Chapter Twenty

CHAPTER TWENTY

Elizabeth

It was unexpectedly stressful and bittersweet to write up my resignation letter.

Not because I had any loyalty toward the senator. I mean, I’d lost all respect for him well before I learned he was trying to help a human trafficker get away with his crimes.

But I’d gotten close with the people on the campaign with me. Endless hours were spent in one another’s company. Sharing stress, relief, highs and lows. Thousands of cups of coffee with small talk to go along with it. Mini mental breakdowns over late-night pizza or Chinese.

I knew whose partners were pissed off with how much time they were devoting to work, or in some of their cases, volunteering. I knew who’d missed important milestones with their loved ones because Michael had changed his mind, and demanded we work late. I knew who’d gotten engaged over the last few months. And who was about to tell the world they were going to have a baby.

These people were the closest things I had to friends. And I was, in a very brief and feelingless letter, abandoning all of them.

I knew it would feel like an extra betrayal when, eventually, the news ran with the recording of me getting the senator to admit to his crimes.

For not giving them a heads up, for many.

But for some who genuinely loved the senator, for reasons I never quite understood, for doing something to ‘make’ him look bad. Even if it was his own actions that were truly to blame.

I tried to squash my guilt by reminding myself that Michael wasn’t exactly going to be brought to justice anytime soon. And that in the meantime, he was going to do everything in his power to change the narrative, to get the court of public opinion—the only court that mattered in his opinion—back in his favor.

There would still be jobs for those who were on salary. My main concern being the one woman who was pregnant and the other young man who had borrowed the money for his engagement ring from his father and was trying to pay it back.

They would be okay.

A crisis management team would be hired. Then they would likely be busier than ever.

I was really the only one out of work.

I had savings, I reminded myself after I sent out my email, then walked away from my laptop, not wanting to fall into the trap of endlessly refreshing my inbox, waiting for all the hate responses to flood in. I would be okay for a while.

And there was nothing stopping me from looking for freelance work as soon as I finished sharing the recording I had of the senator. At least that way, I would know I was safe.

As much as a part of me was hopeful that Elian could find a way to fix this situation with the Bratva, there was obviously a chance that he wouldn’t be able to do that.

Then what?

I had to move?

The thought of it made my stomach ache, so I forced those thoughts away as I took a shower, then worked on my hair and makeup, telling myself I was doing it so I looked put together, and not like a crazy person, when I went to the police. But the other part of me knew it had nothing to do with how the outside world might look at me. And everything to do with how Elian would.

Even just thinking of him had my skin warming and the telltale ache of desire blooming in my core. Despite him fully satisfying my hunger just a few hours before.

I finished sending an email out to that vlogger from the press conference at the gym, Nathan, because I figured he was someone who could get the recording out quickly and have it gain traction. From there, the news networks would pick it up.

If I planned things right, it would be everywhere by the end of the day.

I just wanted to make sure that I had it in the possession of the police slightly in advance of the news picking it up.

I was just finishing moving the recording from my app to an external drive to give to the police when there was a knock at the door.

“Do you need a refill?” I called as I walked toward the door, having just given Serano a latte an hour before, feeling bad that he was spending his whole day just standing in the hallway, doing nothing.

But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Serano standing there.

No, it was two women.

Elian’s sister Islah and the female mafia capo, Cinna.

“Oh, hey,” I said, brows pinched as I looked beyond them, not seeing a guard anywhere.

“I told Serano he could go grab lunch while I’m here,” Cinna said as the two of them moved inside.

“Oh, okay. I feel so bad that he’s just stuck out there all day. I keep inviting him in, but…”

“But it’s Serano,” Cinna said. “And he’s about as social as a feral cat.”

“And you’re all warm and snuggly,” Islah teased, getting a smile out of Cinna as Islah scooped Kevin off of his stand and pressed a kiss to his soft head.

“How’re you holding up?” Cinna asked. “Saw the news.”

