“Good day, sir. How can I help?” the receptionist says.
I don’t answer. I walk on by, not waiting for the sound of her heels following me. I open the old door myself and stroll right on in, no care for any inconvenience it might cause. His head looks up at me, eyes wide as I turn up in front of his desk, hands still in my pockets.
“I need you to shut this place down early.” He looks behind me and stands, his hand waving at the receptionist who obviously thinks she should have stopped me. The door closes again. Good.
“Vico, I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can.” His hand goes to his forehead, pinching his brow.
“When will this stop, Vico?” It won’t. I stare, uninterested in any conversation other than him doing as he’s told and getting the public out of here. He fusses with his tie, loosening his collar and coming round to my side of the desk. “You can’t hold this over me for the rest of my life.”
I smirk. I can. “Embezzling public funds is against the law, Greg.”
I turn and walk out again; damn sure those words alone are enough to have him scurrying after me and doing exactly what I want. He does, a little less self-importance in his tone as he sidles up next to me.
“When?” he asks. Idiot.
“Now.”
He veers left away from me, a huff coming as a last shove at his annoyance with me. Fuck him. He shouldn’t have let his mouth loose when he was drinking three years ago. It’s been useful to me over the time I’ve known Hope. Not that she knows she’s being watched on occasion, but she is.
There’s a public address announcement within a few minutes; the words include an early closure due to heating issues. I wander through to the main space, calling through to order in from Tonletti’s Bistro on Lexington. Two steaks, both medium rare, and sides, to be here in—I check my watch—half an hour with all the trimmings for a meal.
I sit for that half an hour or so watching as the people file out, books and folders under their arms, and look around the main rooms wondering what she finds so enamoring about this place. It’s nothing but attractive architecture and a vault of knowledge, something I thought she just used for her advantage, or mine, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe she likes the atmosphere here. It's quiet, even when people are about. Peaceful.
The guys eventually come in from Tonletti’s, a trolley coming with them and waiters in uniform doing their thing. I point them over to one of the tables, nodding for them to get on with it.
“Benjamin?” I look over my shoulder at the sound of her voice, eyes drifting from the floor up to get a good look at what she’s chosen for a date. Black heels on those perfect feet of hers, stockings leading me up to loose, black chiffon at her knees. I smirk, wondering if I should get that dress up while we’re in here, let her remember that when I’m not here with her. “What is this?” she asks, nerves in her voice. I carry on up her frame, my body rising with my eyes so I can take in every goddamn inch of her feeling unprepared for something. She flushes slightly at my gaze, her smile not entirely sitting as it usually does.
“A date.”
She fiddles with her bag, trying to hide her nerves. “I don’t understand,” she says, frowning a little. No, I guess she doesn’t. We’ve never had one before.
My hand reaches out for hers, clasping it tightly. It’s another thing she frowns at as I lead her across the space. “Not sure I do either.”
She snickers as I pull out a chair for her and wait for her to sit. I listen to it coming out of her mouth, unused to the sound of it. In fact, I can’t remember it happening at all since those early days.
“You think this is funny?”
“No. I just… Well, it’s not like you,” she says, looking at me and putting her bag on the table as I sit. “This isn’t us.”
“Maybe it should be.” She smiles at that and shakes her head a little, lips widening. I like it. It's warm, real perhaps. “Maybe I’m remembering what it should be.”
“You’ll have me thinking you’re going soft.” Unlikely. “This isn’t any Benjamin I know.”
My brow arches, some element of me wishing she did now I’m remembering a time before this, because she’s managed to get more out of me these past few years than any fucker has before. She might not feel it in any normal way—no dreams or idealistic thoughts of flowers or candlelight, but she gets it every time I rip into her skin irrespective. That’s how I display my feelings for her, has been since I realized how effective she can be by my side. She’s become special to me in a way I can’t hold my finger to.
“How was your day?” I ask, waving for the guys to start serving.
“What?” she replies, looking confused. The waiter leans around her, carrots and vegetables being laid out next to her steak.
“Your day, how was it?” She leans back and crosses her arms at that, venomous eyes that she generally reserves for others suddenly on show.
“All right. What’s going on? I’m not a fool, Benjamin. Don’t treat me like one.” Snarky.
I smirk and let the waiter serve me rather than going back at her attitude. She’ll pull her own head back in just fine without me ordering her to.
“Would you rather I shoved that dress up and got on with the end game.” There’s not one movement or reaction from her, regardless of the waiters around us.
“You don’t need to romance me for that.”
She’s right. She lets me fuck her whenever I choose. She’s never denied me. “I’m not romancing you. I’m… flirting.”
“Flirting?” she scoffs.
“Flirting.”
“Asking me how my day was is flirting?”
I chuckle and cut into my steak, amused at her head as she tilts it about, trying to work out what the fuck is going on. “Yes,” I eventually reply, swallowing the meat. “I wouldn’t usually ask. So, flirting.”
Her knife and fork hover as she tries to understand what I’m up to. I’m not surprised. That’s how her life with me goes, always trying to work out what I need from her.
“Right,” she says, cutting into a carrot. “Well, that’s unusual. And, I suppose my day was fine.”
