Vengeful Eyes: A Cane Novel 3

by Hart, Charlotte E

  “No. Just Quinn and Emily. Perfect opportunity for you.”

  My stomach tightens as I approach the table, and I take a moment to find my game face. “Emily, Quinn,” I greet with as genuine a smile as I can manage.

  The movement pulls at the split in my lip, and I hope the rouge lipstick will mask any further tearing. Emily’s face lights up, and I remember her comment about making friends. Quinn pauses playing with those dice of his and greets me with a light kiss to the cheek, making me hold my breath as he moves into my space. He catches my eye and our gazes lock, like at dinner the other night. It’s disconcerting, as if all the hatred, the blame, and the venom I’ve had to endure from my mother, bubble through my veins bringing heat to my cheeks. Of course, the smirk on Quinn’s face tells me he’s interpreted that as something completely different. No matter. It will serve me best to have him think I’m interested. That was the instruction from Benjamin after all.

  We take our seats, and the waiter pours a glass of wine for us once Benjamin gives the okay.

  “Quinn, do you know when you’re returning to Chicago? I thought it would be nice if I could get to know Emily a little better, spend some time with her.” I lean into him, making sure there’s a brush of contact.

  “I think we’ll be in New York for a while longer.” His eyes remain raised and don’t travel to the low cut of my dress. Instead, he squints slightly, as if he’s scrutinizing me, but then drops away to look at Benjamin, all the while rolling those dice in his hand.

  “Well, that’s good. Just means more time with you, Em,” I reply, looking at her.

  Quinn’s eyes flash to mine as if I’ve just committed blasphemy. “Emily,” he pronounces. “Her name is Emily.”

  I look at him, a little stunned, but don’t correct myself straight away. Quinn’s face takes on a quizzical look, giving me chills once again, and I snap out of our connection. “I’m sorry. Emily, of course.” My hand rests on his in a sign of friendly apology, and I keep it there for a fraction longer than necessary.

  I can feel my skin heating as if my own is reacting to being in such close proximity to him. It’s a test of endurance to keep my hand still because the anger coursing through me makes me want to visibly shake.

  “Are you okay, Hope? You look a little pale,” Emily asks.

  I look at her, taking my hand from Quinn’s. It’s too much for me to contend with today. All of this is. After last night I feel drained and on edge. Sick even.

  “Fine. I’m sorry. And I apologise for the slight on your name.” She smiles and scans me over, a look of comfort ingrained in her features. It annoys me. Both of them are annoying me. I can’t think straight. My head shakes as I try to compose myself. “Now, how about we take a look at the menu? I’ve heard nothing but rave reviews for the chef here.”

  I hide behind the thankfully large menu and gather the composure I’m searching for, occasionally peeking at Benjamin. He's next to me but hasn't yet spoken a word. It's strange. He usually commands the flow of conversation over dinner, but he’s so quiet today. Different.

  “Benjamin?” I ask softly. His eyes no longer hold the look from this morning, the softer sense of regret I thought I saw. They’re back to being as sharp as ever, and I just hope he can’t see everything beneath the face I'm portraying.

  Benjamin and Quinn don’t spend a lot of time on business. It feels like this meeting is a preamble for something later. The conversation is light and sparse, a heavy feeling of tension hanging over the table. Or at least I feel it. Presumably, for Benjamin, it’s about last night and Tony’s death.

  “Gentleman, we’re going to head to the bar, give you both some time to talk business.” I excuse us, pick up Emily’s arm and lead her to the bar area in the centre of the restaurant. The heat of Benjamin’s eyes sears me as I walk away, and I can’t help but look over my shoulder to see if it’s only Benjamin’s eyes on me.

  “What would you like, Emily?” I ask as we find two bar stools available.

  “Anything but Champagne. My tolerance is rather poor, unfortunately.”

  I order two espresso Martini’s and turn to face my new friend.

  “Have you managed to get out and take some photos yet?” My question will help to understand just how alone she is in the city, and if Quinn is as smitten with her as he should be.

