5. Arctic

Chapter 5

Arctic

T he devil works hard but Zoella Di Rossi works harder.

I have to hand it to the girl; she sure knows how to make herself invaluable. Having a hacker at my disposal is highly beneficial, but sometimes I think it's a waste of natural talent. She shouldn't have dropped out of MIT, but I get why she did it. And honestly? I can't blame her.

Once a place is tainted with betrayal and pain, it's hard to return. She couldn't walk those halls anymore. Be in that place. Too many memories. Too many whispers. Too many triggers.

Even though I took care of it, she couldn't go back. The damage was done. It's a shame though. She could've been somebody. She could've done something important. Something that she was passionate about. Maybe she still can. Her scars might fade completely. And she'll forget. She could be one of the lucky ones.

Someone has to be .

I'm lucky in a different way. I get to reap the benefits of her suffering. I don't like it, but it is what it is. That's what I tell myself.

That's what my father told me.

People are like rags, Camilla. Use them to keep your house clean, and when the rag becomes dirty and full of holes, throw it out.

My father threw out a lot of rags. Too many to count.

But his house was always clean.

At least on the surface.

Everyone has a junk drawer.

"Let's find yours," I hum to myself, taking a sip of straight vodka as I flip through the dossier Zoey compiled on Judge Keegan.

From the looks of it, Fred Keegan is a stand-up citizen turned public servant. Grew up in the suburbs of Maine. Finished high school with a clean record. Went to law school. Worked for an NGO before applying for a judgeship. Married a rather plain-looking first-grade teacher. Has a kid that's three years old and one still being cooked.

Bo-ring.

This is all shit I'd be able to find by doing a Google search. I purse my lips, frowning as I flip to my favorite section: Financials.

Show me your junk, Fred.

I scan pages upon pages of financial records, hoping to find something I can use against him. Something that will give me leverage in case he decides to try and make a name for himself.

So far...nothing .

A hefty mortgage. Few lines of credit. Bank accounts that look clean. Groceries, bills, random store receipts. Nothing special. He's clean. Too clean. I slam the rest of my drink. Something's not sitting right with me. I rummage through the papers, looking at monthly debit card transactions. Hmm. This might be something. I pull out my cell phone and call Zoey.

"Hi, Cami, what's up?"

"I'm going through Keegan's financials right now and on the last Wednesday of every month there's an ATM withdrawal of around six hundred dollars," I say, chewing my lip as I double-check each monthly statement. "What's he doing with all that cash?"

"Hmm... I don't know," Zoey says, the sound of a keyboard clacking in the background. "But—" she pauses for a moment, "—all those withdrawals came from the same ATM."

"Really?" I ask, accidentally waking up Pinto as I shift my position on the couch. Shit. I pout, petting between his ears as I mouth, 'sorry baby'. "Where's the ATM located?"

"One sec," she says as I play with Pinto's floppy ears, impatiently waiting for an answer. "Okay, so that particular ATM is on Grand, just off of Essex." She pauses. "Also, it seems that the withdrawals are usually done around the same time. Between 10 p.m. and 11 p.m."

I frown. "What's a family man who lives an hour outside Manhattan doing hanging around the Lower East Side that late at night?"

"Nothing good, I'm guessing," Zoey says. "But you can find out. "

I raise a brow. "How?"

"It's the last Wednesday of the month, Cami," she says. Is it? I check the time and date on my computer. Oh shit. "And it's almost 10 p.m."

"I knew that," I say, pushing myself off the couch. "Guess I'm going on a little trip." I glance back at the documents on the coffee table. "While I'm out..." I bite my lip, unsure why the desire to know more about the man is settling in my gut. "I need you to compile another brief for me."

"On who?"

I shouldn't care. I know that. But I can't shake the feeling of pure curiosity.

"On Dr. Hayden Malcolm," I say, heading to my room to change. "Everything you can find."

