“I can see why you’re single.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs like I’m a lost cause. “Tell yourself what you want. Maybe you do hate her, but you definitely still love her.
“That doesn’t change anything.” I decided that much as soon as I saw her at the funeral. Adair will never learn. She’ll hurt and ruin everyone around her in the name of destroying herself. And they’ll pay the price while she remains unscathed. “Look, I better head in there before he eats Oliver for dinner.”
Jack grips my hand, bumping his shoulder against mine before he takes his leave. It’s a show of solidarity and support. He might be walking a different path than Luca and I now, but we’ll always be brothers. Even if he questions my endgame.
There’s no doubt in my mind that Oliver deserves what’s coming to him though. When I scribbled the original list down on a redeye from London to Dulles, I’d penciled his name at the bottom of the notepad. At the gala, he’d moved himself to the top. Too much money. Not enough consequences. A particularly off-putting brand of privilege. Like too many in Valmont, he sees the world in categories. Namely two: those that belong at the top of the food chain like him and everyone else who is there for the taking. I know where I’m seen on that ladder, even now. None of them realize it’s an illusion. Money doesn’t keep them safe. It might buy time, but karma always finds her mark and the bitch calls me to make them pay.
Luca hands me a latte when I step into the room.
“I thought we should commemorate our first day on the new job,” he says. We toast our paper cups.
“It’s good to be back in the office,” I say dryly. “I see you got the place in order.”
“When you have a talent, you use it,” he says with pride. His tastes tend toward the theatrical. Why bother with simple revenge when you can make it a spectacle? That seems to be his modus operandi. Traditionally, his family relied on old school methods of persuasion and punishment: breaking legs for nonpayment, disappearing members that rat them out. Luca brought a flair to the operation that made him in demand throughout the entire syndicate.
The scene is set before me, perfectly laid out to deliver maximum impact for our message. He’s placed an old bed with a rusty metal frame against a crumbling wall. Its mattress is covered in stains I’d rather not think about. The guest of honor is handcuffed to it, stripped to his underwear. There’s a bag over his head. Jack brought him here from the bar with it on. Oliver’s got no idea who took him or where he is. All he can go on is the dank smell of mold and the sound of scurrying rats all around him. He’s spent the whole evening frightened and helpless. There’s a certain poetry to it. In truth, he deserves worse.
“You sure you don’t want me to kill him?” Luca asks loudly. He picks up two baseball bats and hands me one.
There’s a whimper from the black bag.
“That won’t be necessary this time. I’m sure that after our chat, he is going to be a good little boy.” The trouble in working with an assassin is that they always want to kill the target. I guess it never feels like the job is complete until they have. Not that Luca doesn’t follow a code. He does. It’s just a bit looser than Jack’s.
Jack is trying to balance out his karma. Luca doesn’t care about that. He embraced his dark side a long time ago. Now he’s going straight to hell on a full-ride scholarship.
“Mr. Hawthorne,” I call, circling the end of the bed. He strains toward the sound of my voice. I can imagine what he’s thinking. He’s wondering if this is a ransom situation or if he’s about to die. I enjoy letting him wonder. I enjoy letting him worry. He’s never had to before and that’s how someone like him rots from the inside out. No one’s been around to pluck him from his lofty spot at the top of the tree. The world thinks he’s shiny and perfect—a good apple. I know what lurks on the inside: the worms and decay. “It’s a crime to drug women. Don’t you know that?”
“I haven’t done that,” he protests in a muffled voice.
I smash the bat against the metal rails and he cries out, shaking in his cuffs. I wait for him to stop screaming. “Try again.”
“I have money.”
Luca laughs at this. “Join the club. Now answer the teacher or we’ll have to take minutes away from recess. It’s a crime to drug women. Don’t you know that?”
“I know,” Oliver says.
“That’s better. Are you having a good time, Mr. Hawthorne? Now, be honest,” I urge him.
His head shakes. “Please. I have a family.”
“A brother,” Luca says. “I think we might have to talk to him at some point.”
“Oh, I’m sure we will,” I confirm.
“Leave him out of this,” Oliver demands.
“See this is what you don’t seem to be comprehending,” I say, moving closer and pressing the top of the baseball bat to his chest. “You don’t get to make demands. You don’t order people around. Other people do not exist for your whims. If I want to go and have a little chat with your brother, I will.”
“Don’t,” he pleads. He’s starting to get the message.
“I didn’t hear the magic word.” Luca runs his bat along the top of the slats, and Oliver shrinks down as though he can hide.
“Please,” he says.
“It looked painful to say that.” I imagine he’s never used the word before. “You spend your life thinking you can buy whatever and whoever you want. Not anymore. I know about the drugs.”
“I haven’t done that for years,” he insists. “I was just a stupid kid back then.”
“This is my courthouse, and I’m
