by Ella Miles
Kai is stronger now; it could be a fair fight.
Liar. It would never be a fair fight. I should have just killed her all those years ago. I should have snuffed out her life like you put a wounded dog to sleep, because it’s kinder than letting them suffer.
I could choose her this time. I could save her, and find a way to lose.
But it’s no longer just about me. I look at the four pairs of eyes focused on me. Their lives rely on me too, as well as the hundreds of other men who work for me. The entire city’s survival depends on having a strong Black at the helm—protecting them from the evil. And as much as I’d like to think you need good to drive out the bad, it isn’t true. Only the cruelest, darkest of men can do what is needed to drive out the darkness.
I’m the worst kind of man. Because I brought Kai Miller back to life, only to destroy her. She thought she was broken before, but when I’m done with her, she will never recover. This time she will remain broken.
31
Kai
“Meet me in the library,” Enzo says, poking his head out on the balcony where I drink another iced coffee as dawn ascends. I don’t know why I’ve resisted sitting out here for so long. Why have I resisted everything?
“Okay. Why?” I ask, not tearing my eyes from the still haunting ocean.
“For once, can you just do what I fucking say without asking any questions?” Enzo snarls before leaving.
I frown. What the hell is up with him? The last time we were in the library we played truth or lies. Is that what he wants again? We still haven’t talked about what happened the last time we slept when he made me come. He vanished afterward.
I hate following orders, but right now it seems necessary to get my answers.
I run my hand through my long black hair that now reaches almost to my butt. I could really use a haircut. But why does it matter what I look like? I’m a prisoner. He wants me locked away, even if I won’t stay hidden much longer.
I’m wearing jean shorts and a spaghetti strapped shirt. The same type of outfit I was wearing the first time I saw him. I thought my life was devastatingly horrible then, but I didn’t realize how tragic my life was destined to be.
I carry my iced coffee to the library doors, which are closed surprisingly enough. I raise my hand to knock but stop myself. This is my home—at least for now. And Enzo invited me to the library. He’s expecting me.
I push the heavy door open and step into the dream-like room. I’ve never been a big book lover. I’ve never had time to read books; it was hard to find the time when I was focused on finding enough food to fill my belly. And I never had money to spend on lavish things like books. But being in this room makes me want to get lost in the spines. I want to go on an adventure and never return. Books might be the only way for me to do that.
Enzo is the only silhouette I see in the moonlit room, but with every second that passes, light continues to pour in as the sun rises in the sky. We will only be veiled in darkness for a few more minutes.
I walk and notice the chairs we sat in before are gone. Instead, there is a small table with two chairs at either end. This is business. Whatever he brought me here for, it’s not casual.
Neither is he. He’s dressed in a suit. Usually, when he arrives home, he loosens the tie or kicks off his shoes. He doesn’t today. His tie is still done up to his neck. His jacket still buttoned. The only hint that he’s already put in a day of work is the scruff of shadow on his chiseled jaw.
Enzo notices me. His eyes take every drop of me in from head to toe. He notices the clothes and the way they still hang loose on my body. He notices that I tried to brush my hair and that my skin has slightly more color after spending a few hours sitting out in the sun. But he doesn’t speak. Words are reserved for the meeting.
Instead, he sits in one of the chairs. I mirror his movements and sit in the other. I expect now that I’m seated he will start explaining why I’m here. He doesn’t.
The door opens, and Westcott enters. I cock my head. He never enters when it’s just the two of us.
He carries in a large tray with what looks like orange juice in tall skinny glasses, a tray of fruit, and cheese and crackers. He hands each of us a glass and puts the food on the table before leaving. I watch intently as he goes.
Enzo holds out his glass, and I clink mine to his before sipping. It’s bubbly as it goes down. There isn’t just orange juice in the glass; there is also champagne. It tastes nice going down.
“Since it’s morning, I figured mimosas would be more appropriate than wine or liquor. Even though we will both be going to sleep in a couple of hours.”
Mimosas, that’s right. That’s what these things are called.
“Stop stalling. What am I doing here?”
His lips thin as he cautiously sets his drink on the table. “Isn’t that the question you’ve been dying to know the answer to?”
I bite my lip. Is he finally ready to talk? Will he tell me why I’m here? Why he was sent to kill me in the first place?
“Want to play a game?” he asks.
My lips part in anticipation. Do I? More than anything.
I clear my throat. “Stakes?”
“The usual, winner asks all the questions. All of them, until they are satisfied.”
I nod. I feel like this is a setup. Like he’s going to lose on purpose in order to tell me his truth. But do I want him to win? Because after he made me come, I realized I want to tell my own secret.
I want to spill all of my secrets. I want to tell Enzo what truly happened, every painful memory. I want to tell him why I don’t like being touched. Why as much as I’ve healed, I will always be broken too. My secret could change everything. How Enzo feels about me. How he treats me. How he looks at me. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that. But I’m not sure I’m ready to hear his truth either.