"Dr. Malcolm?" Zoey asks, confused. "The therapist? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?" I snap.

"I'm just wondering?—"

"I don't pay you to wonder, Zoella," I say. "I pay you to work."

"Okay," Zoey whispers, clearly upset as I end the call.

She's so sensitive. It's a liability in our world. The blood running through her veins is kind, soft, and innocent. But one day, it'll turn to stone. Ice. It'll be glacial. She'll cry for a few days or months—I did—but then she'll embrace the cold. She'll finally stop crying.

You can't cry if your tears are frozen. I haven't in years. And I won't. There is nothing that could thaw me. Nothing to reverse the transition. That day made me a native of the Arctic. It's my home now .

My kingdom.

I grab my purse from the hook near the elevator, looping it over my arm as I check the time. 9:33 p.m. Time to protect my kingdom. If Judge Keegan thinks he can bring down my empire, he's in for a rude awakening.

Taking a long drag from my cigarette, I lean against the faded brick wall of the alley, my gaze glued to the ATM across the street. Swarms of people pass by, ignoring me, not giving me the time of day. It's a skill I'm trying to learn.

Invisibility.

My father taught me that fear is shaped by shadows. By whispers in the wind. By cloaked secrecy of strength. When a lion roars, they've already lost. They've given themselves away. That's why I like sharks. No sounds. Just an ominous presence.

I scoff internally, remembering Hayden's idiotic remark. You're not a shark . Fucker. He doesn't even know me. He doesn't have a clue about what I can do. What I've seen. What I've experienced.

I grind my teeth. No. Don't do it. Don't let him get to you . I'm a motherfucking shark. With skin that is six inches thick. Not even a bullet can hurt me, which means a psycho-babbling, tweed-wearing, head doctor, sure as hell can't cause any damage.

Instinctively, my head snaps toward the ATM as Judge Keegan approaches, looking side to side before inserting his card. See? A shark. I flick my smoke down the dark alley, studying Fred carefully as he withdraws six hundred dollars. My lips twist up as I scan his outfit. He's dressed...nice. Trench coat. Loafers. His watch glistens under the streetlight as he pockets the cash quickly and runs across the street.

Keeping a safe distance, I follow Fred as he slithers through the streets, keeping his head down. Oh, he is definitely up to something shady. I grin, knowing that in a matter of minutes, he won't be a thorn in my ass any longer. It's always wise to pull out a weed before it starts causing real problems. I'm just hoping that I'll rip him out at the root.

I pause at the end of the block. Fred looks over his shoulder before entering a Chinese restaurant. Huh. That's one pricey chow mein, Freddie. He disappears through the doors, and I jog up to the restaurant.

Where the fuck is he going?

"Dine in or take out?" the hostess asks as I step inside, my body instantly overheating from the stuffy air. I look around the room, scanning all the tables. Not here. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a glimpse of a brown loafer turning down the hall. "Excuse me? Miss?"

"The man that just came inside." I nod to the far side of the restaurant. "Where is he going?"

The hostess blinks, face paling. "Who?"

"Jesus." I roll my eyes, fetching my wallet from my purse. I pull out five hundred dollars and fold the bills in half before holding the cash in front of the skittish woman. "Let's try this again. Where is he going?"

The hostess presses her lips into a thin line, hesitantly looking at the wad of bills. "Password?" she finally asks. "Do you have the password?"

Password? The pieces suddenly fall into place. Oh my. I'm sorry Judge, but I seem to have uncovered your junk drawer. It's messier than I thought. How exciting.

I retrieve a few more hundreds from my open wallet. I hold the bills between two fingers and tilt my head to the side. I don't need to say anything. Words won't work here. Only money talks. And the cash in my hand is fucking screaming right now.

"This way," the hostess says, taking the money.

"Thought so," I mutter, following the short woman as she weaves us between the tables, down the hall, and through the kitchen to a back door. I wonder how long this place has been in operation. Last I heard The Dragons were in Asia. Guess they're back.