  “Yes. Central Park is glorious. It reminds me of Hyde Park in a way. Have you been to England?”

  “No. I haven’t been fortunate enough to travel all that much.”

  “How long have you been with Benjamin?”

  It sounds odd to hear someone else refer to him by his first name. Everyone around him calls him Vico. “Three years now. Some days it seems much longer.” I scoff, surprised at the melancholy that’s overridden me.

  “It can be hard, being the partner of a men like Benjamin. Or Quinn,” she says. The understanding in her eyes is unnerving.

  “So, how did you meet him?” I ask, picking up my drink. “If you don’t mind me saying, you’re not the obvious choice for a man like him.”

  “What’s the old saying? Opposites attract. Quinn and I are very well suited underneath everything. I wouldn’t have married him if I hadn’t known we could make it work.”

  “You make it sound very simple, Emily.” I sip the creamy cocktail, needing the alcohol to help keep my composure in check.

  “Quinn’s life is certainly not simple. It's been far from conventional or pleasant.” She smiles about something, as if remembering a moment I'm not privy to. “I guess I saw past everything he projected to the man beneath. That’s who I fell for. Took a bit of honesty about who he is, but he's not quite the monster he appears to be.” She smiles again, gazing towards both men. “I suppose you must know how that feels.” No. I don't. Benjamin is very much the monster he appears to be, as he proved last night. Still, I watch her clear adoration with confusion filling me until she takes a sip of her cocktail and turns back. “Oh, wow, that’s delicious. Don’t let me drink too many or Quinn will be carrying me out.”

  Her giggle is infectious, but it’s her words that have struck me. They've run deeper than I imagined possible and have me thinking further about all the words my mother fed me as a child. So much of my life has been based on my mother’s influence, her poison tongue lecturing me at every given opportunity, blaming me for the life she lived because I was the reason Quinton wasn’t in her life. My eyes flick over to Quinn, still unsure why such a beautiful, innocent woman would be with him. My mother painted the Cane family as having everything that stardom or fame could provide, a life of luxury without the pain we were suffering, but now I'm wondering if she really saw any of that, or if it was just her twisted mind warped by anger.

  I take a large gulp of cocktail and try to focus on the tasks in front of me.

  “Are you okay, Hope?” Emily’s eyes look so big and innocent, staring at me as if I might break.

  “Of course.”

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but is everything okay with you and Benjamin? You look a little… tired.” She indicates my face and I know she can see past the makeup covering the worst of the damage.

  “I’m fine. I know nothing I’ll say will be able to convince you of that given my appearance, but it’s… how we are. If you can make sense of that.”

  “You’d be surprised at how much I understand. I meant what I said the other day. It’s so hard to build friendships. It would be nice to count you as one.”

  “Of course.” The smile I give feels false because although the words are real, my intentions are anything but true, and here, sharing a moment with Emily, that feels completely wrong.

  “Ladies, enjoying your drinks?” Quinn’s voice drifts to us from his position next to the bar.

  “Quinn, this might be my new favourite.” Emily holds up her drained cocktail glass.

  “Well, as long as it’s just the one. I know what you and alcohol are like.” He joins his wife, pressing his body against hers as he l
eans in to kiss her cheek. It’s a simple gesture, usual for any husband and wife, yet it clouds me in more confusion. This man has won the heart of a lovely girl, and he seems so open with her. Honest even. He’s nothing like I imagined he would be when he’s with her.

  I peer over my shoulder to see if Benjamin will join us. He’s still at the table, his phone to his ear but his eyes on us. On me. Focused. Hard. Unapologetic. Beautiful still, regardless of his actions last night. But he would never approach me in public like Quinn has done Emily. Not truthfully, anyway. A kiss here. An appropriate hand gesture there. But nothing like these two, nothing so personal. But then, that’s not in our future, is it? Never has been. Unfortunately, for the first time since being with him, I’m realizing that’s something I want in my life. Need even.

  My past and future are colliding in front of me and it’s twisting my previous sense of what I wanted. What my goal is. I stare at Benjamin and can’t help but hope there’s a way through this for us.

