Sonata

by Kenya Wright

  I opened it.

  Mom and I had made this last scrapbook, finding all her old pictures from when she was twenty. She’d been a college kid, working at a nonprofit health clinic for extra money. I’d learned during that time that Mom had met Aunt Celina first. She’d come to the clinic to get treated. Somehow, they’d become friends, although Mom never went into a deeper explanation.

  Now, I wished I had asked more questions. If Aunt Celina isn’t the person I thought, were you someone else too, Mom? What about Dad?

  I ran my hands along the baby blue fabric cover. It had been my mom’s favorite color. Tears fell. I wiped them away and opened the book.

  A picture of us decorated the front. Aunt Celina had been in the picture with Mom and Dad. I was just a toddler. Aunt Celina frowned. Mom smiled. And Dad glared at the camera. It was one of the few pictures with all of us together. Dried petals bordered the image. I leaned in and inhaled the scent of roses.

  I miss you, Mom.

  I flipped to the next page, took in the pictures, and went on to the next. A few photos I’d seen a hundred times—my eight-year-old-self upside down on a bed and pointing at glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on my ceiling, Dad dressed up as Santa every Christmas, and our cheesy themed yearly pictures. One year we’d worn Star Wars characters. I was Obi-Wan Kenobi. Mom was Princess Leia, and of course, Dad embodied Darth Vader. He always loved the bad guys.

  I shut the scrapbook for a minute and closed my eyes.

  Maybe, I should do this another time.

  Why did the best memories have to hurt sometimes? After Mom’s funeral, I must’ve lay in bed staring at these same images.

  Damn, I miss you.

  I opened the book and got to my parent’s wedding. These pictures always pulled a smile out of me. Aunt Celina had been Mom’s Maid of Honor. She’d been the only white woman on Mom’s side of the wedding party. The rest were my mom’s cousins and college friends. Different shades of beautiful black women. I’d grown up with most of the women and called them my pretend aunts. When Mom’s birthday or Mother’s Day arrived, they always called to check up on me.

  Fuck. I need to call them too.

  I studied the picture. The women all wore baby blue cocktail dresses and garish blue jewelry around their necks. White stockings covered their legs. And scary blue feather hats topped their heads.

  Wow. No matter how many times I look at this photo, those dresses remain ugly.

  I laughed and shook my head at Aunt Celina’s uncomfortable posture in the dress.

  She was cringing inside.

  Even Mom had admitted to how horrible those outfits were.

  Chuckling, I looked at Dad’s side. His brother had been his Best Man. I’d never met my uncle. He’d died in a car crash, when I was five. The rest of the men were ones I’d never met. Mom had said they were old college friends that Dad no longer wanted to hang with. I’d often wondered if that made him sad.

  When I was a little girl, there were plenty of times when he went off into the basement and sat in the dark, never making a sound. He would just sit on the floor and stare at the wall.

  I knew this because a few times I snuck in to watch and make sure he was okay. He must’ve known I was down there watching him like a creeper. I could never sneak up on him.

  I thought back to what my aunt had said long ago.

  “Your father has always been crazy.” Aunt Celina grabbed a bottle of wine off the counter. “Don’t worry about him. He can take care of himself.”

  “But Dad says he’s building a church. I’m supposed to be okay with that, and not go up and check on him?”

  “Yes. I have eyes on him. He’s fine.” She checked the bottles label and frowned. “This won’t do.”

  “What do you mean you have eyes on him?”

  “Just some people in town.” Aunt Celina shrugged and perused another wine bottle. “You know? Good neighbors that I can call on to see how he’s doing. You know how mountain people are? Good-natured. Bored and always willing to help.”

  Now I knew Aunt Celina had more than a few neighbors watching him. It was probably a whole group of Russians. That gave me some relief.

  I was about to turn the page, when I noticed one of the guys in Dad’s wedding party. The tattooed one that always made me wonder. He’d been one of his ushers. Black faded stars inked his neck and peeked out from his collar. It made me think that he had more tattoos under that shirt. His face looked hard too, but it could have been my new active imagination.

  I flipped some more pages and searched for more images of the man. He popped in a picture here and there. He had brown hair and a massive built. He attempted to smile, but it came off too rough, like he would kill someone if they flashed another camera in his face.

  Movement came from behind me.

  I turned around.

  The door opened.

  Jean-Pierre stepped through. “Good. You found the boxes.”

  “I did. Thanks for having my things shipped here.”

  While I’d planned on being in Europe, I still hadn’t picked where it would be. Dreams of playing in an orchestra was still at the top of my list, even though I spent more time fantasizing about Jean-Pierre.

  I’m going to get it together.

  He kneeled down by me, gave me a kiss on my cheek, and stared at the book. “Going down memory lane?”

  “Yes.” I turned the page and went back to the wedding photos. “I’m rethinking all my history now. I’m wondering about my life.”

  “It won’t be that bad. It’s just the past three years that may have been. . .orchestrated.”

  “Let’s hope.”

  Jean-Pierre’s gaze never left the images. “What’s this?”

  “My parents wedding.”

  “Hmmm.” He leaned closer to get a better view. “Your parents know some powerful people.”

