20. Claudia

Chapter 20

Claudia

F or a second, I forget how to use a phone. It's like all my countless hours of practice suddenly desert me and I can't recall how to open anything. Do I shake the thing? Smash it screen-first on the floor? Then my fingers remember before my head catches up and I'm pulling open the message app.

There's something sacred about a person's texts. This is the private space and each thread is a glimpse into another slice of personality. Tommy isn't Tommy with everyone: sometimes he's Tommy the boss and other times he's Tommy the friend and so on, cutting him into fine threads like a brain sliced flat onto microscope sides. Tommy with Michael Fuckface isn't the same as Tommy with Arnold K . It's bizarre, getting to see how different he is with each person, but also the same.

Tommy likes one-word answers. Because he's a fucking prick. There's a lot of "K" and "Fine" scattered throughout and more than a few emojis which is frankly disturbing. A lot of this stuff seems mundane. Texts from his bank with log-in codes, messages from friends about meeting up for dinner, about drinks this weekend, an uncle that wonders if he can come to a barbecue (answer: "Gotta check the schedule but I'll do my best").

I don't know what I'm looking for. I have to stop, close my eyes, take a couple deep breaths, and force myself to remember what Angelo wants. Vito, Roc, and Serbians. I don't see any of those names in the messages list, even when I scroll down as far as I can go. Each second that slips past is like a fear-dagger straight to my brain. Each moment I'm not back in that room returning this phone is another moment Tommy might realize his phone's missing and start wondering where it went.

I'm about to give up when I realize something. I'm a total moron. I've been looking in the messages?—

But he's also got Telegram, which is apparently an encrypted fancy texting system that makes life hard for law enforcement.

If I were Tommy, and I were a scumbag criminal, I'd probably save the good stuff for there.

I open it up and new names populate the screen. Some of them are familiar from the main messages app, but a lot of these are different. There are fewer jokey nicknames. Chats seem much more business-like, and although he's not outright saying stuff like "I'm selling drugs," there are plenty of shady interactions.

I pull out my phone and start taking pictures of Tommy's screen. I get anything that seems suspect, especially if the name looks even remotely foreign. There's a few from a Vlad, some more from a Nikola and from a Luka. Ivan was blowing up his DMs approximately six months ago.

And there, buried at the bottom, is a text chain with a guy named Roc.

I'm buzzing with excitement. This is everything that Angelo wanted. Proof Tommy's up to something. I keep snapping away, not slowing down to read what's on the screen, and when five minutes have crawled past, I finally decide that's enough and Angelo will have to be happy with what I've got. I make sure Telegram is shut down, double-check that nothing looks weird, before locking the screen and leaving the bathroom.

Nobody jumps out from a doorway. Guards aren't waiting for me in the hall. I hurry to the bar, get rid of the empties and the dirty napkins, and load up on new drinks. Tommy's phone is a weight under a scrum of paper towels in the far corner, but the bartender is too busy to notice what I'm up to. Nobody even looks at me twice, and I'm starting to wonder if I might actually get away with this.

It feels like there's a neon sign glowing on my face that says GUILTY, KILL ME NOW except there isn't. I just look like me.

Back in the meeting room. Tommy's engaged in loud banter with the foreign guys. He's telling a dirty joke about a farmer and a blonde with big tits and a horny bull, and he's making wild hand gestures all over the place. I kneel down and put the drinks on the coffee table.

My heart's racing and my palms are sticky with sweat as I quickly bend down as if I'm picking something up, only to slide Tommy's phone right under his chair.

For a beat, I think I got away with it. Tommy doesn't pause his story. His two friends are both very much engaged, both of them glassy-eyed and clearly drunk. I feel triumphant, elated. Tommy will find his phone under his chair later tonight and figure it fell off the coffee table at some point. He won't suspect that I took it and went through it and snapped pictures for Angelo.

Except when I look over my shoulder and start to stand, Serena's staring at me from the couch.

I go very still. I'm frozen, midway up. My eyes lock with my sister and she is very much awake and extremely aware. Her eyes narrow, her brows knitting together like she's confused, and there's no avoiding it. She saw what I did, and now she's starting to put it together in her head.

Understanding dawns on her face. And oh, god, she sits forward, very alert now, watching me with pure surprise. I bet she never dreamed that Claudia, her goody two-shoes older sister would ever do something so stupid, so brazen, so very much against the rules like steal Tommy's phone.

If she wants me gone, this is her chance.

Her comments from the bathroom drift back into my head.

She can make me go away. My judgmental stares, my pathetic obsession with her, my constant nagging and hanging around. If she wants her annoying older sister to disappear, all she needs to do is open her mouth.

It wouldn't be hard. Tommy would do the dirty work.

Slowly, I get to my feet. I feel light, almost dizzy, like my blood's completely gone. But I'm also happy it was her.

We can be done with this. Tommy will hurt me and Serena will get what she really wants. All the drugs in the world without a tether to her old life holding her back. Maybe Tommy won't kill me, or maybe he will. Either way, this is finished, and I won't be useful to Angelo anymore.

It'll be crap jobs in my crap apartment with awful Uncle Rodney breathing down my neck.

Except Serena doesn't say anything. She's got a little curious smile on her lips and she leans back against the cushions again, still staring at me, but her mouth remains shut. I move away from the coffee table, and Serena still hasn't started shouting—why hasn't she started shouting yet?—and I walk stiffly to the door. Serena's dead silent while the three men laugh loudly as Tommy's joke hits the punchline.

I don't understand it, but Serena gives me a little shake of her head as I glance back over my shoulder and makes a tiny shooing gesture with one hand, and I pause for a beat to let that sink in, before I step back into the hall.

Only to find Angelo waiting for me.

He comes close. I don't have time to react as he takes my arm and leans in close. "Hello, baby," he whispers. "Should we get another private room together?"