  Eleven

  “You make those boys get it done. Kill one of them if needed,” I mutter.

  Luca looks at me as I get out, eyes full of the same hatred I’m filled with, and then drives the car off towards Philly. He’s my main guy now Tony’s gone, the only one I can trust to report back truthfully and keep the new runs going out. I've doubled them up, trying to counter the shit I've just lost. It's fucking annoying, and the very reason I'm here now. I watch him go and then scan the street, noting a car with two guys I don’t know leaning on it. I stare until one of them looks at me and nods, lighting a smoke. Hmm. Must be new.

  My feet head up the steps, eyes directed at this old school I’m going back into. The wind whips by me as Gorgio opens the door, ruffling my coat and sending a shiver of interest through me. It’s reminiscent of times gone by here, sharp and harsh. Just like those years I walked up these stairs with my father. My body ached to cause carnage back then.

  Does again now.

  “They here?” I ask, nodding at Gorgio.

  “Yeah,” he says, scraping his fingers under his nose. Still using then. I shake my head and look into the corridor as he follows in behind me. Eight men stand around the hall, others filtering in and out of doorways and up the stairs. “Came fifteen minutes ago.”

  “And the others? How many in total?”

  “Thirty. Balin and Constantine are still coming in from Boston.” I arch a brow at that as I wander through, eyes looking at each and every one of them around me. They all nod back, some show of fucking deference in my presence. Good. Still, no one is to be trusted at the moment, especially not the two cunts who couldn’t get here on time. “They were dealing with something.” Were they?

  “What?”

  “Trafficking issues. Someone caused problems with their pipeline over there, too.”

  Sounds familiar.

  I turn into the main room and see a ruckus at the table, Gianni Ricci facing Quinn off for some reason. Interesting. I watch on, listening to the hush that drops the moment I appear. Nathan looks at me, not one fucking quiver in his frame as he backs his brother up. Family. It’s a family of two that will be dead in this room if I ask for it.

  “You sit your goddamn ass down before I forget I should be helping you,” Quinn growls. I half smirk, amused. Thirty odd guys, all on my payroll, and he stands there and tosses his balls around like he doesn’t give a fuck?

  Italian pours out of Gianni, his hand going for his gun. It’s full of threats and digs neither Cane will give one fuck for, and the second his hand reaches under his suit, Nathan has his own piece out aimed at the dick. I look around at the eruption of noise that follows, weapons and safeties being loaded and released, my men all raising their own pieces back at him.

  Quinn smiles, dice spinning in his fingers.

  “Keep pulling that fucker out. See where that shit gets you,” he says, staring Gianni down. Arrogant son of a bitch. “We’ve taken more than this room on before.”

  I look around, watching triggers and men, a slight smile on my face. I wish it wasn’t there. Tony’s dead. But something about these Cane boys brings all the physicality back. It bleeds inside my veins, waking up a chaos I've calmed over the years, and I need that right now. I need that headspace, not the lull I’ve lived since taking over.

  Nathan twitches, his hand not quite as steady as it should be. He’s still wound far too tight for this, and that isn’t useful to me.

  “You know how to use that?” I ask him, cutting through the silence that’s settled. Quinn doesn’t take his stare off Gianni, doesn’t even flinch. He just keeps those goddamn dice going. But Nathan looks at me briefly, eyes hard and focused on protecting his brother if need be. “Because if this is gonna happen, Nathan, I need you ready and on side. Are you?” He turns, points it at me, and storms over before I’ve finished the sentence.

  “Try me, Vico,” he snarls.

  Well, damn.

  My own eyes flick to Quinn, hand held up at the rest of the room to stop them killing Nathan where he stands. Still the fucker stares Gianni down as if nothing is more important than Cane presence being felt in this room. It’s working, too. Astute partnering, and full of that aggression I need from them both if I believe they are on side by the end of this discussion. I look back at Nathan, nodding and walking straight at the gun he’s pointing at me. “Calm down. We’ve got talking to do.” I put my hand on the barrel, lowering it to the floor, and move to the table. “And put your balls back in your pants, Quinn,” I mutter, taking my coat off. He chuckles at me, eyes still focused on Gianni. “You’ve made your point.”

