by Sadie Black
It was time to start fresh. It was time to get back on track to chase the dreams she’d had as a university graduate. It was time to get back in touch with her old editor and try to get back on her feet. Ciara grabbed her phone from the coffee table and dialed his number. The phone rang twice before the call connected.
“Killian?” apprehension edged her question. It hadn’t been all that long since she’d resigned, but Killian led a hectic life, and she wondered if he’d remember her at all. Someone at the office did, based off of the TCD articles floating around.
“Speaking. Don’t tell me this is who I think it is.”
“If you think it’s Ciara Simmons, then I won’t tell you.” It felt like crawling back to an ex-boyfriend after a nasty breakup. The choice between Luka and her career was a difficult one, and apparently she chose wrong. If Killian took her back on the team, maybe she had a shot at happiness again. Purpose would distract her from grief.
“Listen, it’s a bad time for me right now, but I don’t want you to think that’s an excuse to get you off the phone. If you want to talk, come meet me at The Squeeze at nine, okay? I’ll see you soon.”
Before she had a chance to say goodbye, the call disconnected. Ciara flopped back against the couch, checked the time on her cellphone, and rubbed her tired eyes with the back of her hand. It was just a little after seven now, and if she wanted to look professional, she’d have to get up and fix herself up.
Ciara picked herself up and walked to the bathroom. In some rooms more than others, Luka’s absence was obvious. In the bathroom, it was painfully so. No second towel hung over the top of the glass shower door. No second toothbrush sat on the shelf over the sink. None of Luka’s soaps and lathers and shampoos and shaving creams and colognes cluttered the shelves. In an attempt to mask the emptiness, Ciara had spread her belongings out in the places his used to occupy. It did little good. A new apartment would be the only cure. Tonight, with any luck, Killian would give her the job she’d need to afford it.
The water ran and warmed. As it did, Ciara stood before the vanity and plucked her eyebrows, reshaping them back into respectability. She stripped from her sweatpants and oversized graphic t-shirt and stepped into the shower. Warm water slid down her skin warming her from the outside in. Ciara let herself sigh in delight and closed her eyes.
Small comforts were all she had to enjoy for the moment. Being a human blob for the last three days hadn’t done her any favors — trying to keep up a normal life was the only cure for such a sour mood. There was nothing productive about languishing in self-pity. She was a stronger woman than that.
Ciara turned off the water and towel dried. Freshly polished nails completed her restoration. As she waited for the paint to dry, she browsed her wardrobe to find the perfect outfit. TCD had covered the breakup, and Killian would know she’d been hiding from the world. Tonight, she had to wear something professional, but that said she wasn’t upset or ashamed of what had happened. That she was ready to have fun again.
The January winds made dresses a poor choice, so Ciara settled on black skinny jeans and a top spun with white and metallic gold thread. Ciara examined her figure in the mirror. Perfect. Once she had her makeup on, it would be business as usual. If Killian didn’t already know better, he’d never guess that she had had her heart ripped out and stomped on.
It was five minutes to nine when she arrived at The Squeeze. The juice bar served smoothies during the day, but during the night, catered to a different crowd. A bouncer at the door stopped Ciara in her tracks. Although he wore a thick jacket to combat the plunging temperature, she could see he was a man no one wanted to be messing with.
“We’re at max capacity,” he said, moving between her and the door. “Garbonzo’s down the street still has room if you’re looking.”
Ciara shook her head, hands dug into her pockets.
“I’m with Killian,” she told him. The man looked her over, grimaced, and glanced back at the door for a second as if he hoped to find Killian standing there.
“Yeah, okay. Name and ID then?”
“Ciara Simmons,” she said. ID produced from her pocket and given to the bouncer, he looked it over. The grimace turned into a frown.
“Shit, the Ciara Simmons? Oh man, I don’t follow any politics shit, I think that it’s all just hot air, but my girlfriend has been talking about you since the beginning. I think she’s a little crazy to be honest, not like a stalker or something. I mean she just hates how all the news and gossip mags for dragging you through the mud. So are you okay?”
