“For fuck’s sake, Hope. What’s gotten into you?”
“I couldn’t sleep, but now I’m tired. Caffeine stop before we head back.” I bluff my way through the emotions that are wild inside of me. Torino looks at me like I’ve grown a third eye but shakes his head and pushes the door open for me to follow. I take a seat and he goes to the counter to order my usual.
The sunlight hasn’t filtered through the clouds yet, and the outside looks grey and overcast as the morning wakes up.
“Coffee.” Torino passes it to me moodily. His disapproval is evident.
“I’m not a prisoner,” I protest, but feel sick to the stomach about what I’ve set in motion.
“No, but Vico will fucking kill us both for this stunt. Fucking hell, Hope, do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”
“You don’t get to judge me, Torino. I don’t want to hear it.” I sit moodily, warring with the guilt I’ve just dumped on myself. The coffee coats my tongue in bitterness as I force it down my throat. Every fiber of my being is screaming for me to run home, but I can’t. Benjamin might still be knocked out from the pills, and I can’t risk seeing him. Not like this, with guilt dripping from my every pore, saturating me like the raindrops clinging to my clothes. He’ll be able to see right through me and know something’s off.
The silence lingers and I refuse to break it with apologies or excuses. I waste half an hour sipping coffee and feel ready to burst.
“Screw it. Come on.”
“What now?” Torino stands with me.
“We can start our run over.”
“Hope, I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I’m—”
“Not today, Torino. Please. Come on.”
I set off, hoping I can escape the tension in my muscles, but I know, deep down, nothing will allow me to rest easy again. Not until this is over.
Thirteen
She’s out here somewhere on her morning run, irrespective of the rain that’s been pouring down around her. Torino’s with her, following her as always. I scan the dim light of the park in front of me, searching for her amongst the few scattered runners as I amble the last of the paths up to the reservoir. This is where she comes, stamping down the tracks and finding her way. Why? Torino says that’s all she does, day after day, sometimes twice a day. Sometimes faster than normal, so much so that he struggles to keep up with her. Earbuds in. Music on high. I frown, not knowing what music she actually likes to listen to, then shake my head and carry on.
A child comes past me at speed from the gloom, mother carrying another one while pushing a third in a pushchair. I stare at her going by, watching the way she struggles to cope with the three of them. What the hell is she doing here this early in the morning? Fucking odd people and their desires. Not that I'd have a goddamned clue what people with kids do. Why would anyone want that kind of life? My own mother clearly knew how to play it. One boy, someone ready to take over from Father at some point, and not another thought in the direction of siblings.
I smile a little at the memory of her hands on my shoulders, straightening my tie and sending me into the fucking fray when I was ten. Ten—that’s when it started. First time I felt the back of his hand on my cheek. First time I felt the consequences of not obeying him. It was for my own good, he said. It’d make me stronger, harder. It happened so often I became numb to it until one day it didn’t happen again. I’d proved myself then. Become a man, he said, fourteen and a man. No preamble. No thought of giving me a life other than the one he was building. He pushed me into everything, sharpening my mind so I would be ready for the future that was coming.
I shot someone on my fifteenth birthday.
With the gun he gave me as a present.
And he made me pull the heart from the wound I’d caused by doing it.
Literally.
My fingers rub around the beads at my wrist, my eyes focused at the ground as my mind replays the feel of bloodied flesh for the first time. I remember it being slippery and warm, a weak pulse still lingering.
“That’s what you do now, Benjamin,” he’d said, slapping me on the back, as he gave me these amber beads. A gift, he said. They’d help keep me safe. “You make them remember that about you every day of your fucking life. They’ll take over if you don’t.”
No fucker’s ever taking anything from me.
“Hey.”
I look up. Hope.
She’s in front of me, looking washed out. Her breathing is heavy, like she’s been running at full speed. “What are you doing here?”
I don’t really know.