“I’m… okay,” I told her, mostly meaning it. Sure, I had some concerns about my career and finances, but the other part of me was overwhelmingly happy to be with Elian, to hear him discuss the near and even distant future in a way that suggested he expected me to still be around. With him.

“Yeah?” Cinna asked. “Is that why you’re tapping?” she asked, glancing at the countertop where my fingers were tapping frantically.

“I’m a little nervous about what I have to do next,” I admitted.

“Make the senator pay for his crimes?” she asked.

“Put myself out there as a whistleblower, I guess. Things are bad enough, but after this, people who really like Michael, or other criminals that he might be involved with, might have reason to hate me too.”

To that, Cinna nodded. “To be fair, the Bratva don’t hate you,” she said. “It’s not personal. It’s business.”

“Pretty sure that’s not helping,” Islah said as she joined us in the kitchen, brushing Kevin’s hair off of her shirt as she did.

“I think it’s always better when shit isn’t personal. It’s not like the Russians have some reason, based on who you are as a person, to want you dead. You’re just kind of in their way.”

“She should work for a greeting card company, right?” Islah teased. “ Sorry your father died, but he was kind of a jerk anyway, right? ”

“I’m pretty sure that would be a bestseller,” Cinna shot back.

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” I said, smiling at both of them.

“So, how have things with you and my brother been going?”

“Islah,” Cinna scolded, giving her a wide-eyed look.

“What? Like they’re living together and not giving in to the tension between them? Come on. Not everyone is like you, fighting your feelings for Dav for like a decade.”

“We were friends.”

“You were stubborn,” Islah insisted. “Anyway, things are good?” she asked, turning toward me.

“They’re good,” I said, surprised by how wide my smile spread. “Really good,” I added, gaze sliding to the island, memories flashing.

Cinna’s gaze followed, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Islah, however, entirely missed it. “He’s been needing a woman in his life. He’s the nicest guy.”

“He really is,” I agreed.

“So, when are you going to get a man in your life?” Cinna asked, poking at her since she’d teased first.

“I think men might be better… fictionally,” Islah said, shrugging.

“I mean…” I started to agree. “Sometimes. But I think the real life good ones beat the fictional good ones by leaps and bounds.”

“I don’t know if I’ve met one of those. A real life good guy,” Islah clarified. “I mean, the guys in the family aside. And they’re all off-limits even if I wanted one,” she said. “So, are you two together-together?”

“I, um, maybe. We haven’t exactly had a talk like that. Things are still really up in the air. You know, with the whole people wanting to kill me thing.”

“Can’t Renzo handle that?” Islah asked, looking to Cinna who was the expert on family things in this group.

“Things are… complicated with a crew as organized as the Bratva.”

“But you can’t get more organized than the mafia, right?” Islah asked.

“I mean, no. But these aren’t the Wild West days like back when Renzo first took over.” At Islah’s blank look, Cinna shrugged. “Look, we were all a lot younger back then. Reckless. Didn’t have a lot of respect for our own mortality. Back then, Renzo would have had us picking off the Russians one by one. Now, we have shit to lose. He’s a little more calculated now.

“I’m not saying he’s not going to take down the Bratva. He’s just going to do it carefully. I mean, that’s why he has Elian sitting on them. Which, remember, is how he first saved Elizabeth’s life,” Cinna said. “So Renzo’s caution has its definite upsides.”

“How were they able to move into Renzo’s territory in the first place?” Islah asked.

“I mean… it’s complicated. It’s not like the Russians came in with moving trucks and a sign declaring what they were up to. Brooklyn has a lot of people, a lot of neighborhoods, of businesses. Renzo can’t be expected to know about what every person is up to.

“So they moved in slowly, under the radar, setting up their business that looked legit at first, so Renzo didn’t need to be involved. But they were really making quiet moves behind our backs, moving more of their crew into the area, until, one day, they were a potentially big threat. And here we are,” she said, waving a hand out.

“And, well, the Bratva is known for being particularly cold-blooded and ruthless, so shit is… more complicated than any of us like. But trust me, we’re… working on it.”