The news was unsettling. Ciara knew that the media had been reporting upon her, but she’d never considered the other side of that equation — if her face was in the papers, it meant that the people reading about her were forming opinions. Even if they were few and far between, exposure like that meant that she had fans.
The bouncer, once gruff and unsavory, grinned at her. “Killian said he was waiting on a guest named Simmons, so you can go on in. Do you think I can just take a quick pic so I can prove to Clara I’m not pulling her leg?”
“Sure. Why not.”
The bouncer hunkered down beside her, snapped a selfie with the two of them on his cellphone, then moved away from the door to permit her entrance.
“Thanks. Really, you have no idea how much it’s going to mean to my girlfriend. I hope you don’t let that punkass pussyboy Belmonte get you down. If you want to date a real man, I’ve got plenty of single friends I can introduce you to. Just come on back here and find me if you decide you ever want some digits.”
Insanity. Regardless, Ciara flashed him a smile and bowed her head.
“Thanks. I promise I’m going to be just fine. You take care and don’t freeze out here. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Later.”
Thudding, swollen bass rattled the floorboards and lit the night up. Electronic beats pulsed further within, she wondered how she’d be able to talk to Killian over the noise.
The lights along the ceiling were lit up, bright white pinpricks like stars far overhead. Ciara saw figures dancing beneath sweeping purple lights and bright strobes. The clientele was overwhelming masculine, but here and there she spotted women chatting away with groups of gorgeous men. Killian was yet to be seen, but the place was crawling. Ciara moved through rows of tables, dodging waitresses carrying holders filled with test tube shots, to try to find her old editor.
Killian sat at a small table toward the back of the venue, blended drink in one hand, phone in the other. As he sipped, his thumb danced across the touch screen, composing a message. When Ciara approached he looked up, but his thumb didn’t stop moving.
“Here’s a face I thought I’d never see in person again. How are you doing, Ciara? I hear that things have been rough over the last few days.” Killian set his drink down to gesture at the free seat across from him, and Ciara sat.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, and meant it. If she was in Killian’s position, facing the stress he faced, she’d never entertain a conversation with an employee who bombed as hard as she did. Ciara knew she’d wasted Killian’s time and betrayed his trust, and yet he was giving her another chance. “I’m doing okay. It’s good to get out.”
“I’ll bet. I’ve heard rumors floating around the reporting mill that you’ve been locked up in your condo. I wasn’t sure you’d show at all.”
As she’d expected, Killian knew exactly what she’d been up to, and she had reason to believe that he understood the circumstances behind it. “I figured that, I’d be a fool not to come out. If you’re willing to see me, that tells me that you’re not still upset with me for killing my story. I know that I should have come to you and told you what was happening before I got pulled in too deep. I want to know if I can come back, Killian. I want to report again. If you give me a second chance, I swear I won’t botch it this time.”
Even against the pounding music through the wall, Ciara could hear the man cluck his tongue. Killian’s thumb, which hadn’t stoppe
d moving across the screen as they spoke, paused. The man took a drink, swallowed, and sighed.
“No.”
Ciara’s stomach dropped, and she sat back in her chair. All of that for a dead end?
“You’re too good for TCD. It’s a place for reporters who like getting down in the dirt. You’re better than that, and not just because you dated a hotshot. Your skills made me hire some fresh face right out of college, and I know you can use those skills somewhere more challenging. Somewhere more to your tastes.”
Maybe it wasn’t such a dead end after all. Ciara sat back up and gazed at Killian from across the table, taking in his every detail. The man’s bald head gleamed beneath the distant lights, and there was a pensive look in his eyes.
“But having dated a hotshot isn’t going to hurt your chances, either. If I were you, I’d use my name and get my foot in the door somewhere big. Somewhere real. Put that passion and education of yours to good use and force that door open. That’s what I’d do.”
It was exactly what Ciara didn’t want. Luka had been an important part of her life, but she didn’t want him to define her. To use the Belmonte name felt like a cop-out. Ciara wanted her talents to speak for her, not the name of a man she’d once been connected with. She shook her head.