  I pointed to the guy that had the stars on his neck. “Do you know who that is?”

  “Not his first name, but I know his son very well. That’s Kazimir’s step-father.” His expression hardened. “They’d called him The King. Long ago, he’d been Vory v Zakone—a thief in law. Later, the King ran the Bratva and was killed.”

  “And he was at my parents wedding?” I froze for a few seconds.

  “He’s on your father’s side of the wedding too?”

  It was hard to speak. “Yes.”

  Jean-Pierre sat down on the floor next to me. “Do you remember Russians in your childhood?”

  “No, but we stayed to ourselves a lot. Eventually moving to the mountains where Dad still lives. There were a few years, when I was even homeschooled. When people came to visit, it was either my friends or Mom’s.”

  He slowly flipped through some of the scrapbook. “But not your father’s friends?”

  “No.”

  “I never looked too deeply into your father. Louis went down to check on him.”

  “Check on him?”

  “At the time, I didn’t know who was fighting with me. I checked all the men around you, wondering if you had a protective dad.”

  “What happened when Louis went down there?”

  “Louis said your father was building a huge structure in the back yard. It looked like three levels of something.” Jean-Pierre gave me the scrapbook back.

  I set it on the side. “I have to call him and ask about this. Why would he have the Lion’s stepfather at his wedding. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe your father met Kazimir’s father through Celina. She was with his Uncle.”

  “Do you see his uncle in any of the pictures.” I gave him back the scrapbook.

  For several minutes, Jean-Pierre checked and shook his head. “No. Kazimir’s stepfather is the only Russian there. The only one I know.”

  “Maybe Dad introduced Celina to Kazimir’s Uncle.” I shrugged. “Not that it tells me anything more than the fact that I have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Don’t say that.” He set the scrap
book on the floor, rose, and helped me up. “We should talk.”

  I gazed at him.

  His expression remained hard and serious. “I’ve got really bad news, and I don’t want to keep you in the dark about it anymore. You have to know.”

  “What is it?”

  “I found this out yesterday, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted you to have one more happy night.”

  My heartbeats increased. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Leo and Vibrato. Someone killed them.”

  I held my stomach. “Leo is dead? No. That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone kill him?”

  “My men went to get your things and found his body along with. . .Vibrato.”

  My eyes watered. I turned away from Jean-Pierre embarrassed with my reaction. Leo and Vibrato had been two kind beings on this planet. They did what was right. They didn’t cause any trouble. They didn’t bother anyone, and more important, they weren’t involved in any of this bullshit. Neither was supposed to die.

  I hugged myself. “What the fuck?”

  From behind, Jean-Pierre wrapped his arms around me. “Whoever did it, I will find them, and I will kill them. Do you believe me?”

  I shook in fear and sadness. “I believe you.”

  “I swear.”

  I turned around and leaned my head against his hard chest. “Who did it?”

  “We’re searching.” He tightened his grip around me. “You’re safe. You’ll always be safe with me.”

  My voice weakened. “I know, but what about everyone else? I don’t want anything to happen to anybody.”

  “I put men around your father. If there’s anybody else, let me know. I’ll give Louis their addresses. Your family and friends will never know.”

  With shaking fingers, I wiped new tears away.

  “I’ll protect you, Eden, and I’ll keep anybody that you love safe.”

  “And…what about Aunt Celina? Is she. . .okay?”

  “She’s still running.”

  I leaned away from him. “Now more than ever, I have to talk to Shalimar.”

  “She won’t talk to you.” He stirred, put his hand in his pocket, and then pulled a black box out. “Rafael got to Shalimar first. She was pissed.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Shalimar said that all she was supposed to do was give you this.” He opened the box. A necklace sat inside with a beautiful silver violin dangling from it. “Your aunt’s message was for you to never forget who you are, or where you come from.”

  But who am I? And where do I come from, Aunt Celina? Apparently, my family has several Russian connections that I didn’t know about. Very powerful connections.

  “You have no idea who killed Leo?” I asked.

  “No.”

  My heart ached. “Who do you think it could be?”

  “If Kazimir is pissed enough, he could go after anyone I love and anyone they love. That’s his way, but. . .he hasn’t come for my family before. This feels like it’s unrelated to me. Kazimir has some rules. There would’ve been no need to kill Leo. And Kazimir is the Lion after all, he has an odd infinity for cats. There’s been stories.”

  “So, you think this is connected to my aunt’s hiding?”

  “Yes.” He tenderly grabbed my face with both hands, placing his warm palms on each cheek. “Eden, you are my everything. Someone’s hurt you. Because of that, I’m going to hurt them.”

  I swallowed.

  A fierce rage rippled in those blue eyes. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  He drank in my image. “You’re wearing my shirt.”

  I blushed. “I wanted your scent on me.”

  “I can fix that.” He kissed me, covering me with all of him and doing his best to push the sadness away. “Tell me what you need. Tell me how I can make the pain go away.”

  “Just hold me, please.”

  And that was how we finished the day. In each other’s arms. Swimming in our scents. Using the other for warmth and energy.