My brow scrunches up at the thought, watching as her ponytail bounces because of the jumps she’s now doing. I glance back at Torino hovering in the background, sweat dripping from his brow, and keep playing my beads over my skin. “You finished?” I ask her. She fidgets to the side and back.
“I can be.”
Her split lip shines under the streetlamp in my view as she carries on moving, pissing me off for reasons I don’t understand. I glare at it and chew my own lip, remembering the same fucking thing there all those years ago. So many bruises, all of them there to teach me discipline and respect.
“Are you okay?” Her brows draw together in confusion.
No. I'm not. Not my usual. “Go get cleaned up. I’m taking you out,” I eventually reply. She stops at that, hands still on her hips as she mulls over the response.
“Where?”
“Just get that ass moving. I’ll meet you at the car in thirty minutes.” She nods and spins around like a good girl, not bothering to look for Torino.
“What do I wear?” she calls back, putting one of her ear buds in as she jogs on the spot and turns back to look at me. So fucking pretty. I stare for a minute longer, watching as her breasts bounce and the muscles in her long legs flex as she moves.
“Anything. Wear goddamn jeans if you want.”
Another nod and she sprints off, Torino following her in an attempt to keep up. Fucker needs to get fitter, fast. She’ll out run him soon, and that’s no good for me at all.
I wander after that, taking in the darkened view as I make my way back slowly. It's cold out, fresh. Leaves crunch beneath my feet. I can’t remember the last time I was here—a year ago, maybe. I look out at the park from the apartment often, stare at it blankly, but I don’t really see it. It’s just a canvas of beauty in this dead city, somewhere that placates the masses, gives them room to breathe. It's just apertures of elegance attempting to override the grit that lives here. None of us are anything but that really—gritty—despite the suits on our backs. This ink beneath mine proves my own heritage well enough. Nothing really hides it, no matter how I try.
That dirt is engrained.
Deep down where no one wants to go.
There isn’t one decent human with my amount of wealth in this city that earned it legitimately. They schemed it into their pockets or stole it from someone else, all the time smiling sweetly to the crowd to hide the reality under their skin. Or maybe they killed to get it like I did, proving their worth in a city full of worthlessness.
“Would you mind?” a twenty-something woman asks, approaching me from the side. I gaze at her as she hands me a phone, all smiles on her face and a young guy at her side. “If you could get the city lights in the background that would be great. We've just moved here.” I huff and look at them, head tilted at their idea of couplehood.
Stupid.
They keep that shit up and they’ll spend their lives with nothing but a few dollars in their pockets, hoping for the best.
I shake my head and take the picture anyway, wishing them luck with that fucking endeavour, no matter how pathetic it is, and head off to the apartment.
Eddie is waiting by the time I get there, his black suit firmly in place at the front of the inconspicuous jaguar he’s brought out for me.
“Boss,” he says as I walk up to him.
“She not down yet?”
“No.” I look up at the fron
tage, staring at the penthouse as dawn breaks behind the building. “You want me to go get her?”
I smile and open the car door, shaking my head and waving my hands at him for the keys. No, she can have her ten minutes for what they’re worth to her. Jeans, or whatever fucking clothes she’s putting on, need a certain amount of time to consider.
As does this goddamn deal we have set up. Nathan seems to be on it, timelines all perfected as if he’s done this sort of shit a thousand times. And Quinn, well, last time we spoke he was polishing his weapons. Seems that’s the calm he brings when he’s getting ready for death.
I pull out my phone for the only call I have left to make, starting the engine. Harvey Witherton. New York’s Federal director of the FBI. Snivelling scum, but useful scum.
“Vico.” His voice comes down the line at me. There’s a scuffle in the background, a door being closed.
“Harvey.”
“What do you want?”
“I want my ports secure on the nineteenth. DEA and Border Patrol aren’t welcome after four p.m.”
“Fuck’s sake, Vico. Why?”
“Yakuza.”