“No. I can’t use Luka’s name. I want to know that I was the one who went out and did the leg work, that I was the one who got the job. I need to know that I did this myself.”
With an exaggerated sigh, Killian shook his head.
“Tell you what. You came all the way out here and risked embarrassing yourself in front of an old editor when I know you’d rather be at home watching some romcom chick flick. I don’t want you to leave empty handed. Here’s the deal: I know a couple of people at a real, honest to god, reporting agency.” Killian’s thumb had begun to move again, as though it had a life of its own. “I’ll get you through the door there, but it’s up to you to set down roots. Got it?”
Ciara’s lips parted in surprise, and she found herself temporarily tongue-tied.
“Girl, come back to Earth,” Killian encouraged her. “You’re going to need to be on your toes wowing these people, okay? I just sent off the email. When I hear back, I’ll forward you the contact links and the conversation, and it’ll be up for you to arrange the rest, got it?”
“I— God, Killian, I can’t thank you enough. I got it.”
“If you make a fool of me,” Killian warned her, “not even your connection to the mayor will save you from my wrath. Got it? Reputations are sacred in this industry, and I’m putting mine on the line for you because I know you got this, but you burned me once already. I’m probably crazy, but I’ve had a couple smoothies already, and I’m just about cooked.”
A grin bloomed inside, and Ciara let it free. Maybe her time with Luka was at its end, but she’d find passion again. Killian’s kindness alone already promised her a future worth fighting for.
“What can I do to make it up to you?” Ciara asked. For a moment, Killian hesitated. He downed the rest of his drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then looked her over pensively.
“You can come dance with me,” he announced. “Let’s celebrate new beginnings and get you feeling back to your old self again. No more hiding.”
Ciara had no reason to hide anymore. A night of dancing, of drinks, of fun, was the first step up the ladder back to normalcy. And hopefully by the end of tomorrow, she’d be striking up a deal for her next big break in New York City.
Life was different now, but it didn’t mean that it was bad. If Luka was history, then she needed to move on. The hole in her heart would heal with time. She’d find herself again.
* * *
Luka
The old hinges on the bedroom doors in Gracie Mansion creaked, the long groan awoke him from his sleep.
Vittore.
Heart racing, Luka scrambled to sit upright and squinted through the darkness at the figure now blocking his only escape route. As his eyes adjusted to the poor light, Luka picked out soft, smooth curves and a tall, narrow form. It was no man; the person in the doorway was distinctly female. When she spoke, Luka’s heart still raced, but now from excitement instead of fear.
“Luka, I miss you so much.”
Ciara.
Luka’s fists curled in the sheets, and he found himself momentarily unable to form words. The darkness cleared further, and he could make out the high rise of her cheekbones. Then the beautiful shape of her eyes, the pale light of the room catching in them as though she were a creature of exquisite fantasy. The shadows played across her body, and Luka made out the sheer, billowing baby doll nighty she wore. The same one he planned to buy her for Valentine’s day.
“Don’t make me leave,” she begged him as she approached. Luka’s heart ached at the sight of her; he knew he could never turn her away.
“I won’t,” he said. The timber of his voice wavered, on the verge of tears. Had the weakness been for anyone other than Ciara, he would have detested it. Now, his own insecurities didn’t even register. All that mattered was that Ciara was here. He made a terrible mistake. Why hadn’t he fought to find another way?
No matter how he longed to crawl down the bed to join her, no matter how he struggled to lift his legs and move his arms, he couldn’t. Why was he so helpless? “I’m sorry,” he told her, words pouring free and sincere. “We’ll find another way. We’ll figure this out together. We’ll—”
The door to the bedroom burst open, and Luka’s eyes shot from Ciara’s ethereal form to the intruder. Fear returned. Luka’s arms and legs remained locked even as Ciara gasped and turned from him. The figure in the door frame remained masked in shadows, but despite the lack of details, Luka would recognized his silhouette anywhere.