“I’m assuming that we aren’t meant to know the details about that,” I said.

“These guys, they kind of prefer it if the women don’t know what’s going on. For legal reasons. Obviously, no one wants you guys to be able to be called on a stand and say that, yes, you know that so-and-so did such-and-such.”

“Yeah, I never get any details unless I happen to overhear them.”

“You mean eavesdrop,” Cinna said with a head shake.

“Hey, it’s not my fault these men talk so loudly,” she said. “You guys okay with ordering pizza? I’m starving.”

With that, the conversation moved away from mafia business and onto stories Cinna was telling about two teen boys she and Dav had, for all intents and purposes, adopted. The stories were made funnier by the fact that Cinna, well, wasn’t exactly the most maternal woman to ever exist.

“Do you want kids?” Islah asked.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to ask that,” Cinna said.

“You’re not supposed to ask strangers that,” Islah insisted. “But Elizabeth isn’t a stranger. And she’s dating Elian. Who definitely wants kids.”

“I didn’t plan on them in my immediate future,” I admitted. “I was still working on the whole career thing before my life kind of blew up. But I think I always saw myself with them eventually.”

“I will make a great auntie,” Islah decided.

“Since you won’t be having real children because only fictional men are any good,” Cinna concluded.

“Exactly.”

“You do realize that I always swore I’d never settle down or have children, right?” Cinna asked. “I think I’m gonna be laughing about this conversation in a few years,” she said as there was a knock at the door.

“I got it,” Islah said, grabbing her purse and rushing toward the door.

“Islah, wait,” Cinna called, rushing up behind her.

It all happened in slow motion.

Islah’s hand reached for the knob, half turning back to look at Cinna as she rushed across the floor.

But it was too late.

The door was already in motion, pushing inward, making Islah’s head whip over, brows pinched as she felt it push inward.

Then the whole thing seemed to speed up, fast forward.

Cinna yelled, but I couldn’t seem to make out what she was saying over the thumping of my pulse in my ears as I watched a man storm into the condo.

The force of the door sent Islah flying, crashing back into the wall, her pretty face twisting up in pain as her head snapped back.

No.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not here.

Where it was supposed to be safe.

The man ignored Islah, charging instead at Cinna, his hand pulling out of his jacket, coming back with a gun that had my stomach twisting, mind flashing back to the night before, to another man, another gun, the muted sounds, the blood, the fear, the uncertainty.

Cinna’s arm started to raise, her own gun at the ready.

But I watched in horror as the other shooter was faster, taking aim and shooting.

I wouldn’t have thought anything happened if I didn’t see Cinna’s whole body jerk to one side as, it seemed, a bullet sliced into her flesh.

The man wasn’t satisfied with that, though.

He kept moving toward her, grabbing her arm with the gun, yanking it up to aim toward the ceiling, his grip hard enough to make Cinna’s face twist in pain.

He shook her hand, once, twice.

Until, on the third savage twist, the gun slipped from her hand and went flying.

I watched, frozen on the spot, my legs stuck, my very heartbeat seemingly seized in my chest, as he lifted his other hand, and started to press the gun toward Cinna’s head.

Suddenly, Islah was up off the floor, taking a running start and leaping onto the man’s back, the shock of her body suddenly clinging to him, making his hand fall just enough, and allow Cinna to move away, out of the line of fire.

Cinna moved into the cage of his body, fingers digging into his eyes.

A deep, guttural yell escaped the man as he whipped himself around to get away from the pressure.

Islah clung to him, her legs wrapped hard around his waist, her arms going up to close around his throat. She squeezed hard enough to make her arms shake, and make red rise in the man’s face and cheeks.

Cinna rushed around, trying to get to her gun.

But then there was a slam, followed by a cry, as we both turned to see the man ramming Islah back against the wall.

Once, twice.

The third, time made her eyes go out of focus, and suddenly, she was going lax, falling down hard on her ass, gaze dazed as he turned on her, raising his gun.

