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“That’s it,” he says, stroking my hair. “You’ve been so good.”
I’m far from it. I’m his dirty toy, his object to manipulate and defile.
“Now tell me that wasn’t perfect,” he says.
I don’t say a word, because in its own, perverse, ugly way it was perfect.
“I love you, Zoe,” he says, stroking my back.
The words cut deep, because he can’t possibly mean them.
Chapter 24
Maxime
The sun is barely up when I wake. Leaving Zoe to sleep, I have a shower and dress in a pair of black Italian fitted pants and a dark purple tailored shirt with a matching tie. The ankle boots and gray wool coat I choose to round off the ensemble are Italian, too. I like to dress well. It makes up for my lacking physique. My body still fills out the clothes well. The diamond business is less physical than my previous position. I’m no longer using my fists or fighting skills like I used to, but I make sure I stay in shape by working out every evening at an old boxing gym not far from the apartment. It’s not about vanity but about survival and being strong enough to keep Zoe safe. I’m no longer in the mob, but Alexis will always pose a danger. I can never let my guard down.
After combing my hair and splashing a dash of cologne on my cheeks, I close the bedroom door so I won’t wake Zoe. I switch on the coffee machine and gather my files from the table where I worked last night. I stuff everything into my laptop bag before taking out the leaflets I printed yesterday at the office, alerting the residents of an unauthorized entry into the building. What happened when Alexis got in can never happen again.
While I sip my coffee, I study the dress on the form that stands in front of the circular window. It’s just long enough not to be indecent, but the short slits on the sides defy that decency with an almost rebellious intent. The neckline is low, framed by a broad lapel that gives it the look of a male jacket as if challenging femininity. Three-quarter-long sleeves with a fold-back cuff that repeats the sharply pointed lapel add balance to the otherwise too-short hem. It’s a dress that demands confidence. Not just anyone will be able to pull off the look.
The worry that ate its way into my mind last night returns. The design isn’t like Zoe. She’s changing. She’s slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to stop it. Last night I tried to restore the balance by showing her I’m still in charge. As long as I can manipulate her lust, I can control her body, but it no longer seems to be working. What has changed?
She won’t step out of line. She cares too much for her brother. That’s still the same. What’s different is her attitude. She’s closing herself off and molding herself into someone else. If my harsh demonstration on the sofa last night didn’t work, then maybe it’s the wrong strategy. Maybe forcing dominance isn’t the way to go forward. Maybe she needs some power of her own in this relationship. For once, I should let her take the lead. Instead of setting the pace of our sex life, I should let her take the initiative.
With a last glance at the closed bedroom door, I put my empty cup in the dishwasher and leave. On my way down, I push a leaflet under every door. I’m certain now Alexis slipped in behind me that day. I was too blinded with anger to pay attention to what was happening around me, a mistake I won’t make again. Only Zoe can push me to such a state of carelessness. Still, I’m not taking chances. Everyone in the building must be aware of what has happened. Vigilance is prevention, and prevention is always better than cure.
There are ten apartments, three on the first three floors and ours taking up the whole of the top story. When I’ve done my distribution, I exit into the crisp morning air. Summer is around the corner. It’s in the brighter blue of the sky and the way the sunrays already slide over the neighboring building to disperse with wedges that cut through the alleys. At the corner bakery, I take a table outside and order a croissant and an espresso. I’m not taking breakfast outside only to adhere to the French tradition, but also to keep an eye on our building before I head to the office. So far, no conspicuous men that could be connected to Alexis are showing up to watch our street.
While I eat, I read my emails on my phone. There are little confirmations for the auction in Paris. My regular buyers are still skeptical about my split from the mafia. Until I’ve proven I’m as capable on my own as when I was the mafia underboss and there’s no danger of retribution from my family, they’re not going to support me. The stones Damian Hart provides are of good quality. They are pure with great color. They don’t come free, and whilst I have a vault full of them, it’s not going to help me keep the business afloat if I can’t sell them.
