4. Predator

Chapter 4

Predator

T he world is bigger than this city, Cami. You just need to open your eyes. You're looking, Cami, but you're not seeing. Open your eyes.

Open them.

I wrap my hands around a coffee mug as I stare out into the city, early morning mist sitting heavy in the air. The view from the thirtieth floor is spectacular. Unobstructed. Clouds and skylines. It’s mesmerizing. Quiet, peaceful, like nothing is moving. Everything is still, calm, serene.

I crave these moments. They’re rare. Fewer and fewer each year. Like his voice. It’s fading. Slowly, but it’s fading.

And one day, I won’t hear it at all.

Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe his voice is poisonous. And maybe when it’s gone, when it’s left my system, I’ll be cured.

Maybe.

God, what a horrible word. Maybe. At least no is concrete. Solid. Finite. I hate the mystery of maybes. They’re like advent calendars for optimists. That’s not me. Not anymore.

I glance down at the city blocks, tiny dots of human existence filling the streets like worker ants.

Go. Go. Go.

Always somewhere to go. Some goal to accomplish. Some dream to chase. The people down there... They’re made out of maybes.

That’s their fuel.

Maybe if I work hard enough, I’ll get that promotion. Maybe this new treatment will work. Maybe she’ll say yes. Maybe there’s another way.

Idiots.

It’s like they don’t know there are two sides to maybe. Like they refuse to acknowledge reality, the hard truth. Such ignorance. But what’s to be expected? Society favors beauty, and the truth isn’t always pretty. It’s harsh and ugly and downright depressing. I’ve seen the truth firsthand. I know that the other side of maybe only brings misery, misfortune, and mistrust.

Sooner or later, everyone learns about the pitfalls of maybes. I did. And I’ll never forget. It’s ingrained in my memory. That was the point. To make sure I never forget. Never waver. Never think about the possibility of maybe ever again.

It worked.

Never again.

I take a comforting sip of coffee, closing my eyes, the liquid warming my chest. The warmth doesn’t last. It passes in the blink of an eye, and I’m cold again. It’s odd. I was expecting to feel something by now. A sense of relief. A smidgen of pride, perhaps. But it’s been two months.

Where is it? Why am I still cold?

“Cami.”

“Yes?” I sigh, turning around as Zoey enters the living room, a tablet in hand. This should be interesting. “Did you find someone?”

“I did,” she replies, pulling up a profile on the tablet. “Name’s Dr. Wick. He’ll send reports to the judge.”

“Hmm...” I purse my lips, examining the old man’s aging features. Money can’t buy time, and this man doesn’t look like he has tons left. “Good enough.”

“My father knows him from poker,” she adds. “He says we can trust him.”

I suppress a snort. “But can we trust Enzo not to fuck me over?”

“My father voted for you,” Zoey says. “All the Di Rossis did.”

“We don’t know that for certain,” I state, walking to the kitchen. “Your family could be lying.”

Zoey’s young, naive; she doesn’t understand. It’s unprecedented to have a woman lead the family. But the Biancos and Di Rossis made a truce decades ago.

No more slaughter. No more blood.

But a truce is only as strong as the family who keeps it. And the Di Rossis are weaker than us.

Weakness breeds contempt.

And with Leo back?

Contempt and opportunity collide.

“They’re not!” Zoey insists, frustrated as she sits down by the island. “Cami, you need to have some faith in us. We’re in your corner, I promise.”

Promises. Another lesson I learned. Don’t make them. Don’t believe them. Don’t chase them.

A promise is a nightmare masquerading as a dream.

I don’t dream anymore. Haven’t for years. He wanted me to keep my eyes open. And I have. For 1,825 days. My eyes never close.

They can’t.

“Really?” I take a second mug out from the cabinet and place it on the wooden counter. “What about your brother?” I pour Zoey a cup of coffee from my French press, peering up at her as I add, “He broke into my house last night.”

“What?” Zoey blinks. “Leo was here? How did he get in? How did he?—”

Silly girl.

“Good question.” I scan her flustered face as I slide over the mug. “How did he get in?”

Zoey bites her lip, tapping her short nails on the counter. “Maybe he paid off Norman?”

“My doorman doesn’t have a death wish, Zoella,” I state, running through the CCTV footage again in my mind. Trust is so hard to come by these days. “Try again.”