Because I care about Enzo, I’ve learned to hate him less, and knowing the truth will probably cement his place in my send to hell list.
So I’ll play the game as always. I’ll do my best to deceive and figure out his truth. This time, I just don’t know if I want to win or lose.
“I’ve never been sold.
“I’ve never been raped.
“I’ve never been tortured,” I say.
He gasps as each word is spoken. Obviously not understanding any of my words or how a single one could be true. But we’ve bent the rules before. Last time we played, all of his were truths. So he knows that all of mine could be lies. Or all truths. And he doesn’t get to protest the results.
That’s how we play the game now. The truth is always well hidden, even from the game itself.
“Your turn,” I say, raising an eyebrow.
“I will never fuck you.
“I don’t regret letting you go.
“My real name is Rinaldi.”
I don’t react. I knew whatever he chose to tell me was going to be shocking. But after our last game, learning I’ve been gone six years instead of three, nothing he says will surprise me now. Nothing.
But his words still hurt. And all of them hold an air of truth.
He’s said plenty of times that he won’t fuck me. I’m damaged to him. Why would he want a woman another man’s touched and abused? He has plenty of playthings back at his club.
And of course, he doesn’t regret letting me go. Nothing touches him. Even the complication of me returning.
The last one makes the least sense. His real name is Rinaldi. Is Enzo his middle name or nickname or something? It seems completely out of left field if it isn’t true.
They could all be truths. They could all be lies. But I’ve made my decision.
From Enzo’s hungry stare, it’s apparent he has as well.
“They are all lies,” he says.
I take a deep breath in and out. Deciding how to answer so he will believe me. Because one of them is the truth, the rest are lies. I shake my head slowly, waiting for the confusion and acceptance to clear his face.
<
br /> One second passes, then another as we both stare. He tries to read my face. Tries to understand which of the three is the truth—which pain I never suffered. Or how I could make one of them fit my truth in my messed up head, even though it truly happened.
Finally, he slumps in his chair and says, “You were never tortured. At least you don’t feel you were because it would make you weak. It is the narrative you can control. They beat you, but torture requires the other person to submit to it. If you blocked them out, they never got in.”
I don’t confirm or deny his statement. I just choose my answer, preparing for the answers I’ve been waiting years for.
“Your name is Rinaldi.”
“Good answer. Yes, my name is Rinaldi.”
I narrow my eyes, not understanding. And it’s clear he feels he needs to give me more confirmation. But I believe him. My true name is Katherine after all, even though I’ve always been Kai.
He clears his throat loudly, and the doors open again. Langston, Zeke, and Westcott all walk in.
I cock my head. Have they all been outside listening this entire time?
“What is my name?” Enzo looks to the men.
“Your name is Enzo Rinaldi,” Langston says.
Zeke and Westcott, both nod, confirming the statement.
“Thank you; that will be all for now.”
The men file out of the room.
“What was that about? If you say your name is Rinaldi, then I believe you. No need to drag out men that would lie for you to prove your point.”
“My name has everything to do with it.”
“Okay?” I say slowly. “Then explain. Why do you go by Black if your name is Rinaldi? Did your father change your last name or something because he thought it sounded more menacing?”
He shakes his head.
“Black wasn’t my father’s true name either. We were both born Rinaldi. There is only one way you get to become a Black. You earn it. Black is a legend, a myth. The name alone sparks fear in anybody who understands the true origin of the name in this city. Black has been around for hundreds of years—passed on from leader to leader. It’s the name assumed when a new leader is born to Surrender. To the sea. To Miami. The world. It has to be earned.”
Black. Living in Miami, of course, I’d heard the name. I knew Black was the most dangerous man in the city; myth said the world. He offered no mercy. No prisoners. No survivors. But I never thought the myths were true. Always over exaggerated to get people to do his bidding. I thought he was Enzo’s father and that Enzo now became Black because his father either died or got too old to do the job properly. If Black doesn’t truly exist, it’s only a name assumed by a family of men when they take power; it makes more sense why all the rumors exist around the name.
But one sentence he spoke concerns me more than the rest. The position has to be earned. My eyes flutter up, my jaw clenches, and my hands fist.
“What did you do to earn the title?”
“I took out my opposition.”
I exhale. That doesn’t seem so bad. And it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with me or my predicament.
“Who was your opposition?”
His jaw tightens. “Only one of two people can take over the title—from two families with an arrangement. The most powerful offspring of each fight, in each new generation, for control.”
I nod, understanding more about him. How he felt trapped in this world from birth. He was. Destined to fight for a crown he may not have even wanted. But only the strong survive. So he had to be ruthless to gain his freedom. But he’s free now as their leader. Free to make any decision he wants.
“Ask,” he says.
“Who are the families?”
Maybe I know the other family, and that’s why this pains him. He killed someone he thinks I cared about.
I silently laugh.
