3. Problems

Chapter 3

Problems

S ometimes I wish I could turn it off.

The noise.

The static.

The ambient melody of perpetual weakness.

That's what it is...weakness. I wish I could drown it. Smother it. Choke it until it dies. And I try. So fucking hard. But I can't. No substance has ever banished the noise permanently.

It's always temporary.

Always.

A few hours here. Maybe a day if I'm lucky. But just as the sun rises in the east and brings its warmth, the noise always returns, bringing with it nothing but demons.

Faded memories of the past. Blurry uncertainty of the present. Opaque darkness of the future. It's all here. Inside of me.

Stewing. Lurking. Hiding in the far corners of my mind.

These corners are new. I wasn't born with them. No one is. They were created from chaos. Forged from fear. Sired by sin.

But these corners are a rite of passage for someone like me. They're mandatory for this life. This world. This destiny. These corners are my burden to bear. My cross to carry. My noise to drown.

And I drown them.

Every day.

Until they're resuscitated and brought back to life by reality. By a fuck ton of water.

And a handful of Advil.

"Careful, princess." Frankie loops one arm around my torso as he keeps me upright. Not that I need it. I'm present again. Of sound body and mind. Unfortunately. "We're almost there, a few more steps."

"Frankie, I'm fine," I say, trying to detach myself from his fatherly grip. He doesn't let go. Overbearing as always. "I said I'm fine, Frankie, Jesus!" I wiggle out of his arms, straightening out my dress as we stop in front of the elevators of my condo building. I glance over at the doorman who I pay handsomely to keep his yap shut. "You're making a scene."

"Me?" Frankie blinks, crossing his burly arms. "I wasn't the one smashing shot glasses at a nightclub, was I?"

"It's my club. I can do whatever I want." I roll my eyes, calling the elevator. "Plus, it was a game, that's all."

"Yeah?" he scowls, shaking his head. "And what was this game called? Going viral on TicTac? Having your face plastered all over the internet?"

"TicTac?" I ask, stifling a grin. "God, you're fucking old." I tilt my head. "Would you prefer walnut or mahogany for your casket?"

"Camilla," he sighs. "I told your father that I'd keep you in check, okay? That I'd make sure The Council doesn't overturn their decision, but you're making it real hard to do right now. Do you hear what I'm sayin'?"

"The Council can suck my fucking dick," I state, aggressively pushing the elevator’s call button. Where the fuck is it? "I'm not scared of a bunch of boomers with bald spots and Viagra Pez dispensers."

"The vote was too close, Cami," he says as the elevator doors finally ping open. "You need The Council. You need to keep them happy."

"They're wiping their wrinkly asses with the face of our Founding Fathers, okay?" I sneer, stepping into the elevator. I scan my fob, hitting the penthouse button. "I think they're happy."

"Cam—"

"Night, Frankie," I mutter as the elevator doors close before he can continue his lecture.

Everything he's saying I already know. I know that I'm skating on thin ice with the fuckers on The Council. I know that only fifty-five percent of them have any confidence in me. I know that I royally fucked up by losing my shit on Chanel Counter Karen.

I know all of this.

But I also know that there is no one else more qualified to take this role. My father made sure of that. He kept the minute details of our business dealings secret for this reason. Suppliers. Dealers. Numbers. Locations. Payroll. Enforcers. Everything. I know it all. I know this organization better than any of those denture-wearing bastards. They might not like me, but they sure as fuck need to respect me. I fund their hookers, their vacations, and their livelihoods. I give them millions.

The elevator doors open into my apartment, and I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of corruption and wealth. They get millions, but I get so much more.

"Pinto?" I call out, kicking off my chunky black heels. I place my clutch on the console table before heading down the starlit hall. "Pinto?"

The lethargic pitter-patter of claws on hardwood sounds around me, and I smile as Pinto slowly walks toward me. I drop down to my knees, wrapping my arms around my blue-eyed babe and kissing his patchy light grey fur.

"How are you feeling, my little bean? Did you have a good day?" I scratch behind his ears. Pinto wags his tail back and forth. He's energetic today. That's good. I hope it lasts. "Did you miss me?" Pinto licks my face. "Oh, you did! I missed you too?—"

A distant clatter echoes, and I snap my head up, my body tensing as I hold up a finger. Pinto sits still, following my command. I slowly rise up, my hand reaching for the gun strapped to the garter on my thigh.

"Stay," I whisper, tiptoeing further into my apartment as I grip the pistol, all my senses on high alert. Someone's here. I can feel it. I take a few more steps into my living room, sucking in a quiet breath.

I can smell it.

With both hands firmly planted on the pistol, I whip around the corner and point the gun into my kitchen, narrowing my eyes at the open refrigerator door, the silhouette of a man standing behind it.

"Move, and I'll blow your fucking head off," I state. "Who sent you?"

"These chicken nuggets taste like ass," the man mumbles, turning around with a container of food in his hands. "Seriously, it tastes like blended cardboard."

Oh, for fuck's sake. Is this a joke?

I lower the gun, irritation spiking as Leo closes the fridge and flicks on the lights. He takes another bite of the nuggets, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his suit. Typical. He left New York with zero respect for designers, and he's come back with no respect for food.

"You broke into my house?" I ask, examining his smug face. He might be five years older, but he looks exactly the same. A snake draped in couture and covered in tough guy tats. Fake-ass little bitch. "What are you doing here?"