  His brow quirks, head turning towards me a little, and then he glances around the room at the array of guns still pointed at them both. “Do something about that,” he says, flicking his chin at them. “It’s not friendly.”

  I chuckle a little at that, instantly annoyed with myself for doing it. Not friendly. Fuck, as if anything is friendly here. I wave my hand at them all anyway, and nod at Gorgio. Coffee is what we all need—coffee, and some time to plan a route through this.

  “Nine of my best team got slaughtered,” I say, leaning back in my chair and looking around the room at everyone but the Canes. “Nine. Which one of you fuckers wants to tell me why?”

  Silence.

  I stare, travelling one by one over the faces of the people who should have had my back in one way or another. Someone should have known, heard something or been part of something. Their eyes are cast to the floor, some of them fidgeting in their futility. Soft, that’s what they’ve become, just like me. It’s fucking embarrassing. I’ve become the very thing that caused Sergio’s death, arrogant in my power. Safety is nothing but a lie, one these fucks have twisted into a reason for getting fat and less provocative with their anarchy. They’re all to blame for Tony’s death.

  Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

  Me included.

  I scowl at the last one I come to face, the same guy who just stood there and faced off a Cane like he has the goddamn right to have any fucking opinion on who I bring into this room.

  “You know anything, Gianni?” He shakes his head at me and straightens his too fucking expensive jacket as I stare at him. “You should have. It was in your quarter.”

  “Nothing, Vico. The Yakuza are quiet. We’ve heard nothing from them,” he murmurs back, eyes shifting around me. His top lip snarls up, though. It rides up his face as if he’s trying to find a goddamn comeback for his mistake or lie his way out of the problem. “I’ve had my men scouring. All intel suggests nothing.”

  Nothing is a good fucking word for what he’s got.

  He fucked up, and Tony’s life is over because of it.

  I wait, though. I wait and try to search for calm in this mind of mine, hoping he gives me something more than nothing before I have to show this parade of useless fucks what happens when enemies come knocking at my door.

  Too long I wait.

  And patience isn’t a goddamn virtue.

  I�
��ve pulled my piece out and shot the fucker before I wait any longer. One straight shot, aimed at the heart of one of my problems.

  He collapses to the floor, white shirt oozing red stains. Quinn moves sideways, eyes like slits at me as he brushes off his suit and grunts. I keep looking at the near dead fuck bleeding out all over the carpet, and lie my gun on the table, ready to use it on any one of them who dares to protest. Not one of them deserves my respect or patience. Not one.

  I glare at the rest of the room, barely holding onto my sanity. Tony’s eyes. That’s it. That’s all I see or feel at the moment. It was the same with Sergio. And now, because of every goddamn person in this room, it’s happened again.

  “Sit,” I say to Quinn, nodding at the chair over from me. “Your brother, too.”

  They do, but not without a certain amount of hesitation and looks at each other. Good. They’re seeing the pissed off me. This is me reverting to type to make damn sure this city comes under my control again. Fucking posturing means shit to me anymore, especially from these two until I can trust them.

  My eyes focus in on Quinn, no interest in talking to the other brother regardless of his ability to work computers efficiently.

  “You know anything about this shit?” He looks at me, dice rolling in that hand. I listen to them clunking around his palm, listen to the steady rhythm. No falter in their turn, no hesitation.

  “The hell kind of question is that?” he mutters.

  I don’t answer. He knows exactly what I’m asking, and if his next words don’t comply with sense, he’ll be joining the already-dead dick on the floor. Not in my house. Not anymore. They came here asking me for help, offering terms to get those fucks out of their territory, and the moment they do, all hell breaks loose in my world? I don’t like coincidences.

  “If I’d wanted you dead, Vico, or any of your businesses, Nate would have taken them, and I’d have killed you already.” His hands stop the dice turning, the pair of them thrown across the table at me. “Pick a fucking number. You wanna play this shit with me, you take your odds like the rest of them do and I’ll walk.”