8. Break
Chapter 8
Break
D irty.
I feel dirty. Like my skin is covered in grease and grime and garbage. It's been days, and I can't wash it away. It's stuck on me, soaking into my pores, spreading through my system like a disease.
I just want to be clean.
Please.
I reach for the wash brush, closing my eyes as scalding hot water spurts down my body. I press the bristles against my arms and scrub. I scrub and scrub and scrub until it hurts. Until his scent is gone. Until the evidence of his touch vanishes. Until he's no longer a part of me.
I did what I had to do. I don't regret it. I don't. It was necessary. A tiny little sacrifice in the grand scheme of things. Regular business is always dirty. And ours? It's filthy.
I just... I didn't expect to feel so defiled.
I like games, I do, but only when I make the rules. And even though Malik was playing by my rules, it somehow seemed like his game.
And I hate that.
I fucking hate that.
Letting out a sigh, I turn off the water, a shiver instantly gripping my spine as I step out of the shower. I grab a white towel off the hook and wrap it around my body, frowning as I glide my fingers against the soft material.
I shouldn't own anything white. It always gets wrecked and soiled. I wince as blood spattering against white chiffon flashes across my mind. I shudder, pushing the memory away.
No more white.
Ever.
Listlessly, I open the bathroom door and walk toward my closet. Tonight, our fate will be sealed. I did my job well. I'm confident the outcome of today's meeting will be favorable to The Angels. But still... What does someone wear on Judgement Day?
"I'd go with something leather."
I gasp, spinning around, my gaze landing on Leo who's sitting casually on my bed. He grins. "Or keep the towel. Start a new trend."
"What are you doing here?" I ask, crossing my arms. "Who let you in?"
Leo dangles a key from his finger. "Still got a key, remember?"
"Give that back," I demand, marching over to him and snatching it from his hands.
"Okay, okay, take it," he laughs .
"Now, leave." I toss the key on my vanity table. "I need to get ready."
"I'll be in the living room," he says, standing up. "Don't take too long."
"What?"
"I'm going with you." He raises a brow. "You didn't think you were going to meet Alba alone, did you?"
I shrug. "Not alone. Frankie was going to come."
Leo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, Frankie's downstairs with Tommy and Joe. They're all waiting for you."
"All four of you?"
"Yes."
"That seems like a bit of an overkill," I sneer. "Maybe you should call the National Guard as well, let them escort me."
"We're coming to protect you in case anything goes south, Mils," he says, tone warm. "Not because we don't trust you."
"It won't go south." My jaw clenches. "I made sure of that."
"I know." Discomfort flickers in Leo's eyes. "But this is new, Mils. You haven't worked with these guys before, okay? They're not counterfeiters, they're gunrunners. We need to be careful."
He's not wrong. Our families never dabbled in arms dealing before. We had no need. Angeli Della Morte controlled the counterfeit and forgery game up and down the Eastern seaboard. This was my father's idea. His plan was to expand. He always wanted more. More power. More wealth. More notoriety. Maybe he knew The Dragons were coming back and this was his preemptive strike. But my father left. He trusted me enough to leave. I can't let him down.
I won't.
"Fine, you can come." I nod at the door. "But you have to wait for me in the car."
"Fine," he says with a sly smile. "But I'm driving."
I scoff. "You are not driving my car."
"See you down there," he sings cheekily.
"Leo! I swear to—" He closes the door to my room before I can finish my sentence. "Asshole!"
I can hear his laughter.
It's clean.
Must be nice.
I lean over the steering wheel, squinting as we drive through the screeching gates of an abandoned warehouse. It's dark. Silent. Only the humming of the motor is audible. When Alba said the meeting place was in the middle of nowhere, he wasn't lying. It's not even on a map. The man might look stupid but clearly, he's got resources.
That worries me.
"I can't see anything," I say, pressing the gas pedal gently. A dim light flicks on in the distance. I turn the wheel. "Well, this is not the welcome I was expecting."
"What? You wanted a red carpet?" Leo jeers, arms crossed .
"Shut up." I roll my eyes. He's still salty that he didn't get to drive. "Grab my gun."