Thoughts of her gun abandoned, Cinna rushed the shooter, grabbing his wrist with both of hers, the gun waving around wildly as they both fought for control.

Islah was still slumped against the wall, a faraway look in her eyes. And, I noticed with rising horror, there was a spot of blood on the wall where she’d slammed into it over and over, then drag marks down toward where she was sitting.

Oh, God.

Elian was going to lose his mind if something happened to his baby sister. While I just stood there. Not fighting the attacker. Not assisting Islah. Just doing… nothing.

There was a crashing noise, making my gaze reluctantly slide away from Islah, finding Cinna splayed out on the coffee table, the center of it concaved under the impact, making her struggle to get back out.

As the man drew closer.

As he raised his gun.

He was going to shoot Cinna.

Then Islah.

All because of me.

Suddenly, whatever had been keeping my feet glued to the ground let up, and I flew across the floor, reaching for Cinna’s gun.

“No!” I screamed, making the man stiffen.

Then turn.

As my finger slid to the trigger.

Aimed.

Pulled.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

His body jerked twice.

Five.

Six.

And I watched as blood bloomed out from a hole suddenly lodged in the man’s cheek.

It seemed to take him a moment to realize he was shot, his body wobbling, his brows knitting.

Cinna took the opportunity as he fell in slow motion to his knees to climb out of the wrecked coffee table, then rush toward me.

She yanked the gun from my hands, walking over to him, pressing the muzzle to the top of his head.

And pulling the trigger.

Once.

Twice.

Not a second later, he fell forward, cracking his face hard against the floor.

Then, well, then there was nothing but silence.

“Islah,” Cinna said, kicking the door closed on her way over to Islah, where she dropped to her knees, and reached for the younger woman’s face with both of hers, the gun pressing against Islah’s cheek as Cinna lifted her head. “Are you with me?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” Islah said, nodding slowly. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, looks like you hit it pretty fucking hard,” Cinna said, putting the gun down to reach to turn Islah’s head to inspect the wound. “Kiddo, looks like we need to take you to see a doctor,” she said, reaching with one hand for her pocket.

Her voice was calm, but I saw the way her hand shook as she tried to unlock her phone, scroll to her contacts, then lift it to her ear.

“Just stay awake, okay?” she said, patting Islah’s cheek.

“Elian?” she called into the phone, making my belly twist. “Someone got in,” she said, casting another concerned look at Islah. “Islah needs to go to urgent care. She knocked the back of her head pretty bad and she’s a little out of it. No, no. She’s okay. Alright. Yeah. Hurry,” she demanded, dropping her phone onto the ground with a loud crack without even ending the call.

“I’m okay,” Islah insisted, eyes looking small. I knew that look well. She was getting a wicked migraine.

“Yep. But we are gonna have a doctor tell us that too, okay? Elian and Serano are on their way back. They should be like five minutes, then we will get you checked out.”

“My head,” Islah whimpered.

“I know. We will see what the doctor says you can have. And if you can, I’ll get you the good shit, okay?” Cinna asked, forcing some pep into her words that I could tell she didn’t feel.

“You’re bleeding,” Islah said, glancing at Cinna’s shoulder.

“Just a flesh wound. I’m gonna use it as an excuse to make Dav wait on me hand and foot for the next week, though. See? That’s one reason the real men are better than the fictional ones,” she said.

It couldn’t have been more than two minutes later that I heard footsteps slamming out in the hall, then the turn of the knob, before the door was flying open.

Elian’s gaze was immediately on the blood on the wall, then his sister slumped on the floor.

Rushing toward her, he dropped to his knees, reaching to turn her head the same way Cinna had, checking the wound.

“Are you shot?” Serano asked, zeroing in on Cinna’s arm.

“I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Elian said, reaching for his sister and pulling her up onto her feet.

She swayed slightly but righted herself.

“I’m okay,” she insisted again.

“You were a fucking rockstar,” Cinna said. “You can tell Elian all about it in the car,” she added, leading the younger woman toward the door.