  The pain of Leo and Vibrato’s deaths kept my eyes red, and my thoughts sad. Thank God for Jean-Pierre’s huge arms and soothing words.

  I thought of Leo and how he taught me how to seduce Jean-Pierre.

  “Your eyes have to tell him everything about how you’re feeling,” Leo said. “That shit is so sexy. Eyes are a woman’s biggest weapon.”

  I straightened in my seat. “So, I’m staring at him…and I’m thinking about how hot he is, and all the things I want to do to him?”

  “Yes.” Leo gave me the blunt and took over pouring us glasses of wine. “And you have pretty eyes, so that’ll work on him. The first time I met you, I considered fucking you for one minute.”

  “But I don’t have a penis.”

  “There’s always that part.” He’d handed me my glass of wine. “Yeah. That’s lesson number one in this bloody escapade you’re about to get into.”

  “Give him the fuck-me eyes?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He cheered my glass. “That’s all I have for now. When you’re talking to him, don’t get nervous. No matter what. You’re always better off looking him directly in the eyes.”

  Sighing, I took a gulp of the wine.

  “You can do it.”

  I nodded and took another sip.

  “Oh, and this gets men too.” He set the glass down, gave me an intense stare for a quiet minute, and then he turned away, looking at something else.

  I grinned. “What just happened?”

  “That will hook guys every time. Give him that prolonged eye contact for a good bit of time, and then look away. That’ll make him crazy to get your attention back on him.”

  “This is good.”

  He scratched his head and the humor in his face left. “I hope it is good.”

  “It will be, Leo.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I think it will be.”

  “Stay safe, Eden. I’m serious.”

  “I will.”

  He left his side of the counter, walked over to me, and pulled me into a big hug. “I’ve got your back, no matter what. I’ll never judge. Okay?”

  Jean-Pierre ran his fingers through my hair, pulling me back to this new reality.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Thank you for what?”

  “Thank you for promising to kill the piece of shit that took Leo and Vibrato.”

  “No problem.”

  I was changing. Would I have felt comfortable with the idea of dead months ago? No way. But then losing a loved one did that. It made people want others dead and gone.

  Chapter 8

  Perfumed Pansies

  Jean Pierre

  Eden took the news as good as she could. Whoever had killed the cat and roommate would be my inspiration to a new blood song. Since I’d gotten Eden, I hadn’t played my bow much. There’d been no need to cause pain.

  But now someone chose to bother Eden.

  He’ll die slow.

  Last night, I’d made love to her with a ferocious passion. I hated the tears coming out of those beautiful eyes. She was never meant to cry or feel sad when she was with me.

  We slept in each other’s arms that evening, and she fell asleep with more tears streaming down those cheeks.

  Today I gave all business to Rafael. The Lion, and everything else, would have to be on hold. Right now, Eden needed me more than ever.

  After we ate breakfast, I took her to a perfume shop. My aunts adored it. They loved being able to make their own perfume and have it customized to their body’s chemistry.

  Yesterday, Eden had talked about wanting to have my scent all over her by wearing my shirt. I’d understood. I loved her fragrance too. The subtle hint of everything feminine and beautiful. Thank God I couldn’t wear her little shirts, or she’d find me with them on one day, embarrassing myself and looking like a lunatic.

  I held the shop door open for her.

  She gave me a weak smile. “What’s this?”
/>
  “I thought you needed a nice break from my condo.”

  “You talk about it like it’s not a castle in the air.”

  “It can be stuffy if one sits in it too long.”

  She smiled at me. This one real and hopeful. “You’re worried about me?”

  “I want to take care of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll always be there, but you know that.” I guided her through the store. “Today we’re going to create some scents. One for you and one for me. So, when we’re not around each other, we’ll have the bottles to keep us company.”

  “I love it. I’m also glad you didn’t think something was wrong with me for wearing your shirt.”

  “Never. I’m not one to judge another over obsession.”

  She laughed. It was low and soft. It made my heart melt because she’d cried this morning in the shower. She probably thought I didn’t hear her, but there’d been so much pain and suffering in her voice as she sobbed within the drumming of the water. Not knowing what to do, I’d opened the door a little and stood there powerless, wishing I knew who’d done it.

  Who killed Leo and Vibrato?

  This afternoon, I hoped to give her a few minutes of joy.

  One small laugh. Ninety-nine more to go.

  “Our sense of smell is the most powerful of all,” I said.

  “That’s a powerful statement.”

  “What’s better than your nose? You get a whiff of something, and suddenly you’ve traveled back to a memory where you’d smelled that same thing. The sense of smell triggers more than a reaction. Water can be hot. A bad song can hurt the ears. A wall can be blue. But would any of those things give you a memory?”

  “Your words are the only other thing I can think of.”

  I blushed for the first time in a long time. A silly grin hit my face. I pushed it away, not needing my men to see it.

  “Your words are so beautiful. I can see them. Feel them.” She kissed me. “Taste them.”

  I licked my lips, loving the sweetness of her.

  We walked forward, and lucky for her, because I’d been ready to take her back in the limo and fuck her.

  Calm down. This is about helping her mourn, not getting your cock wet.

  She scanned the space. “This place looks magical.”