He doesn’t realize there is no one I care about anymore—no friend worth saving. He could have killed Mason, and it wouldn’t have hurt me much after Mason failed in rescuing me. It may be heartless, but I lost my heart six years ago.
“The Rinaldis,” he says indicating his own family.
I nod, of course.
“And the Millers.”
I gasp.
“What? Miller as in…”
He nods. “Your family.”
“No,” I shake my head viciously as I laugh out loud this time. “You’re joking. My family isn’t strong. My family has nothing and is nothing. We have no money, no power, no control. We wouldn’t know the first thing about running an evil empire. This is ridiculous.”
“Your family was strong the generation before your father. They had money, power. Your grandfather was Black. He ruled the empire, but then your father lost to my father, and that started the Miller’s downward spiral.”
What?
“Usually, the loser helps the next generation out, getting ready to fight for the next battle by preparing them. Ensuring whoever becomes Black is the strongest of all the men.”
“But my father never told me. He never spoke of this to me. I had no idea that…” I can’t even say the words.
“That you are heir to a criminal empire.”
I nod.
“You are.”
“No, I can’t be. And you said man. I’m not male.”
“Usually, it’s a boy chosen as the one to fight. But since you are an only child and have no cousins…”
“I’m the only choice.” I drink down the mimosa with shaky hands not understanding any of this but needing something to soothe my nerves.
He sighs and then clears his throat again.
The door once again opens. A different man enters carrying a stack of papers. He brings them to me.
“I’m Archard, Enzo’s lawyer. These are papers going back generations explaining how control of the Black name and empire works. Here’s your father’s signature. And—”
“Mine,” I say looking at the ridiculous signature. It might as well be in crayon as big and half written as it is. But there it is—Kai M. I couldn’t write Miller yet, it doesn’t look like I’m much older than five from the way my name is written.
“We’ve met before?”
“Only once when we were kids. Our fathers were the ones to set out the rules for the next generation. That’s how it is done.”
I nod, my new world sinking in as Archard leaves.
Why didn’t you tell me the truth, dad? Why didn’t you prepare me for this? For the evil in the world? Why didn’t you protect me at least?
“This doesn’t matter anymore,” I lift the papers. “You won. You’re Black. You defeated me when you sold me. And even if you didn’t, the Millers aren’t strong enough to run an empire. We would have lost.”
“The Miller family has been weak for a long time, but it’s strong again.” His eyes stare at me. He means me; I’m the strong Miller he’s talking about. “But you don’t belong in this world.”
“I’m in it whether I want to be or not. But I don’t know why you are telling me this. You’re Black. You won.”
“No, I claimed the name wrongly. If I had killed you, I would have won. I would have a rightful claim to the name. The contract would have been finished, safe for another generation.”
“But there wouldn’t have been another generation of Millers.”
He nods. “The Rinaldi’s would have claimed the name forever. The old ways would have been over.”
“Why didn’t you kill me?” I whisper.
“I don’t remember signing those papers any more than you do. But I’ve known since I was a kid what my destiny was. My father trained me hard, assuming that when the battle came, I would win no matter my opponent. The families are usually tight-lipped on the number of children each has. Keeping secret who will fight in each generation. But in this generation, only a single child was born to each.”
I nod. He’s a machine, I don’t even know what the battle would entail, but I assume it’s dark and dang
erous. It would involve using a weapon, having other men attack. It would involve killing and blood—not things I could ever do.
“Of course you would win. But why didn’t you kill me? That would have ensured you the name and title—your freedom.”
“When I was given the assignment to kill you, I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know you were the one to be my opponent. But when I met you, I sensed something. Something wasn’t right. I wanted the truth, but it was clear you didn’t know your own truth.”
He sighs.
“All I had to do was kill you, and the empire was mine. I couldn’t. It didn’t seem fair. You obviously didn’t understand what you had a claim to.”
Enzo could have killed me. He could have won without making it messy. Defeated me and taken the name. But he didn’t. He showed me mercy, something I’m sure his father punished him for. But when he sold me, he was given the title. I used to think death would have been better than what I went through. But I’m not sure anymore.
“Thank you for sparing my life. I can’t forgive you for what occurred afterward, but I understand now the position you were in. And I thank you for doing the only thing you could to keep me alive while winning your own life back. But now that you have won the right to call yourself Black, to be the leader of savages, you can let me go. You don’t have to worry about me sticking around. I have nothing to stick around for. I’ll leave Miami forever.”
“I figured you would say that, but there is one important part you don’t understand.”
I stare at the papers in the middle of the table I have yet to read thoroughly. What’s the catch? Do I actually have to be dead for him to retain the Black name? Is he really going to kill me this time?
“I’m no longer Black. The second you were confirmed to be alive, I lost my title, my empire. I’m just Enzo Rinaldi again. I have no more power than you do.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re alive. The rules of the contract have not been met.”
“Then I surrender. You win; just let me go.”
He frowns. “It doesn’t work that way. I can’t. Too many people know you are alive.”