“Stop drooling over it.”
“What? The carrot?”
“My flirting.” Her cutlery clatters the plate, her knife scraping the china. She backs off from it, her arms crossing again as she stares.
“Are you trying to be funny, Benjamin?”
“Attempting.”
“Why?”
“Life.”
“I have no idea where you’re going with this. Or why. What is it that you want?” She huffs a little, barely containing something she's not going to say. She’s too clever for that shit. She'll hold her tongue, work me over slower. “And what’s with all the one-word answers?” Still, I've never seen this spark of fire from her before. It's interesting, making me question the woman she hasn't been for me.
“Normal. For once, I just want normal, Hope. With you.” Her brows indicate she’s confused. She’s right to be. I’m astonishing myself in all honesty. “Why don’t you wear jeans anymore?”
“We are normal. And what the hell is that question about?”
“No, we’re not.”
“I think I prefer not normal. I can’t read you like this,” she grumbles, picking up her cutlery again. “Be yourself, Benjamin. Stop playing games.”
“Why no jeans?”
“Oh God.” The cutlery clatters again. “You don’t like jeans, Benjamin. You told me that when you picked me up for the first time. You said, and I quote, ‘You look better in a dress than you do in jeans’.”
“You do. Doesn’t mean I don’t like looking at your ass in jeans, though. I like you, Hope. Jeans or not.”
I don’t know what happens to her face. Something does, though. It tempers to the same look she has in brief seconds when I give her a piece of myself.
“You do?” she asks. Three years and she asks me that. I frown at the thought, not sure how much o
f a cunt I’ve been to her, because who the fuck else does she think I would have living with me for two of those years if I didn’t like them?
“Yes, Hope. I like you very much.” She blushes, pink travelling across her chest and up her neck quicker than I’ve ever seen. It’s cute, sweetening something that is damn near sweet enough on its own. I smirk and look back at my food, wondering how long flirting is supposed to carry on before fucking happens. “Wear the goddamn jeans if you want to.”
Silence settles for a while as we continue eating. I'm not sure why. I'm assuming it's this sense of feeling engraving itself into parts of me I wasn't aware I had. She probably doesn't know what to say or do. I shake my head to myself, annoyed that she might feel the need to fake consideration. Life is safe for us, has been for a long time, regardless of my business. There's nothing that can get in anymore as long as I keep doing what I do.
“You should probably say something nice back to me,” I mutter, pushing my plate away. She smiles and opens her mouth just as my phone rings. I look at it and see Tony's name flashing on the screen. “Hold that thought,” I say, answering him and pulling the phone to my ear.
“Yeah?”
“You need to get down here.” My head spins to the main doors as I hear footsteps running, Luca looking flustered. I stand, the chair scraping back under me. “Luca’s coming to—”
“He’s here,” I cut in, fingers waving Hope up. A gun fires in the background, making me start for the doors. Another fires, a strangled cry coming down the line. “The fuck is that?”
“Get down here.” The phone goes dead.
“Move!” I bellow out to Luca, my hand reaching for Hope as my feet sprint the distance out to the road. He does, his own shoes running the steps down to get him into the car and ready before we get to him. He swerves off the moment we slide in, the door slamming behind me after I've pushed Hope in.
“What’s happening?” she says, eyes wide. I pull my gun out, check it, then lean over the front seats to look out at the road ahead.
“Who was it?” I spit out at him.
“I dunno.” Luca speeds around the corners, tires screeching and banking hard to get us there quicker and overtake other traffic. “Fucking carnage, though. Tony called the team in and sent me here. I don’t know what’s gonna be left by the time we get back.”
Time stills in the damned minutes it takes us to cross town. All I can see is black as I focus on where we’re going and brace my arm across Hope. Whoever the fuck thought about delving into my deal is going to pay hard for that mistake. I stare out into the night, all those feelings from yesterday winding me up into a damn frenzy of frustration and hatred until the car eventually pulls over on a quiet street across from the building’s basement.
“Stay with the damn car,” I say to him, opening my door. “Keep her safe, Luca.” He nods and draws his own weapon, body scrambling to get out next to me. It’s quiet as I look over at the entrance of the building, no noise or commotion other than the usual traffic. And then I hear a shot out of nowhere. Luca pushes me sideways, lunging his body and firing back at the same time. Fuck knows where at. I fall, feet stumbling to right my balance, and look at him fall beside me. His gun rises.
“Stay down,” he says.
Fuck that. Some cunt wants a cut at me they can try fucking harder than this shit. “Stay with her, Luca.” I look into the car, eyes focused on her. “You fucking hear me, Hope? You don’t fucking move until I come to get you.” She nods rapidly, her body ducking down from the windows.
My feet move around the car to sprint across the road before I think more of it, my gun out to my side ready. Another shot fires, so I dip my head and keep running for the doors until I’m through them and heading down the stairs. My back presses against the stone, eyes searching for anything that damn well moves. I can’t see anything. No threat. No one advancing or moving in my eyeline. It’s eerily still. No noise other than an elevator rising somewhere.