"Cricket," she says, opening the black door for me. I narrow my eyes. "If they ask, the password is cricket."

"Right," I say, nodding as she waves her hand, ushering me through the door.

"Good luck," she says before the door closes behind me.

I suck in a small breath, following the lit carpet toward a staircase. Honestly, I probably shouldn't be here right now. We've been semi-friendly with the Dragons—cards and heroin aren't really our cup of tea—but still, I pat my pocket, checking for my gun. The last thing I need is intercity drama, but it's good to be prepared.

A tall, bald man with crater-like scars on his face glares at me from the bottom of the stairs, his posture alert, ready for battle. "You're new."

"I am," I coo, smiling coyly at the gross beast. The things I must do. "Hoping for some of that beginner's luck."

"Hmm." He eyes me warily, not giving a lot away. A fine soldier in my books. With a huff, he asks, "Password?"

"Cricket," I say innocently, biting my lip. "Did I pass... sir ?"

He can't help but grin. Too easy. It's always so fucking easy. Men are simple like that. If you can't stroke their cocks, stroke their egos.

"Enjoy," he says, opening the door for me. Soft music and the shuffling of cards sounds from within.

"Oh, I will." I toss him a wink before striding inside the underground casino.

The Dragons did an impressive job with this place; I wouldn't guess that it was a rundown basement before. I take in the eggshell wallpaper, clean gray carpets, and prim servers floating around the room. Not bad. Mine would be better...but not bad. I shake my head. Focus. The scent of booze, smoke, and sweat permeates around me as I scan the roulette, craps, and poker tables looking for Fred. On the left side of the long rectangular room, I spot the red curls of one Fred Keegan. Busted, my little public servant. Before I can take a step toward the poker table, an all too familiar face sits down next to Fred.

What in the actual fuck?

I glare as Leo unbuttons his suit jacket and places his drink on the table. He smirks, tossing a few chips on the green velvet before glancing at Fred and saying something.

Do they know each other? Why is he here? Are they working together? Is Leo a fucking snitch? Is that why he came back?

"A drink, Miss?" a passing server asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"Vodka." I keep my raging gaze on the poker table. Unanswered questions are the downfall of any queen. I refuse to fall. I point to where Leo and Fred are sitting. "I'll be at the table."

Straightening my posture, I prowl toward the empty seat next to Leo at the poker table. "May I?" I slam my purse down as I give Leo a glowering stare. Then, I look at Fred and his eyes widen like a doe caught in headlights. "Judge? What..." I blink sarcastically. "What're you doing here?"

Judge Keegan clears his throat, gaze bouncing between me and Leo. "Miss...Miss Bianco—" he takes a sip of his drink, shrinking before me, "—hello."

"Hi." I take a seat and place a few bills on the table. The dealer passes me chips. I take one in my hand, twirling it between my fingers. "How's the table? Hmm? Hot?" I side-eye Leo. He's not nervous. At all. If anything, he's amused. "Or cold?"

"Certainly hotter now that you're here," Leo grins at me, turning to the Judge. "What do you think, Keegan? Hot or cold?"

"Not sure yet," Judge Keegan swallows as the dealer passes around cards. I don't bother looking at mine as I toss a few chips in the center of the table. "Just got here. "

"Do you like it here, Keegan? Hmm?" Leo asks, peeking at his two cards before looking up at the Judge. "Does this place...bring you joy?" His voice is laced with threatening undertones. I frown. What's his game? The Judge doesn't reply, keeping his head down. "Oh, come on now, Judge, don't be scared. Answer the question. Do you like it here?"

"I do," Keegan whispers, the color draining from his face.

"Well, that's good," Leo hums as a server passes me a drink. I hold the glass against my lips, watching Leo intently. He's got a mask on tonight. A mask that I haven't seen before. A mask that our fathers have permanently glued to their faces. "I'm sure you can stay here for as long as you want." Leo downs his whiskey. "As long as you behave, that is." He meets Keegan's defeated gaze. "Are you going to behave, Keegan?"

