Demi
Ibegin to wonder how long it will be before Maddox regrets his decision to fight for me when he enters our room in my uncle’s private compound. His forehead is holding the groove it only ever gets when someone’s life is precariously dangling in the wind, and his eyes look lifeless. He struggled running drugs for my family’s ‘business,’ so I’d hate to consider how dirty he feels after working directly under my uncle the past ten days. I fight the urge to shower multiple times a day, and I’m only hearing about my uncle’s shady dealings from Maddox. Maddox is experiencing them firsthand.
Although the reports make my skin crawl, something still seems amiss. My uncle is being too casual about what he shares with Maddox. He’s talking ‘business’ in the open and flaunting his lawlessness for the world to see. It’s as if he’s unafraid of prosecution, like not even the law is capable of bringing him down.
It isn’t a far cry from his usual personality, but it is extremely off-putting. If he grows bored of puppeteering Maddox and me, we will be disposed of even sooner than we were snared by his trap. My uncle lives off fear. He feeds off it. If we’re not giving him that anymore, he’ll find another way to scare us.
Upon noticing I am getting dressed, Maddox shuts the door of our room, leaving his permanent shadow on the other side. My uncle is confident he scared us enough to follow his every whim, but that doesn’t mean he trusts us. We’re never alone for long. Even while visiting Justine in the hospital last week, he ordered three of his goons to follow us. Caidyn and Saint have mentioned similar. Maddox’s entire family is being monitored by my uncle. One wrong move, and they’ll be taken out in under a second.
I had hoped when news circulated that I had moved back into Col’s primary residence, Dimitri would smell a rat. Regretfully, his father’s unexpected return from Italy saw Dimitri go on his own vacation abroad. No one has heard from his crew in days. You’d swear he has given up on overtaking his father’s reign, instead choosing to start his own empire in another country.
“Have you eaten?”
I lift my chin to Maddox’s question before moving for the bag of goodies I brought back from Petretti’s. I still work as a sous-chef there, but I’m no longer paid for my services. It’s the same for Maddox. He fought the past two Fridays in the underground circuit the Petrettis have run for almost two decades, yet not a single denomination exchanged hands. My uncle doesn’t solely want us to be his puppets. He wants us reliant on him for the most basic necessities as well.
His domineering personality makes me grateful that I work in a kitchen. Even feeling hopeless, I can ensure Maddox and his family are fed. Most are still holding a bedside vigil in Justine’s hospital room. Her wounds will eventually heal, but doctors have cited concern that they’re the least of their worries.
My focus shifts from Justine’s mental well-being to Maddox when he says, “I’ll do that.” He removes a takeout container full of food from my hand before jerking his head to a dressing gown on the edge of my bed. “Then you can finish getting dressed.” When his narrowed gaze swings to the security dome in the far corner of our room, the work of his jaw is quick, but I don’t miss it. My uncle has sworn the cameras aren’t monitored, but neither Maddox nor I believe him. “Who took you to your shift today?”
I shove my hands into the opening of my dressing gown before replying, “Mario. He stayed the entire shift.” Even aware my uncle is most likely watching won’t stop the roll of my eyes. “He’s making everyonereallyuncomfortable. The waitstaff dropped more meals today than they served.”
Maddox sighs like he understands my concerns. Everyone is getting restless—even us, two lost souls unsure how we can escape our nightmare without procuring one-way tickets to hell. The past couple of days have been tough, and I’m genuinely stumped on how to make it better. We’re breathing, but we are not close to being alive, if that makes any sense.
After plopping my backside onto the mattress, I fold my legs under my bottom. “What about you? Who did you hang out with today?” I ask my questions as if he spent the day in the playground with friends in middle school instead of the underworld I swore he’d never be a part of. It’s easier to act daft than remind him of all the horrid things he did today.
Being seen as an idiot is worth it when my daftness weakens the groove between Maddox’s brows. He doesn’t want to give me all the gory details, and in all honesty, I don’t want to hear about them either.
“Ezra J—”
“Jason?” I interrupt before he can get half of Ezra’s surname out.
Maddox sucks up a string of creamy linguini before nodding. “Have you heard of him?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” I angle my body so my lips are hidden from the camera before explaining, “He’s usually brought in to hide my uncle’s messes. He isn’t a hired hitman, so to speak. More a…”
“Fixer?” Maddox fills in when words elude me.
Although it would be better to voice my reply since my uncle’s security system is too ancient to have sound, I nod instead. “Ezra’s services range from cooked books to the dissolution of marriages.” The reminder of Ezra’s last visit to my uncle’s compound screws up my nose. “Why is he here? Col hasn’t remarried since his fourth wife…” my stomach gurgles when I murmur, “… who hasn’t been seen since their divorce.”
The involuntary shiver that darts up Maddox’s spine announces he is also suspicious about Samantha’s disappearance, but he keeps our focus on the less gruesome parts of my uncle’s life. “I don’t know what he’s working on. I spent most of my day in his car.” He swallows a chunk of juicy chicken before dragging the back of his hand across his saucy lips. “Do you remember the camp we went to in seventh grade?”
“The one where we had pitched our own tents and were eaten alive by mosquitoes?”
The rarity of Maddox’s grin makes it even more precious. I cherish it like it’s the sun, and I’ve been locked away for twenty years. They have been far and few between the past two weeks.
As quickly as Maddox’s smile arrived, it disappeared. The reason behind his sagging lips comes to light when he says, “You swore we had been there before, and when you told your mom that upon our return—”
“She slapped me in front of everyone. I remember.”
With my well-being always in the forefront of his mind, Maddox tugs on my wrist until I’m sitting side-straddled on his lap. I die a little on the inside when he forgets about the pixie cut my uncle forced me to get. He can weave his fingers through my hair—just—but he can no longer tuck it behind my ear like he once did.
It isn’t all bad. Instead of wrangling wayward strands stuck to my face into submission, he drags his index finger down my nose instead. It instantly halves my heartache, freeing him to ask, “Did you ever find out why she responded the way she did?”
I urge him to eat some more before replying, “No. But everyone was a little weird that afternoon.” When Maddox slants his head to the side as if to question ‘how,’I add, “No write-ups about our camp were in the school newsletter. They were so desperate for stories back then, someone’s pet having a litter was front-page news.”
Maddox laughs for barely a second before he clamps his mouth shut with a grunt. “It wasn’t in the yearbook either. I’d know. My mom shoves them under my nose every Thanksgiving.”
Forgetting where we are and why we’re here, I giggle. “She did the same to me multiple times during our prolonged sleepovers.” When Maddox groans to hide his embarrassment, my grin doubles. “What would you prefer? Clothed yearbook photos or naked photos of you in the bathtub?”
