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Scrubbing my tired face with my hands, I reply, “She is the devil.”
Elijah walks around the bar and grabs a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label whiskey and two glasses. “Come with me.”
I follow Elijah through the crowd and into the VIP room. He gestures to the men sitting in one of the booths to leave, and they scatter away quickly like frightened mice. We sit down on the black velvet seats across from one another. He pours us each a generous glass of whiskey, raising his glass in the air. “To the red-headed devil.”
Letting out a frustrated sigh, I shake my head, choosing to drink my whiskey without entertaining his jab.
“So, you have me intrigued.” Elijah grins. “What is it about her that has you so agitated?”
“Everything about her agitates me,” I grunt.
Elijah chuckles. “Fuck me. You like her!”
I turn my head away, choosing not to look at him. I can’t lie to my best friend. He will see straight through it. He is the only person in my life that has always been able to see my inner battles. That is until Scarlet. How does she see what so many don’t? She manages to dig deep into my soul and claw away at it.
As I look around at the crowds of people, dancing, laughing, socializing. I envy them. I envy their ability to be carefree for even just one evening. I know everyone has their own problems, but most of the people in this club tonight will wake up tomorrow to their normal lives, with their normal families. They do not have to walk around with the stench of death on them as I do. With a clean conscience, they will go about their day, not having to look over their shoulders everywhere they go. I envy their boring, safe lives.
Leaning back against the booth seat, Elijah frowns. “Well, doesn't that complicate matters?”
“What’s complicated? I know what I have to do.”
“Man, I have known you my whole life, and I have NEVER seen you like this over anyone, let alone a woman.”
Taking a mouthful of whiskey, I shake my head. “She just gets under my skin, that’s all,” I tell him firmly. “Like she knows all the right buttons to push me over the edge.”
“Is she not afraid of you?”
“That’s the issue. She is scared of me, but not of what I am or what I will do to her. It’s how I make her feel that frightens her so much,” I confess. Not understanding how someone such as Scarlet could feel anything but hate for a man like me. But she does. I feel it with every fiber of my being. There is something between us that binds us without any reasoning. My darkness, her light, there seems to be warmth in between—a bittersweetness to cold, harsh reality.
“You and I both know it’s a double-ended sword you're playing with.” Elijah looks at me with concern. “What are you going to do?”
“Whatever Nicolai orders,” I answer quickly as if the answer is that easy.
“And if he orders her death?” Elijah leans forward, fidgeting with his glass.
I contemplate his words. For the first time, doubt fills me and is evident in my voice. “Then I will kill her.”
Elijah cocks his head, raising a brow. “Just like that, without hesitation, you would take the life of the only person that has ever broken through that thick skin of yours and made you feel?”
I swallow the lump of bitterness and uncertainty in my throat. “Just like that,” I confirm.
Twenty-Seven
Scarlet
What I wouldn’t give to get some fresh air, to feel the sun on my face. I daydream, staring out the window of my glass cage. Manhattan is a beautiful city. I have always loved it, but today it looks bleak and distant. A faraway fantasy. Ugly and unattainable.
The front door opens with a heavy breeze of whiskey and smoke. Luca has returned. No doubt from another drinking binge. I hope it curbed the angry beast that he morphed into when he left here earlier.
Judging by how he stomps madly over to the stereo and pushing firmly on the off button, muting the music, he is still mad.
“Why must you insist on playing that crappy music so loud?” He frowns at me. I go to answer sarcastically to him, but he stops me. “Actually, don’t answer that.” He approaches me and hands me some bags. “Here.”
I am taken aback by his sudden mood change. He is calmer now. There’s a hint of hesitation and perhaps a lack of confidence. I take the bags with furrowed brows. “What’s all this?”
“Figured you need some more things. You didn’t pack much. You’ve been wearing the same sweater for three days now.”
I stand staring at him, completely perplexed. I don’t understand his gesture. Has he booby-trapped one of the bags and it’s going to blow me up? Luca Valsetti does not do nice things. There has to be some catch to this.
