A Need So Insatiable

by Cecilia Robert

  Pulling into a parking spot in front of the restaurant, I hop out of the car and dash toward the entrance as fast as my heels allow, my lips pressed tight to stop from shouting at the top of my lungs.

  I skid to a stop as I near the door, my gaze centered on a small, hunched figure--wearing a greying cable-knit sweater--huddled against the wall to my left.

  I hurry forward, then stop and take two steps back, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

  “Tony?” He lifts his head from his knees. His cheeks look sunken, and an angry, red slash marks his right cheek. “What are you doing here? Kravic doesn’t know you’re here, does he?” I glance around quickly.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want to go back,” he says through chattering teeth. “I’ve been following you. I know Josef watches your house, so this was the safest place. I can’t go back.” The last word comes out on a sob.

  I scoot closer, subtly scanning my surroundings. What if this is a trick? I wouldn’t put it past Kravic. I dip my hand inside my bag and clutch the pepper spray, sliding my finger along the cool metal toward the nozzle.

  “Come on, let’s go inside,” I say.

  He scrambles to his feet, sways, and steadies himself with a hand on the wall, looking like he might topple over with just a slight nudge. He wipes his snotty nose with the sweater, then quickly shoots me an embarrassed look when his stomach growls loudly.

  “When did you last eat?”

  He shrugs. Are all teens wired the same way? With a last glance at our surroundings, I lead him inside the restaurant.

  Jace prances out of the kitchen with Carsten in tow, arguing. They stop when they see us.

  I touch Tony’s shoulder, my fingers meeting bone. The boy doesn’t have any meat on him at all.

  “Hey, Tony, why don’t you take a quick shower. We’ll have something to eat when you come back.” I turn to Carsten. “Show him the bathroom. Please.”

  Carsten stares at me like I’m insane--I’m starting to wonder if I am too--then nods. I mouth, “Thank you,” as they leave the room.

  Jace rounds on me, jerking her head in the direction of the bathroom. “Who was that?”

  “Tony,” I say, walking toward the bar. I toss my handbag on one of the shelves below the counter, shrug out of my jacket, and grab my jean dungarees and working boots.

  “Tony? As in the little minion who works for Kravic? The cemetery boy?”

  I nod, ducking behind the bar to change into my work clothes. Then I grab the tools I’d brought from home to refinish the scrollwork along the bar.

  “He was sitting out there in the cold when I came in. I couldn’t leave him to freeze.” I finally look up and find her staring at me, her eyebrows raised. “Didn’t you see the bruises? Shit, that boy . . .”

  I want to say that he reminds me of Lilli. The lost look in his eyes, the need to be loved and accepted, the fear. Shaking my head, I slip on protective gloves and start inspecting the scrollwork for any dents and chipped places that need wood filler.

  I exhale deeply, feeling Jace’s heavy stare on me. “My gut tells me to trust him, my heart screams at me to keep him away from Kravic, and my mind is telling me how stupid that idea is. But he said he doesn’t want to go back.”

  She throws her hands up in exasperation. “So, Mother Teresa, what are you planning to do with him?”

  I really wish I knew. “Let’s wait and hear what he says after he showers. Thanks for heating up the place, by the way.” Autumn has been unusually chilly this year; I suspect winter will be freezing.

  TONY SHUFFLES into the room half an hour later, wearing oversized jeans and a t-shirt. Carsten’s stash, I assume. He’s been bringing extra clothes in case he needs to change before leaving. Tony drops onto the seat next to where I’m standing. Carsten appears moments later, carrying a tray of food. He places it in front of Tony, who digs in without hesitation. Carsten’s made a habit of stocking the fridges and preparing meals for us when we work late into the night. I mouth, “Thank you,” to him again, and he nods, mouthing, “Anything for you.”

  “Don’t you think Kravic will look for you, Tony?” I ask, darting a quick gaze outside. I catch a glimpse of Gustav’s car sliding into one of the restaurant’s parking spots. I wipe my hands on my dungarees.

  Jeez, I need to calm down before I make everyone nervous.

  Tony’s chin trembles, his eyes darting from me to Jace. “I don’t want to go back,” he says, his breath spiking.