"Aw, come on, Mils," he says with a cocky smirk, striding toward me. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?" He looks down at me, his dark eyes scanning my face. He's not going to find what he's looking for. He's not going to find a friend. He squints at me, adding, "Christ, you're lookin' a bit rough, kid." He reaches into his breast pocket and hands me a handkerchief. "Wild night out, huh?"

"Get out," I sneer, smacking his hand away as Pinto runs up to us. I glare at my dog. He still remembers Leo's scent. I can't blame him. I do too. "Right now."

"No," he says with a playful grin .

"You either leave on your own accord—" I regrip the gun and point it at his chest, "—or in a body bag. You decide."

"Still dramatic as always," Leo sighs, tilting his head to the side as he peers down at the cocked pistol. "At least you're holding it properly." He looks up, tossing me a wink. "Guess you learned a few things while I was away."

"Leo, I'm serious," I state, grinding my teeth. "Get out of my house."

"Come on, you can't still be mad at me, Mils," he says, pinching his brown brows into a frown. As if he actually cares. So fake. Always so fucking fake. "Let me take you to dinner."

"I'm not hungry," I grunt, lowering the gun. Exhaustion washes over me. The past twenty-four hours have drained all my energy. There's nothing left. No will to argue. Fight. I point to the front door. "Leave, Leo."

"I think I'm in the mood for Greek," Leo muses, ignoring me as he plops down on an armchair and hikes his ankle over his thigh. He pulls out his cell phone, tapping away. "I hear Kaliopi's has impeccable lamb." He looks up. "You in?"

I close my eyes, calming myself down. He's the same. Still insufferable. Still obnoxious. Still arrogant beyond belief.

"I don't eat meat, remember?" I walk to the bar and pour myself a glass of whiskey. I down it in one shot, the amber liquid burning my throat and sedating me, just for a moment so I can calmly ask, "What are you doing here, Leo? The truth."

I already know the truth. The reason he's here. The reason he came back to New York.

He wants my throne.

But I need to hear him say it.

"Right!" he exclaims, clicking his tongue. "I forgot about that. My bad. Okay, well, they have vegetarian options too. Let's see…" His forehead creases as he scrolls through his phone. "Mmm... Oh! Spanakopita is meat-free! Perfect for?—"

"Leo, stop!" I march over, yanking the phone from his hands. Enough. "You can't just leave for five fucking years and come back into my life acting like nothing happened! Why are you here? Tell me!"

"I called you." Leo tenses as he slowly stands up, towering over me. He reaches out, hand hovering for a second before cupping my cheek. His thumb grazes my burning skin. "I called you every week for a year, but you didn't answer. You have no right to be upset with me, Mils. You're the one who cut me off."

My jaw sets. "You left me when I needed you the most."

And now you're back.

Ready to take the only thing I have left that means anything.

"I had to leave," he whispers with a pained expression as I pull away from his touch. "I couldn't stay. I couldn't watch—" He sucks in a sharp breath. "I had to leave."

"Right," I scoff. "Because traveling the world was more important to you than I was." I shake my head, disgusted with myself for ever thinking he'd always be by my side. "You were like a brother to me, Leo, and you left me."

"That was the problem," Leo mutters, running a hand through his hair. "Listen, Mils, I didn't come here to upset you, okay? I came here to make amends."

"Lies," I state with utter certainty. "We both know why you're here."

Leo sighs. "I don't want New York, Mils."

"Mhmm," I hum, not believing him for a second. "So, you just happen to return two months after my dad retires, and that's just what? An unfortunate coincidence?"

"A lucky one in my eyes," he says, trying—and failing—to lighten the mood. He clicks his tongue. "I was in Latin America, okay? I unplugged. I had no service for six months, Mils. I didn't know Tony retired until two days ago when I saw the text from my dad." He shrugs. "He said you won over The Council—congrats, by the way—but I guess I wanted to see it for myself." His gaze skims my face. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

I'm not some naive little girl anymore. Five years ago, I might have believed him. I would've eaten up every word. I would've forgotten and forgiven and focused on the fact that he's here. But I'm not twenty-two anymore. I'm not the same girl he left standing in that garden.

I've changed. I've learned. And I've grown the fuck up. I used to trust him like he was my diary, but I can't anymore. He broke the lock. Shattered the key. Tore out the pages of my heart.

"Everything's fine," I say, crossing my arms. "Better than ever. "

"Zoella told me about the lawsuit," he notes. "I wouldn't say that everything is fine."

My features harden. "Zoey's taking care of it."

"Is she?" he asks, judgment oozing from his pores. "Well, that's good. My sister has always had a knack for cleaning up other people's messes."

"That's her job, Leonardo," I state. "That's what I pay her to do."

"Wow," he hums, meeting my cold glare. "Tony did a great job. It's almost uncanny."

"What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he mutters, checking his vibrating phone. "I got to go. My father wants to see me."

"Aw, leaving so soon?" I jeer, gesturing to the elevators. "Give my regards to The Council."

"I will," Leo says as the elevator doors open. He pauses for a second, collecting his thoughts. "If this is what you really want, Mils, you should be more careful."

"I don't need advice from an outsider."

"I'm just saying..." Leo steps into the elevator, giving me a shrug as the doors close. His voice fades to a whisper as he adds, "It would be a shame for your new crown to break so quickly."

Broken gold is still gold.

No matter how cracked.

It's stolen gold that causes problems.

You can't fix something if it's no longer yours.