“Serano, stay with Elizabeth,” Cinna demanded.

At the mention of my name, Elian’s gaze scanned around, finding me, his gaze conflicted.

“Go,” I said, the sound barely audible even to my own ears.

Still, he heard me, but he still looked just as torn in two as he led his sister and Cinna toward and out the door.

Alone, my gaze slid away from the bloodstain Islah had left and toward the body on the floor, unnaturally still.

Dead.

“Don’t look at ‘im,” Serano said, breaking the silence. Then, when it seemed impossible for me to look away, he reached to remove his jacket, then drape it over the head and shoulders of the man. “There,” he declared. “Better.”

It wasn’t.

Not really.

Because I was pretty sure I would be seeing the image of the man with a hole in his cheek. A hole I put there. A hole I was pretty sure would have killed him given a few more minutes. If Cinna hadn’t… expedited the process.

“You’re shaking,” Serano said, very matter-of-fact, but the wideness to his eyes may have been his version of concern.

Or maybe it was pure, undiluted masculine terror at the prospect of having to comfort a hysterical woman.

“I shot him,” I said, staring at the body.

“Good.”

Was it? Good?

I mean, it was good that Cinna was alive and Islah would be okay after some medical care.

But was it good that I’d shot someone? That I probably almost killed him?

There was a knocking at the door, making me jolt hard, and Serano reached under his arm where he had a holster.

“It’s Rico,” a voice called, making Serano drop his hand, then open the door.

Rico was a tall, lithely fit man with short, dark hair, dark eyes, rugged bone structure, and tanned skin.

“Cinna called and… oh,” he said, looking down at the body. “What’s with the jacket?” he asked, making Serano nod toward me. “Oh, right,” Rico said, looking almost as lost as Serano did.

“I shot him,” I said again.

Then, I kid you not, he said, “Good.”

There was another knock, making Rico turn to open it, letting in a small, slight woman with bright blue hair and a pretty face.

Her gaze slid to the body, then right up to me.

“Okay,” she said, walking over to me. “How about you stop staring at the corpse?” she asked, reaching for me and forcibly turning me away.

“I covered him with a jacket,” Serano insisted.

“Yeah. He’s totally invisible now,” Saff drawled.

“I shot him,” I repeated for the third time. A parrot with one phrase she could repeat.

“Yeah? Seems like you didn’t really have a choice,” she said, pulling me toward the dining chair and pushing me down into it.

“He was going to shoot Cinna. Again.”

“Cinna is shot?” she asked, walking toward the kitchen.

“In her arm.”

“Oh, so she’s barely shot,” the woman said, finding a bottle of liquor and a shot glass, bringing them over to me and pouring. “Drink,” she demanded.

Numbly, I found myself doing what she demanded, seeing as she seemed a lot more in control of herself in the moment.

“I’m Saff, by the way.”

“Elizabeth,” I said, a little concerned that the vodka didn’t burn on the way down. So when Saff poured me another shot, I took it.

“Well, Elizabeth, I think it might be a good idea for you to go hang out in the bedroom while the guys and I… clean up.”

“Clean up,” I repeated.

“Well, I don’t think the corpse really adds to the decor, y’know?”

“Saff,” Rico scolded, sounding exasperated.

“What? She’s going to notice the body is gone when it’s not still sitting here a week from now, gathering flies.”

“Christ,” Rico said, sighing hard.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here,” Saff said, reaching to grab my arm, pulling me with her when I didn’t immediately move to follow her.

She led me into Elian’s room, gesturing to the bed, where I sat.

“Okay, so, maybe just stay in here, okay? I don’t want Elian to blame me if you are more emotionally damaged than necessary,” she said.

And, with that, she walked out, closing the door behind her.

Alone, I slid down onto my side, pretending not to hear the sounds of the three people in the other room.

Cleaning up a crime scene.

That I’d created.

I couldn’t tell you how long I lay there, staring at the wall, in this weird dissociative state.

Until, what felt like a lifetime later, the bedroom door slid open.

And there was Elian.