Leo opens the glove compartment as I pull in beside the shoddy building. "Here." He places the pistol on my lap as I put the car in park. "Ready? Or do you need a minute?"
"No, I'm good," I say, pocketing the gun. "Let's go."
Frankie, Leo, and the others trail behind me in silence as we walk up the wooden stairs. My heart races as we stop at the top of the landing. Before I can knock, a short, hairy man with a comb-over opens the door.
"This way," he says, voice like gravel. "You are late." He leads us through a small hallway to the back room. "You make us wait."
"Perhaps next time choose a more accessible location," I say as we enter a scarcely lit room.
"Finally," Malik says, resting his fists on the table. I glance around at the five men standing around him, suddenly glad that I came equally guarded. He gestures to the chair opposite him. "Sit, Camilla."
Leo pulls out my chair and I sit down, unease stirring in my stomach as I observe Malik's posture. He's stiff, stoic, and serious. Not at all like the man from a few nights ago. Something's different.
And different is never good.
"Thank you for coming all the way out here," Malik begins. "It is nice to see you again."
"Likewise," I say, keeping my tone neutral. "But let's skip the formalities, shall we?" I tilt my head. "The contract?"
"About that..." Malik glances at the hairy man on his right. "My men—" he pauses, avoiding eye contact like a little bitch, "—my men, they are not so sure about our… union."
I clench my fist. "Your men?"
"Yes." Malik lights up a cigar and takes a puff. Tension from my own men fills the smoky air as he leans back in his chair. "They think that going into business with such a... young organization might be problematic."
" Angeli Della Morte has been around for over a century," I state, controlling my breathing. "I would hardly say that's young ."
"Yes, but due to recent... changes, " Malik shrugs, “we are not so confident in the, uh, new organizational structure. We think it might be best to explore other options before we make any final decisions."
My eyes harden. "Other options?"
Malik's second-in-command lets out a small laugh. "A wise man always explores other options, no?"
Ignoring the troll's emphasis on the word man, I keep my gaze locked on Malik. "You told me that you only speak in dollars, right?" He nods hesitantly. "Well, I can guarantee you that there is no other organization on the East Coast that can make you as fluent as we can."
"Such confidence should be earned, little girl," the troll spits, curling his hand around the back of Malik's chair. "This is exactly the problem, Malik."
My head snaps toward him. "And you are?"
"Doesn't matter who I am," the troll rasps. "Only matters what is good for business."
"For someone who doesn't matter, you seem to be doing a lot of the talking," I note, catching Malik's attention. " Maybe it is your structural organization that is problematic, not mine."
Malik stiffens. "All we are saying is that we need more time to make a decision."
"Who else are you meeting?" I ask. Malik stays quiet. I narrow my eyes. "The Dragons?" He shifts. "You're wasting your time, Malik. The Dragons have no pull in New York."
"Wei Zhao disagrees," the troll grunts.
I blink, taken aback. "You've already met with them? When?"
"You ask a lot of questions," the troll notes, looking down at Malik and adding in a raspy laugh, "I thought you said she's a quiet one."
My ears burn. This bastard.
"Excuse me? I didn't quite hear that."
"Ignore him." Malik clears his throat. What sort of lies did he tell them? "There is nothing official with The Dragons yet, but I am being transparent. You should appreciate my honesty. I could have not said a word."
"You expect me to be grateful?" I scoff, standing up. Feet shuffle around the room. "You told me we had a deal. You said the contract was ours."
"It was a conversation, dear Camilla. I am sorry if you thought otherwise." Malik slowly rises from his seat. "The Angels are still an option, I swear. But we need more time."
"And yes," the troll pipes in, taking a step forward. "You should be grateful. Your father was an honorable man. We are showing him our respect." He hitches his nose. "Young people these days do not know honor. "
"Honor means keeping your word," I say through my teeth. "I seem to be the only honorable person in this room."
"How naive. Honor is earned , little girl, it is not passed through blood," the troll says, glaring at me. My vision blurs as his words ring in my ears. "I think it is time for you to leave." He nods at the door. "We will be in contact."
"Little girl?" I whisper, almost to myself. "Say it again."