There’s silence for a minute, nothing but breath on the line. That word should be enough for him to get my fucking drift, though. They’ve been trying their best to bring the cunts under control these past few years, too. Unsuccessfully at that. Now, it’s my turn.
“How many?”
“You don’t want the answer to that. Just clean the port for me.” The door opens and I watch Hope’s legs slide in, fully exposed in a green winter dress and high heels, matching leather coat buckled at her waist. Cute. I hold the phone to my ear, distracted as I gaze at her beauty.
“Vico? You still there?” Fuck. I shake my head, focusing on the damn conversation I'm having rather than her.
“I expect it secure, Harvey. You screw me over and I’ll bring all hell down on you after I’ve finished them. You get whatever you need and you shut that shit down until we’re out of there.”
“All right, all right. I’ll call you when it’s done.”
Her lips tip up into that smile, as she looks at me, dirty, calculated. Exactly what she knows I want from her. But her eyes? They're filled with intrigue. My position in the driver’s seat should be suspect enough to have her wondering. She knows so much, though. She does. No one lives with me without knowing shit, no matter how hard I’ve tried to keep her away from my office. She’s been at some of the meetings over the years, heard the phone calls even if she didn’t know who was on the end of the line. I should trust her. I should probably trust her above anyone.
I scowl at the split lip she’s managed to cover. I should fucking apologize for that shit, too. Maybe. I don't know.
I pull onto the road. I’ve got other things to get in order today.
Namely her.
“Hi,” she says. “Driving?”
I nod and focus on the road in front. “No jeans.”
“You don’t like jeans.” She gives a little smile and turns to face the road. Cute.
It takes us well over an hour to get through traffic and over to Long Island, and for some reason, she slips into sleep on the way. Maybe all the running. Who knows? It’s reasonably nice, though. Quiet. I stare along the road, squinting at the sun climbing in the sky, and steer roads I've barely traveled on my own before now. I haven’t been out here for years. Mother used to bring me on the weekends sometimes. I thought back then it was for a holiday. I found out better when I turned fifteen. We were sent here for safety when shit went south, five guards escorting us, with another three already waiting when we arrived. No one knew about it apart from Mother and Father, and whatever guards he sent.
They’re all dead now, and I closed it all down when Father died. Old man Johnson, a resident down the road, plays caretaker, ensuring it’s kept clean and tidy with a selection of food items in stock just in case. No trouble with the neighbors in this area.
It never was my thing—beaches and dreams. Or maybe it was before reality took hold. Fuck knows.
“The Hamptons?” she asks, coming out of sleep as we drive into the area. “What are we doing here?”
“Got something to show you,” I reply, looking out of the window and pulling through the streets to get us there. Why I’m doing this I haven’t worked out yet, but she needs a place to go that no one can find. She’s precious to me like that. Important.
I hand her a bank card, a name written on it that isn’t hers, and then open the sectional between us, nodding at a small folder I prepared a while ago should it ever be needed.
“Memorise all that and burn it,” I suggest. She picks it up and flips through the pages, a frown on her face.
“I don’t understand,” she says, looking at me. I pull the car over into the next driveway, the key fob opening the gates in front of us.
“Yeah, well, shit’s about to get real and you need a place to run if it goes wrong.” Her eyes widen a little. “At present, Hope. You have nothing but my name behind you and the luxury that affords you. If I’m not here, you’re nothing but a gutter rat again.” That causes a scowl, one that flashes so fucking quickly no one would ever notice it. I do, though.
“But the accounts—”
“Are mine. I control them. That one is now yours.” I nod at the card. “Or Annalise Johnson’s. It’ll give you time to get prepped and get your ass out of the country. There’s an old place in Italy you can go to after this if you need to do that. All the info is there.”