  “But you don’t have a place to live and sleep,” I say.

  “I can live and sleep here. Please, don’t let me go back. I swear, I’ll work hard. Please, Sophie--”

  Holy shit. The poor boy is outright scared.

  “Okay! Okay, Tony. It’s all right.” I turn to face Jace and Carsten. Carsten stares at the boy, then at me, frowning. He must be confused as hell. I’ve yet to tell him about the whole Kravic-and-Dad debt thing. Carsten’s already part of Olivia’s Circle, so I really should tell him. I can’t hide something like that forever.

  “We’ll talk later,” I say. He narrows his eyes at me and nods before walking back to the kitchen. “Jace, Will you please fill him in on what’s happening?”

  “She knows?” Carsten asks, eyebrows raised.

  She rolls her eyes. “Of course, I do. Come on, we need to talk, Blondie. Let me know if you need anything, Soph,” Jace says as she saunters toward the kitchen with Carsten in tow, his gaze stuck on her ass.

  If only Rafael was around. I’d ask him what to do. He seems to know more about Kravic than I do. He mentioned he knew the men watching my house. But I can’t imagine him mixed up with the likes of Kravic. That’s like oil and water. Isn’t it?

  My heart pounds in my chest as I clear my throat, watching Tony wipe his mouth with a napkin.

  “Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” I add the last part quickly.

  He nods, then greedily downs the glass of water on the tray before looking at me with huge, brown eyes.

  “Rafael.” He chokes and sputters, staring at me. “You know him?”

  “Van Rees?” He nods, his face pale.

  Why does he look like I asked him if he knows the devil?

  “He’s . . . the Master,” he whispers.

  “The what? Master of what?” Unless he’s the master of bringing women to their knees, which he totally is---

  “The boss man,” Tony says, his voice trembling again. “I don’t want to get in trouble, Miss Fisher.”

  Tony seems more frightened now than he was earlier, if that’s possible. Jeez! I pat his arm, hoping the contact will calm him down.

  “Call me Sophie.”

  He nods quickly, pulling his legs up to his chest. He drops his chin on his knees, shifting his gaze to the floor.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I say softly.

  I hurry to the counter and dig my phone from my handbag, scrolling through my contacts to Ben’s name. I could go speak to Gustav outside, but he creeps me out with his dark, tiny eyes that never seem to miss a thing. I swear, sometimes, when he’s staring at me--or rather my chest--he’s counting how many times my heart skips per minute.

  Ben answers on the first ring.

  “Ms. Sophie?”

  “No, no, everything’s fine. Well, not really. I need a favor.”

  “Anything.”

  I draw in a breath, then tell him about Tony. When I’m done, I hold my breath and wait.

  Ben is silent for what feels like ages before he finally says, “I’m switching places with Gustav. Will be there in fifteen minutes.”

  After ending the call, I return to where Tony is sitting. Poor thing. He’s huddled in the chair, snoring softly, all elbows and knees.

  I rearrange some chairs to break his fall, just in case, and cover him with my jacket.

  I might be laying my trust on very thin ice, but I don’t know what else to do. If I toss him out and something happens to him, I won’t forgive m
yself. And if his reactions are anything to go by, I can’t let him go back to Kravic.

  Ben arrives, and after discussing what needs to be done, I wake Tony. After another lengthy talk, Tony is adamant about leaving the restaurant. But eventually, we decide that isn’t necessary. As far as Kravic knows--or probably, assumes--Tony is still keeping his graveyard watch. It’ll take a few hours before he even realizes Tony’s missing. And, as long as Tony stays inside, Kravic might not guess he’s here. Tony agrees to stay indoors until we sort out the issue.

  God, what should I do? If I call Children Protection Services to report Kravic, I might put my sister, and my friends, in danger. He won’t let this go easily. He’s vengeful and doesn’t appreciate when something that belongs to him is taken away. I have to discuss this with Rafael first.

  Ben leaves and comes back forty-five minutes later with blankets and a mattress, using the back door to slip them in, just in case one of Kravic’s men is doing surveillance on Olivia’s Circle.