"Cam—" Leo's voice is lost in the sea of self-doubt and heightened expectations.
"What did you call me?" I ask, reaching into my pocket. I lock my eyes on the troll's. "Say it again."
"Oh no, we upset the princess!" The troll laughs. Really laughs. Like I'm a fucking comedy show. "Look at her face! So scary."
"Enough!" I whip the gun out of my pocket and point it at the troll, my body vibrating from rage. Every man around the room draws their weapon as I take a step forward, peering down at the small man. "You think you have the upper hand here? You think that you can laugh at me, huh? I am New York, little boy. My family owns this city. " I cock my head. "And you? You are nothing but a guest." I glance at Malik, relaxing my trigger finger. Breathe. "If you want our business, you should learn how to control your men."
Malik's lip twitches. "Apologize to Camilla," he says begrudgingly. The troll's eyes widen. "Now!"
"No," the troll states, standing his ground. He strides toward me. "I don't apologize to whores . "
Triggers are sensitive. They require control. A delicate touch. The smallest movement and boom. Dead. Just like that.
Gone forever.
Thundering yells and the scrapping of chairs on hardwood surround me as the troll topples over, blood gushing from his shoulder.
I have a delicate touch.
And great aim.
"Call me when you're ready to make the deal," I say calmly, looking at Malik who's hunched over by his goon. "I'm not a very patient woman. Don't keep me waiting."
"You are crazy," he mutters, shaking his head. "I should kill you."
"Do it." I smile down at him. "I dare you."
Malik frowns, tending to the troll's wound. "Get out! Leave! Now!"
"Camilla, let's go." Leo grabs my arm and drags my limp body out of the house, my knees almost too weak to keep me upright. When we're outside, he grabs my shoulders. "What did you do? We need this contract! Do you think they're going to give it to us now that you've shot one of them?"
"It'll be fine!" I push Leo away, stumbling back myself. "I'll figure it out."
"How?" Leo shouts as I reach for the fob in my pocket and unlock my car. "You're not driving!" Leo rushes toward me. "Give me those!"
"No!" I shove him away, hopping into the car, my breathing ragged as I press the engine on. The tires crunch under the gravel as I accelerate out of the warehouse.
Panic sets in.
What did I do?
What did I do?
What the fuck did I do?
I repeat the question over and over and over again as I drive through the empty roads. Why did I do that? Fuck's sake, why didn't I stop? Is he right? Is Leo right? Did I fuck it up? God, I fucked up. The Council. My father. The whole family. We need this. The Dragons. They'll get the contract. They can't have it. They can't!
I burst through the elevator into my condo and run to the liquor cabinet. Oh my God, what did I do?! I grab a bottle of vodka, twist off the cap, and take a long swig.
It's not helping.
More.
More.
I take another swig and another and another, my eyes glazing over.
Little girl. Princess. Whore.
That's how they see me.
That's how they'll always see me.
I stumble into the bathroom, hanging my head over the sink. I peer up, looking at my reflection. For nothing. He died for fucking nothing! You're nothing. You should've run. You should've left when he asked the first time!
Weak.
Naive.
Stupid !
"Shut up!" I wind my arm back and slam my fist into my reflection, the mirror shattering under the force. I whimper as blood streams down my knuckles, dripping on the counter, the floor, the carpet, everywhere.
I stagger out of the bathroom and look around my room.
I need a line. Fuck. I need something.
With blood dripping down my arm, I frantically empty all my purses and look for a vial.
Where is it? Where are you!
I reach for a clutch, dumping the contents out on the bed. A business card falls out. I blink, trying to read the print.
He was right.
He knew.
I reach for my phone, dialing the number. The line rings as I sink down on the floor and hold my hand up, drops of blood staining my floor.
"Hello?"
"You were right." A defeated slurring giggle slips past my lips. "I'm not a shark. I?—"
"Camilla?" The doc's voice is soothing. "Is that you?"
My eyelids flicker. "I can't smell blood." A pause. "It's right here...and I can't smell it. You were right."
"Are you hurt right now?" he asks. "Hello?"
"Always," I whisper, fading in and out of consciousness.
"Where are you?"
I mumble my address before everything goes black.