancée, Cerise. Of course, finding her is more than just a problem that needs fixing.”
“Then say her name.”
My lips press together in refusal.
“If she means so fucking much to you, then say her name.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I swallow my response.
“Why the fuck not?!” Her tear-stricken voice croaks too loudly right before her balled fists begin to pound my chest. “Why won’t you say her name?!”
Remorse runs ruthlessly along my spine.
“Why won’t you say her fucking name?!” Another strike is delivered to me over my lungs. “How could you let this fucking happen to her?!”
Questions I have, of course, asked myself.
Blame that I deserved laid upon my feet.
“Why is this happening to her?!” Cerise’s voice continues to decrease in strength as do her hits to my harshly heaving chest. “Why haven’t you found her yet?!” Tears relentlessly fall from her at the same time her face defeatedly crashes into the very area she was just abusing. “What if she’s dead, Benicio? What if my best friend is dead?”
“She is not dead.” The declaration is instant, although given in a broken tone. “She possesses more value alive.”
“What if you’re wrong? What if they’ve already killed her?”
“I’d feel it.”
My confession causes her to lift her bleary gaze to mine.
“I’d feel it if Chantal was no
longer with me.” I hold her stare regardless of how much it pains me to do so. “I’d feel it if my Mia Bella…my mate…my soulmate…was gone rather than displaced.” The ache in my chest that never seems to subside echoes the statement. “I will not stop hunting for her until she has been found and returned home. I will turn over every boulder, every stone, every pebble until the woman that is mine is back where she belongs. I am personally handling it. What I need from you…what Chantal needs from you…is to keep up appearances to prevent additional chaos from ensuing.”
A flicker of hope makes itself known in her stare.
“Can you do that for her?”
“Si.”
“Good.” I carefully remove her from where she collapsed and properly back onto her feet. “Dry your eyes and purchase waterproof mascara this evening. Change your lipstick to a softer shade. Fix your blouse. It is misbuttoned.” Smoothing my crinkled tie back out, I add, “Perhaps you should let down your hair, Miss Rodriguez. It will give your unsteady fingers a place to find purpose.”
Her hand reaches for a tissue on the desk at the same time she professionally replies, “Yes, Mr. Bennett.”
My fiancée’s best friend is issued one final polite nod prior to me exiting.
To no surprise, Miko’s flirting with the woman whose office we apprehended right on the other side of the door. Given the disinterested gaze that’s not hard to spot, it’s obvious the fake grins and light touches are being done to help keep her placated about the situation rather than any actual interest in fucking her.
This is probably the longest he’s gone without sex.
One of the younger, more attractive maids even offered the other night to help alleviate some of his stress in such a fashion, and he didn’t think twice about denying the proposition. I commend him for keeping his focus where I need it most.
Where Mia Bella…his other best friend…needs it most.
Thoughts of her start to coil through my airways, amplifying how difficult the simple ability to breathe has become.
I fight the urge to rub my chest.
I battle the one to squeeze my neck.
I swap the instinct to sniffle for a low grumble of my second’s name. “Miko.”
He shoots the woman a wink and dismisses himself from her presence to join me in vacating the premises. “Would you like me to have Perry bring the vehicle around?”
“No.” The belief that fresh air may possibly do me some good compels me to declare, “We’ll walk.”
Miko noticeably tenses and lowers his volume during our stroll to the doors, “Pensi che sia una buona idea?”
Do you think that’s a good idea?
“Yes.”
“Ma cosa succede se-”
But what if –
“Se qualcuno ha le palle per tentare di uccidermi in pieno giorno, dovrebbe essere lodato prima di essere giustiziato.”
If anyone has the balls to try to kill me in broad daylight, they should be commended before they are executed.
Against his own accord, my second smirks, pushes the door open to grant me access to the sidewalk first, and follows closely behind.
This isn’t about killing me.
This is about torturing me.
Ensuring that I’m feeling emotional anguish, hoping I spiral and slip up, so that whatever they truly want from me is easier to take. Now, whether the end game is money or my company or my reign over some of the most influential families in this country is yet to be known, but the moment it is, the initial hell that will be unleashed will feel like a fucking honeymoon in comparison to the bloody misery they endure after it.
Those are the reveries that have replaced the ones of bending Chantal over my desk to spank her for walking around the estate naked while I’m arguing in Japanese with a disgruntled member of the marketing team.
I no longer dream of orgasmic cries of pleasure.
Just gut-wrenching screams of pain.
Our walk to the second level of the nearby parking garage that’s designated for Bennett Enterprise employees only is done wordlessly. Sounds of busy downtown traffic buzz through the air at such an alarming rapid fashion it causes Miko to keep his hand resting on his holstered weapon. Nothing is noticeably out of place. No single face looks any more or less suspicious than it typically would on any other day. The only true change is now we know that we are being thoroughly watched.