“Umm...” Zoey’s breathing quickens. “Maybe he, uh—maybe he followed someone else inside and, umm...broke the lock?”

“He had a key,” I say, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket. I set it down on the counter, pulling a chef’s knife from a drawer. I stare at my assistant, her face pale. “Where would he get a key?”

“I don’t know,” Zoey whispers, her voice trembling. “Maybe?—”

“Only two people have a key to my apartment,” I note, slicing the Granny Smith in half. “Frankie, who was with me all night...” I pause, regripping the knife as I meet Zoey’s glossy eyes. “And you .” I tilt my head. “Where were you last night?”

“I was with...” Her voice fades into nothing.

“With?” I prompt. “Go on.”

“I was with Leo,” she breathes. “We had dinner but…” She shakes her head fervently. “Cami, I didn’t?—”

Her scream pierces the charged air as I raise the knife, slamming the blade on the counter, the tip slicing into the wood between her fingers. “Oh my God,” she wails, hand trembling. “Cami, I?—”

“If you ever go behind my back again, Zoella, it’s going to be your heart on the other side of that blade. Is that clear?”

“I didn’t give it to him,” she cries, wringing her hands together. “I’m sorry, Cami. I was so stupid. I—I left to go to the bathroom, and he must have looked through my purse or something. I don’t know, I didn’t?—”

“Think! You didn’t think, Zoey!” I yank the knife from the counter and toss it into the sink. “I know he’s your brother, but he is not to be trusted!” Zoey buries her face into her hands, shoulders hitching as she cries. It must be nice. The ability to cry. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” She glances up, eyes red. “Leonardo left. He is not family, Zoella. I am! ”

Zoey stops crying. She remembers. Of course, she remembers. It’s not something you forget.

Family protects family. Family dies for family. Family kills for family.

Blood stains not only the hands but the heart as well. My heart is crimson, drenched in the lives of monsters. But it doesn’t bother me. I’ve made my peace. When the time comes to plead my case, I’ll proudly hold up my bleeding heart and take whatever fate becomes me.

My soul died five years ago. Along with the girl I once was.

“I’m sorry,” Zoey says, sniffling. “I shouldn’t have met him, but I wanted to see if he’d tell me why he was back in the city.”

“You’re allowed to see your brother, Zoey, but you’re not allowed to hide it from me.”

“It won’t happen again,” she says, nodding. “Please believe me.” She holds out her shaky hand, pleading with me to hold it. “You have my loyalty, Cami. You know that.”

“You’ve disappointed me, Zoe.” I stare at her nervous fingers, unwilling, or rather, unable, to comfort her. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“It won’t. I promise.”

“Very well,” I sigh. Only time will tell. “So? What did he tell you?”

“Well, apparently it’s just a visit. He said he wanted to check in on you.”

“He told me the same thing. You believe him?”

Zoey shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with Leo. ”

“He met with your father last night. Do you know why?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I can try and find out.”

“Don’t.” I pop an apple slice into my mouth. “There’s a Council meeting in a few days. I’ll find out for myself.”

“Speaking of The Council,” Zoey turns the tablet toward me, “they’re all back in the city.”

My lip twitches. “All of them?”

“Yeah...” Zoey bites her lip. “Apparently they’re worried about Judge Keegan. That he’ll start poking around.” She pauses. “The deal happens in a couple of weeks, Cami. It needs to be clean.”

“Right.” I take a steadying breath. “It’s fine. I’ll put their worries to rest.”

“How?” Zoey asks.

“I’m going to make sure he knows exactly who he’s dealing with.” I nod at the tablet. “Find out everything you can about Judge Keegan. Family, friends, where he gets his dick wet. I want to know every detail about the man. I’m sure he’s got a few skeletons in his closet.”

“You’re not gonna kill him, are you?” she whispers.

I chuckle. “And draw unwanted attention? Seriously, Zoey? Use your head.”

“So, what’re you going to do then?”

I smile down at her. She’s still so pure. I miss being in my early twenties. She still dreams. “Depends on what you find.” I check the clock. They’re open now. “You have until tomorrow, okay? I want to get this over and done with before the meeting.”

“Whatever you’re going to do, you’ll contract out, right? ”

I shrug.