  Ben promises one of his friends will keep an eye on the restaurant for the rest of the night.

  Later, I debate whether to text Rafael about Tony, although I’m certain Ben must have informed him about what’s going on by now.

  Giving up fighting my conscience, I type, “Hi, Rafael. We need 2 talk as soon as U return to Vienna,” and hit send.

  Rafael

  BEN CALLED me to let me know Tony was being harbored in Olivia’s Circle. I spoke to Sophie this morning before flying to Prague to rehearse for the benefit concert in two weeks, but I couldn’t get her to listen to reason. Damn the girl. She thinks with her heart. If Kravic finds out about Tony, he’ll throw up a storm to get to him. Shaking my head, I bite back a smile, torn between irritation that she’d risk herself and Lilli, and feeling proud that she wants to save Tony from Kravic. She’s more like Olivia than she realizes.

  Christ, I miss her. I miss her stubbornness and just talking to her. I can’t wait get back to home. I’ll be flying back to Italy later today to meet with the stage director at the Teatro La Fenice, where I’ll be conducting Madama Butterfly rehearsals starting next January, and then leave for Vienna tomorrow morning.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I don’t usually carry it with me when conducting, but since I’d met Sophie, I’d taken to always keeping it nearby.

  I gesture for the orchestra to halt. They do, trading glances with raised eyebrows and muttering under their breath. I raise a brow at them, spearing them with my trademark look. The murmurs die instantly.

  Pulling the phone from my pants pocket, I answer, “Van Rees.”

  “Master Arie.”

  Shit. I should have checked the caller ID. “Kravic.”

  “How’s our girl doing? Am I late in congratulating you, Master?”

  “What do you want, Kravic?”

  “I’ve been keeping an eye on the young lady. Looks like I’ll have to keep an eye on you, too.”

  I leave the rehearsal room, heading out of the building. “Listen to me, you fucking piece of shit. Touch her, and I’ll flatten anything in my way to get to you.”

  He laughs. “Should you be making threats while--”

  “That’s a promise, not a threat,” I say coldly. “You should know me by now, Kravic. I don’t waste my breath on threats.”

  “You shouldn’t bother, Arie. Sophie looks so lovely this morning, sitting there with a pregnant, dark-haired beauty. Oh, and the man keeping her ‘safe’ is sitting in his car like a feckless asshole. If I want to take her, I will. You won’t be able to stop me. Give me what I want, and I’ll leave her alone. Even her father’s debt will be forgiven.”

  I curl my hand into a fist and my sight blurs, filling with red. “No.”

  He chuckles into the phone. “I’ll give you more time to think about it, Master Arie. Things were going well between us, until you decided we weren’t good enough for you. We’re family.”

  “You are not my family,” I bite out the words.

  “You didn’t seem to think so ten years ago.” He sighs dramatically. “Hand over the Mastership, and you’re free to walk away.”

  “What changed?”

  “You,” he says. “You changed. I have someone who can take over, not as clever and thorough as you, but competent. Drop by to see me, and we’ll talk.” The line goes dead.

  I cringe as memories of what I’d done as a teenager flash through my mind. Cheating stocks, cracking safe combinations, stealing . . . Christ! Sophie doesn’t deserve someone like me. But I can’t let her go. My heart was bound to hers long before Kravic arrived.

  I head back inside, mulling over Kravic’s words and frown. He’s willing to let me go, but at what cost? I wouldn’t put it past him to reveal my past. I’ve always wondered how efficient Kravic’s Crowd is at keeping information to themselves. I’ve lived the last seven years looking over my shoulder, wondering when someone would rat me out.

  But they never did. So, either the media didn’t bother to dig that deep into my life, or Kravic and his men are just that good at keeping out of the public eye. Or, maybe, he still hopes I’ll eventually return as the Master. That thought, like always, has my heart twisting in my chest.

  I retake my position at the head of the orchestra. As soon as I lift my baton, the thoughts ease from my mind and I lose myself in the music.

  Sophie

  BY THE time Friday arrives, I’m a complete mess. In between rehearsals, afternoons at Hearts, and evenings at the restaurant, I’ve tried--really tried--to keep thoughts of Rafael at bay. But, somehow, he manages to sneak in. And every time I think of him, heat curls low in my belly. The idea of touching his body--even just his hair--makes my pulse speed up.