That someone is lying in wait.
I look forward to educating them on why it was the most negligent decision of their existence.
At the SUV, Perry immediately hops out of the driver seat to defend himself, “I would’ve driven to the building to pick you up.” He quickly darts around to the other side in preparation of opening the door. “I didn’t get a call! I swear I-”
My eyes meet his on a calmly spoken, “Enough.”
His lips instantly press together.
“Vest.”
He hastily nods, maneuvers himself around to the trunk, and rushes to retrieve the object that would raise a vast amount of unneeded questions if worn during a boardroom meeting.
I cut my stare to where Miko is leaning against the passenger door. “Has he arrived?”
“Sì,” his eyes roam around the space for possible onlookers, “about twenty minutes ago.”
“Good.” Shrugging off my jacket is proceeded by another question, “Did he make his official requests yet?”
“He tried.”
“And?”
“They were…delayed…as directed.”
The corner of my lip twitches in an attempt to display a pleased grin as Miko takes custody of the shed article.
“You’re sure you have to physically participate in this operation?”
I quickly remove my tie and treat it to the same fate as my jacket. “Yes.”
“And, you’re sure that just like being on the premises isn’t enough?”
The tedious task of unbuttoning my white dress shirt begins next. “Yes.”
“And, you’re really fucking sure there’s not a loophole you can exploit in this shit?”
It isn’t until I’m completely finished with the action that I look back up again to grunt, “Yes.”
“But-”
“The principle is simple.” I slip one arm out of its sleeve. “The sinner must spill blood to satisfy the Syn.”
Miko’s lips purse to one side, clearly scouring his brain for ways around it.
You want the type of audience I’m requesting?
You pay the piper the way it is expected.
He should simply be grateful that it doesn’t specify whose blood has to be spilled.
That would add unnecessary difficulty to an already complex situation.
He slowly shakes his head in an objection. “I don’t like this shit.”
My fingers tug at the other sleeve in a pursuit to free my arm. “You have made your position regarding this decision quite clear from the beginning.”
“Because I don’t like it.”
“Do you not like it for what it is, or do you not like it being forced upon you?”
“Tutti e due.”
Both.
“We are out of options for the moment, Miko.” I continue tugging at the stubborn sleeve. “It’s all-” my voice abruptly stops due to more yanking, “It’s all-” the seemingly ceaseless pulling prevents me from finishing the thought. My eyes hastily dart down to spot the hindrance, and there’s no stopping the glare it ignites.
The watch that seems to tick when time is on my side and stop when it is not ceases all my movements.
This…gift…if it must be called that, has been the embodiment of the haunting question of what makes something a blessing or a curse. Was this malfunctioning present given to me to be the mocking my father wouldn’t be around to deliver when watching me whack my way through the wilderness of the world I thought I knew? Was this broken burden his way of taunting me from beyond the grave, wanting me to always be aware that death is endlessly lurk
ing, waiting to take you when she’s no longer entertained by the mistakes you’re making? Has it ever served me as anything other than a fucking reminder that no matter how hard I strive to control my surroundings, something will always be there to disrupt it?
Like how Chantal barged into my office demanding to be heard.
Like how she destroyed my plans for picking a wife by challenging me for my heart.
Like how she opened my eyes to a new way of ruling that is unprecedented for someone who bears my last name.
All of a sudden, the large breaths I use to soothe the burning in my lungs, the ones I use to keep my composure, are fed the roaring virulence. Flames of hostility scorch more and more of the minor stability I have managed to cling onto until all that’s left is unbridled wrath. An unhinged roar rips from my lips at the time I claw at the clasp of the device. Enduring small scratches to my skin are a miniscule sacrifice to the satisfaction that comes from smashing the damn thing against the side of the SUV. One hit is enough to fracture the fragile accessory, yet it’s nowhere near enough to mitigate the malice that continues to mount every moment the love of my life is missing. I strike it against the door again while releasing another hatred-filled holler. It echoes around the vacant parking facility as does the sounds of the object breaking apart piece by piece. Fragments that fall to the ground are met by a stomping fate. Another roar. Proceeded by additional hits to make more of the tiny parts cascade to the ground for a new round of trampling. The fury-filled cycle relentlessly rotates without interruption, leaving my knuckles blissfully aching from where they continuously collide into the vehicle and my vocal cords stripped raw from the shouting.
What remains at the end of my outburst is carelessly cast aside. I resume the activity of removing my shirt, something that’s significantly easier without the expensive blockade.
Miko quietly inquires, “Sentirsi meglio?”