I pull up as she’s digesting that information, her fingers running over the numbers and facts I’ve given her, and stare at the place, counting the white slats of wood all the way up to the top and smiling. I climbed those as a child. I remember Mother calling me down, telling me I was gonna kill myself. I snort, amused at the life she and Father were pushing me into anyway.
“It’s lovely,” she says.
Not as lovely as she is.
I turn to look at her as she gazes at the house, wondering what she makes of it. It is lovely, nothing like my apartment and so far from what she’s used to it must seem laughable. Still, it’s in her name now regardless, a way for her to gain a couple of million if she needs it and I’m dead. That and the bank account and she’s set for life.
“It was Mother’s,” I mumble, opening the car door. “Yours now.”
I chuckle at the gasp that comes out of her and walk round to help her out, hand reaching in to get her. She clasps onto me, legs peeling out as she finally stands on ground that not one other fuck knows about. “You’ll be safe here if you need to be.”
“Benjamin, I—” I hand her a spare set of car keys, a house key with a fob attached, as my other finger comes to her lips to stop her talking. She smiles and nods, a quiet blink of her eyes flickering between us.
“Don’t think. You don’t need to say anything. This is me giving you something to keep you safe if anything goes wrong, Hope. That’s all.”
“That’s not all it is,” she says, standing there looking so goddamn pretty. “It was your mother’s. You didn’t need to do this for me. I’ll be okay. You know I can look after myself.” She certainly did before I came along.
“You shouldn’t have to. That’s my job. If this shit I’m getting into fucks up, you shouldn’t have to suffer because of it. I’m getting in bed with Cane to bring war to Yakuza, Hope. That’s got real goddamn trouble written all over it.” She reaches for my face, a show of affection I’m not used to from her. I back off before she touches me, serious about what’s coming. “It’s gotta happen, though. I’m not letting them have Tony’s life without bringing revenge to them. You understand?”
Ten seconds. I count them in my head as I let her gaze try to penetrate me, get under my skin. I don’t fight the connection for once and let everything I’ve just said sink in. She nods and looks at the floor, realising the gravity of the situation. This could mean the end of me, end of us even. Ten seconds of us both looking at each other like thos
e goddamn lovers do in parks.
Stupid.
My head shakes as we walk up the path towards the porch, and my fingers play over my beads as memories flood me with every step. Time was good here, loving and kind. Mother used to say it was our retreat from the bright lights, a way of remembering who we were. She’d make me pancakes for breakfast, maple syrup poured all over them, until they couldn’t soak up anymore of the sticky sauce. I chuckle at the thought and open the main door, waving Hope in first. Her hands go to her mouth as she glances around the space, a small yelp of excitement coming from her as she crosses through the hall towards the kitchen area at the back.
“Look at that view,” she says, unbuckling her belt and laying her coat on the kitchen table. She’s opened the back doors before I get a chance to do it for her, heading straight out onto the deck to look at the ocean. “You’ve had this all along and you didn’t come out here? Why not, Benjamin? It's gorgeous.”
“Too pretty for the likes of me.”
She turns to look at me, a strange look on her face as she stares. It’s softer than normal, like something just changed in her mind.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yes, I just. . . I don’t know what to say.”
My hands turn her back to look out at the view, both of them wrapping around her waist as I lean on her shoulder and look at it with her. Could have been a different life here, one filled with those people in the park and their dreams of shit that doesn’t apply to me. I kiss the side of her cheek, my own eyes fixed on the waves crashing out there beyond us, and I remember swimming. I can almost hear Mother now, the shrill sound of her calling me in for dinner. I didn't. I kept swimming, burning energy and building my frame into something Father would be proud of, lean and muscular.
Intimidating.
“This is beautiful,” she murmurs, her hands covering mine. “Thank you.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
She looks downwards, a sigh coming from somewhere. I spin her to me, unsure what the fuck she has to sigh about. Nothing comes out of her mouth for a while as she continues to look at the floor. She's just quiet, a slight frown on her face, until, “I don't think you've ever said that to me.”
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