  I’d stopped by the restaurant on my way to Hearts, worried that Kravic or his men might have stormed in to get to Tony. But everything was fine. He’d smiled proudly, showing me the work he’d done the night before. He’d sanded the area in the back of the restaurant I’d started to work on. What a quick learner. Maybe taking him in wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

  I arrive at Hearts fifteen minutes early, and, after uploading a picture of the Monet rocking chair I’d finished working on to eBay, I sneak inside Rafael’s office and collapse onto his leather chair. I run my fingers along the carved oak desk, masculine and solid, like it’s owner. I’ve spent more time in this office over the past few days, than at my own desk. After the revelation last week, I couldn’t stay away. I needed a connection to him. Something to focus my thoughts. I’m torn between wanting this--him--and sorting out the problems plaguing my life right now. How do I find time for him between my rehearsals, Olivia’s Circle, and Lilli?

  Someone once said, “It takes a minute to form a crush, an hour to like them, and a day to love them. But it takes forever to forget them.” Well, been there, done that. I’d crushed on Rafael the minute he scowled at me, sitting at the piano in Simone’s music room. Fell in love when that scowl transformed into a magnificent smile. Forgetting him had been impossible; I never could. How did one go about forgetting the other half of their soul?

  I love him. Or, maybe, I love the memory of that eleven-year-old boy that spent one week--one unforgettable summer week--with us. I mean, he’s still the same intense person who does everything with a single-minded focus. But there’s also more to this grown-up version than he lets on, and that scares me. I need to know what happened to him, but I have to respect his privacy.

  I sigh and close my eyes. Everything smells of his cologne. His presence is like a thick cloud, encompassing everything. Encompassing, but not stifling.

  Maria pokes her head around the door. I leap away from the chair, tucking my hair behind my ear. My cheeks heat up. She must think I’m a lunatic, or one of those fans who gets moon-eyed over celebrities.

  She grins. “Don’t stop sniffing on my account.”

  “I--I wasn’t sniffing.”

  She rolls her eyes and chuckles. “As if I can’t see your nose imprints on the desk.”


  I laugh, heading toward the door. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “He can’t help himself, either,” she says, winking and turning around.

  Er, what? “What?”

  “You’re the cutest thing since kittens. Last week, before he went to Italy, was better than reading erotica. The way he looks at you. Sweet Mother of God, that guy has it bad.”

  I swallow. Hard. My pulse doubles its thrumming and I want to do something celebrate-worthy. Like tap dancing or pirouettes.

  “You, on the other hand,” she drawls, “Eat him up with your eyes.”

  I groan inwardly. Was I that obvious?

  “Hey, listen. Why don’t you go home? I’ll finish things up for you.”

  “Changing the subject, I see. You like him,” she says in a singsong voice. “Admit it, you want him all over you like jam on toast.”

  I laugh, dropping to my seat. “I like him. All right? Now go. You need to rest before that hot husband of yours comes home to romance you.” I wink.

  She giggles, her cheeks a bright shade of red. “If you only knew. Alfred is an insatiable animal.” Her smile widens. “Alejandro will be arriving today, since he didn’t make it last Friday. I was hoping to hand over some things before I left.”

  “His flight was delayed in Munich.” I turn in my chair to face her. Pregnancy agrees with her. Her skin glows and she’s always laughing. “Scoot, now. I’m sure I can handle Alejandro.”

  She chuckles. “Are you sure about that?”

  “He needs special handling?” All I know about him is he’s a matador. So, unless he comes rushing down the street with a bull on his heels . . .

  “Let’s just say, he knows he has ‘it’.”

  I throw my hands up, pretending exasperation. “What is this place? A depot for hot, virile men?”

  She laughs. “You should see Alfred’s stance when he comes to pick me up. It’s like he’s about to punch someone in the face.”

  The glass doors swing inward. A tall, broad-shouldered male with a mop of chestnut hair strolls in, his gaze darting around as if expecting an enemy. Finally, he focuses on Maria.