Zoey’s eyes widen. “Cami, contract it out!”

“Why? My father never did,” I state. “Plus, I need the confidence of The Council. This should help.”

Zoey twists her lips up in concern. “You’ll be careful?”

“No, but I’ll get it done.” I dump the mug of coffee into the sink, the creamy liquid circling the drain before disappearing down the black hole. “Get to work, Zoey. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Okay,” Zoey says. “Where are you going?”

“To visit with an old friend.”

And with that, I head to my room to change my mask from pawn to queen.

From prey to predator.

I get into my car and drive until the transformation is complete.

This has become a ritual of sorts. More common in the last two months. I didn’t visit her often before, but now it’s almost every week. I’m not sure what this means. But I’m drawn here. Called to this very spot. Sometimes hours pass and I don’t move.

I watch. I study. I learn.

Predators seldom befriend their prey. It doesn’t happen. It’s not natural. And I’m her biggest threat. I have the potential to wipe her out of existence.

But as I stand in the tunnel, hues of blue water and earthy-colored sea urchins surrounding me, I know that logic and circumstance don’t always align.

She’s the predator of her world.

Me of mine .

My gaze follows Maeve, my idol, my inspiration, as she swims confidently, knowing that she’s the queen. That nothing, and no one, can tear her apart.

A part of me thinks we understand each other. An unspoken bond of mutual respect.

Maeve probably has the same amount of blood on her hands—well, fins, I suppose—as I do. But that’s just the way it is. No one judges Maeve. It’s in her nature.

She was born to be a predator. It’s in her DNA. And I doubt she feels remorse. Why would she? She does what she needs to do to survive. To stay alive. It’s the hierarchy of the animal kingdom.

She’s on top.

And so am I.

The only difference is that I’m human.

My blood is warm.

And as much as I crave the warmth, I can’t help but wonder: If my blood was cold, would this all be easier?

“How do you do it?” I whisper, scanning Maeve’s large beady eye. “Tell me.”

“Interesting...” A husky voice hums from behind me. “The parallel.”

Predator or prey? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

“Dr. Malcolm,” I say, turning around. “Are you stalking me?”

“How can I?” He slips one hand into his jacket pocket, the vibrant colors of the aquarium reflecting off of his glasses. “Based on the information you wrote on the intake form, you don’t exist.”

I study his sharp features cautiously. “You looked me up? ”

“A fruitless attempt, I’ve surmised,” he replies, glancing at me. “Did you know that sharks are silent creatures? They don’t have vocal cords.”

“Is that so?” I tilt my head, giving him a defiant look. “How fascinating.”

His expression darkens momentarily. “It is.” His gaze flickers around my face. “Due to their inability to use audible sounds to communicate anger—” he pauses, a slight smirk, “—or other emotions, they solely express themselves physically.”

“It would seem to me that expressing emotions verbally is useless then,” I muse, raising a challenging brow. “Seeing as they’re at the top of the food chain.”

“I’ve swam with sharks, Miss Bianco.” Dr. Malcolm smiles, letting out a soft laugh. “And you are not a shark.”

“You don’t know me well enough to make that assertion.” I take a step closer to him, fist clenched. “I could make your sharks look like fucking koi fish.”

“Careful now,” he rasps, a smug timbre to his tone as he turns on his heel to walk away. “You’ll make yourself bleed again.” He stops, craning his head over his shoulder as he adds, “Sharks smell blood, remember?”

My jaw clenches. “Are you threatening me, Dr. Malcolm?”

“It’s not a threat, Miss Bianco,” he says. “It’s an opportunity.”

I glare at him. “An opportunity?”

“You know where to find me, Miss Bianco.” He shrugs. “If you ever wish to become a real shark. ”

My curiosity gets the better of me as I ask, “And what’s in it for you? Why do you care?”

Dr. Malcolm smirks. “Only one way to find out.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I state, intrigued by his game but not enough to press for more information. I don’t have the time to play head doctor. “But thanks for the offer.”

“If you change your mind, my door is open,” he says. “Figuratively speaking, of course.” He tosses me a grin. “You still need to knock.”

Like Maeve, I too have a sixth sense. I too am a shark.

I can sense trouble.

I can sense danger.

And this mystery of a man is bound to be dangerous.

One way or another.