My feet keep moving until I hit the main basement and peer into the front lobby, noting the doors still swinging lightly. Still no noise. I push onwards, gun aimed level and swiveling around as I stare through the small crack the doors provide. The sight that greets me is enough to have me ready to kill anyone.
Carnage is right. Every one of my guys is dead, their bodies littered across the floor. I search them, looking for Tony amongst the blood and scattered guns, and notice the back doors creaking in the wind. All the packages are gone, nothing but old paper and boxes discarded, most of it seeping with crimson stains now. My lips snarl, teeth chewing the side of my damn face as I check the pulse of one of my men. I don’t know why I’m bothering; he’s as dead as the rest of them.
I cross the space some more, quietly edging past the last of the old containers to get to those creaking doors. “Tony?” I mutter, as I stare at the doors still opening and closing, possibly jammed on something.
My head tilts around the containers, eyes focused on whatever that thing is, gun still raised.
Tony.
Fuck.
I hurry over the ground, body sliding down to my knees to get to him and pull him up onto my lap, my fingers desperately searching his neck for a pulse. His head lolls to the side the moment I lift him and try checking, blood coming from his mouth as empty eyes gaze up at me. My throat growls at the vision, eyes trained on the fucking calling card that’s been carved into his forehead. Crossed swords and a dragon's tail. Japanese scum. Yakuza.
Eight
The quiet in the car is stifling.
All I can hear is Luca’s deep breathing in the front seat. He’ll follow orders to the last, which means all I can do is sit and wait.
My eyes are fixed on the dark scene through the tinted windows. There’s no outward sign anything is wrong. Traffic still moves past; there are no siren’s blazing despite the gunshots fired.
Is this Cane’s doing? They turn up, mess around with Benjamin, and then all of a sudden, a drop gets hit? That’s too much of a coincidence for me. After all of these years, they show up and now this. No one has ever challenged Benjamin’s world. He is a king on the streets of New York—further, even. This will not go uncontested.
Movement from the building snaps my attention, and I watch Benjamin emerge onto the street. His silhouette is harsh as he strides out. Gone is the man from a few hours ago, attempting his version of normal on a date. Of course, normal to Benjamin is anything but. Who has a date in the New York Library? He is a man of opposing sides, and I’m seeing more and more of the man behind the Vico name. It’s that side of him that holds the piece of my heart.
He wrenches open the door and leans in. “Where’s Torino?”
“I don’t know, boss. You were with Hope tonight so guess he’s off.” Luca’s words sound panicked.
“Find him. Fuck. Find everyone.”
“Tony?” I ask, already knowing that it can’t be good if Benjamin is this wild. “Dead?” He nods.
“Don’t fucking move, Hope. Not an inch.” His eyes bore into mine, and I see, perhaps for the first time, a glimmer of fear.
I nod. Now, more than ever, he needs my obedience. I pull out my phone and fire off a message to Torino myself, as Benjamin slams the car door like it’s the cause of his pain. He hovers in the road for a second before spinning back to the car and looking at Luca.
“I need you with me,” he snaps at him, glancing back at me. “You stay the fuck down until we get back, Hope.” I nod again and sink into the seat, hiding behind the blacked-out windows.
Luca exits and they both rush back over the street towards the building's entrance, Benjamin yelling at the person unfortunate enough to be on the end of the phone call he’s made.
Tony has been by his side for as long as I’ve known him, much longer given how close they were. He and Torino are two of the people closest to Benjamin, and Torino only because of me.
On rare occasions, I’ve been introduced to Tony’s wife. My heart aches for the news she’
s going to receive and wonder what my reaction would be if that news was ever delivered to me. It’s a humbling thought, as I know, if I’m honest with myself, I’d be devastated—another complication on the list for today alone.
As my mind and heart picture the worst, I see a car crawl past our parked car. It blocks my view for a moment before inching past. A Japanese woman looks on from her backseat vantage, far too interested in what’s going on for my liking. There’s no evidence on the outside. No bodies strewn over the street, no emergency services, so why is she so interested?
The Yakuza name pops into my head. I stare at the car, all my blood suddenly rushing in my veins as logic drops. This wasn’t to do with Cane at all. It's them. The car continues to creep past. Before it’s down the block, I glance back at the building, thankfully unable to see Benjamin or Luca, and sling my purse over my shoulder to open the door to the sidewalk. It’s a ridiculous long shot. Not even a chance really, but I need to bring my head back to the original objective. Not get distracted by dates and libraries. Or love.
I’ve grown so accustomed to three-inch heels that power walking to catch the car doesn’t trouble me. Each stamp of my heel echoes around me in time with the thud of my heart, keeping me grounded to my goal as I move towards my target. The car slows to make a left turn at the end of the block, and I rush to follow, undeterred by the concern of being seen by them.
In some attempt to be inconspicuous, I stop at the corner and peer around. The car has pulled up to the curb. A man, who doesn’t look Japanese, leans on the car roof, talking through the window. I grab my phone from my pocket and take a photo, ensuring the number plate is legible. Then I stride confidently forward and walk right up to them, my ears straining for any snip of information.
“He wasn’t, but he’ll get the message.”
“And Cane?”
Vengeful Eyes: A Cane Novel 3 Page 7