Vittore.
“Ciara, get out!” Luka barked. She didn’t respond. It was like Luka was no longer there.
“Oh my god,” she whispered, backing up against the foot board. The Don’s shadow approached, and Ciara remained pinned to the wooden frame. “Please, please just leave me alone!”
Stuck sitting upright, limbs like lead, all Luka could do was watch as the scene unfolded before him. Each of Ciara’s breaths rose and hitched in the quiet of the room, but no amount of noise would hide the telltale click of a handgun’s safety unlocking. The shadows did not flee from Vittore as he approached, as though he were made from nightmares and myth. Sweat beaded on his brow as he strained to be free from his paralysis, but it was no use.
Ciara shrieked. The sound of a gunshot rang out. Ciara crumbled, like a doll cast to the floor, she collapsed into a heap. The gleam of Vittore’s white teeth spread like an accordion.
“Ciara,” Luka gasped. The hold on his limbs broke, and he scrambled across the bed and clutched at the foot board as he gazed down on her body. Instead of blood, creeping shadows pooled down her chest and onto the floor. Vittore had disappeared.
The more the blood-shadows spread, the fainter Ciara’s outline became until she was a ghost. From crouched on the cold wood floor to tucked beneath the blankets, Luka’s eyelids sprang open. The room spun. Disorientation gripped him down to the bone and refused to let go. It was just another dream.
Minutes passed. Luka lay alone in bed, the dream fading from his mind. Had a night gone by where he hadn’t dreamed of Ciara since he’d been forced to leave her side? He couldn’t recall one. Every night she haunted him. Sometimes showering him with the tender the love he missed, sometimes destroying his spirit as she died in front of him.
To think that despite his sacrifice she could still be in danger ate at him. With a man like Vittore, there was no telling if their breakup would be enough to draw the heat off of Ciara. It had been a gamble, but so far it had paid off. No news had come to him of Ciara’s death, and Luka knew the media would bombard him with requests for statements should such a tragedy come to pass. The death of New York’s most eligible bachelor’s ex-fiancé would be a headline few papers could resist.
Head clearing of the jarring nightmare, he stretched, then rose from the bed to shut the alarm off before it started. A shower and a shave later, Luka dressed and headed from the residential side of Gracie Mansion to the business side. Despite the early hour of the day, the office was abuzz with an unusual amount of activity. Men in suits whose names he only vaguely remembered rushed around, and his secretary, Blaire, rose from her seat to greet him. There was a glint in her eyes that spoke to the excitement, but Luka found it hard to care. The weight of the dream still weighed heavily on him. Today would be another day where his thoughts lingered with Ciara no matter how much he threw himself into his work.
“Mr. Belmonte,” she said in a rapid, hushed whisper, “I’m so glad you’re here. The police chief is here, and he insisted on waiting for you. He’s waiting in your office now.”
For as excited as Blaire was, Luka’s heart sank. While he dealt regularly with chief Linford, after the dream he had that morning he couldn’t help but feel as though bad news waited for him in the office. Had his worst fears come true? Was Ciara dead? Luka bit back on his emotions and kept his expression somber.
“Thank you, Blaire. If you haven’t already, cancel my eight o’clock.”
Before Luka’s hand met the doorknob, he paused. “Unless it’s my own mother calling from her deathbed, I don’t want any interruptions while I’m with the Chief.”
“Of course.” Blaire had already picked up the phone and had the receiver pinched between her ear and her shoulder. “I have everything under control, Mr. Belmonte. No need to worry.”
He entered his office to find chief of police Linford sitting in the guest chair by his desk. Dressed in his formal black uniform, gold pins along his shoulders, Linford was all business. The black hat he wore sat on the desk, leaving his salt and pepper hair exposed. Thick eyebrows weighed down a serious expression. Although Linford was approaching retirement, he was still in fantastic shape. Built wide and powerful, body lean from years of serving, he stood when Luka entered just as spry as any young officer might. Age had lightened his hair and left his skin modestly wrinkled, but it had not betrayed his body.