"Yes," the Judge mumbles as the dealer flips over three cards. I mindlessly call. "I'll behave."

"Excellent!" Leo exclaims, standing up. "Play my hand, Mils. I need another drink."

"Wha—" I stand up abruptly, following Leo as he strolls casually toward the bar. "Leo!"

"Mils!" He mimics me, a shit-eating grin clipping the side of his mouth as he stops walking. I cross my arms, and he sighs. "Always so pouty. Cheer up, bella, you're making me sad."

"Why are you here?" I ask, irritation searing my skin. "What was that?"

"That?" Leo points to the rattled judge. "Just obeying orders."

"Orders?" My jaw sets. "Whose orders?"

Leo sighs. "The Council."

I narrow my eyes. "The Council?"

"Yes." He runs a tired hand through his hair as if I just killed his buzz. "They asked me to take care of your little problem."

"I could've taken care of it myself," I grunt. Those fucking bastards. They went to Leo? This isn't good. "I don't need your help."

Leo smiles, scanning my face. "Your hands need to stay clean, Mils."

I snort. "Is that what they told you?"

Leo shrugs. "It makes sense."

"Sure." My father's house might have been squeaky clean, but his hands? They were filthy. Covered in dirt and grime and death. But my hands need to be clean? Fucking ridiculous. "How did you know he'd be here? Did Zoey tell you? If she did, I swear to God?—"

"Jesus, Mils, you're going to give yourself an aneurysm. Zoey didn't tell me shit, okay? I just followed him all day." Leo laughs. "Must say, I get why he gambles. The poor man's life is boring as fuck."

"You followed him?" I ask. "Really?"

Leo cocks his head. "Sometimes you gotta work smarter, not harder."

"Right, because blindly following someone for an entire day versus doing extensive research is smart. My mistake."

Leo sighs. "Why are you mad? I took care of it, okay? We don't need to worry about Keegan anymore. There are no losers here. "

" We ?" He's lost his mind. "Since when is it we ?"

" Angeli Della Morte is still my home, Camilla," Leo says, voice low. "It's always been we ."

"You left," I state. "You severed those ties."

"The Council disagrees," Leo says, expelling a labored breath. "If you have an issue with my return, take it up with them tomorrow."

"Oh, I will," I say, my phone buzzing in my pocket. I pull it out.

Zoella

Emailed you some docs on the doc. Lol. Will send more later.

Leo leans over me. "Who's ‘the doc’?"

I shove him away. "None of your business."

"But I want it to be," he smirks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "You can trust me, Mils. You know that."

"You're delusional," I say, shaking him off of me. "You want me to trust you? How? I don't even know you."

Leo frowns. "I haven't changed, Camilla."

"But I have.”

"I can tell," he whispers, a hint of guilt in his voice. "I'm sure she's in there though. The girl I once knew."

"That girl died." Memories from that cold winter night infiltrate my thoughts. I close my eyes, attempting to banish the flashes of blood and diamonds. No. Go away. Leave me alone. It doesn't matter. It never mattered. That was another life. Another reality. Another person. It's not me . I open my eyes. "She died, so that I could be born."

Pain captures Leo's features. "That shouldn't have happened."

"And you shouldn't have left when it did," I state, turning on my heel. I take out my cell phone and call Yelena, the club manager of S&R as I exit the poker room. "Are Javi and Kody working tonight?"

"Yeah, they're on stage now," she says.

"Send them to my office after they're done," I say. "I'll be there soon."

"Both of them?" she asks.

"Of course," I say. "The more the merrier, right?"

"Okay," Yelena says. "Whatever you want."

Whatever I want.

I always get whatever I fucking want. And do you know why?

Because the girl that died... She never did.