“Why do you need to warn me about your sister?” I ask in confusion.
“Cindy is… special. I call her ‘Sippy’ when I want to get on her nerves. When we were growing up, we always had to drink from plastic cups because she’d destroy anything made of glass. Drinkware, lightbulbs, the television, and oh god, the windows. It was always drafty in our house,” he says completely straight-faced.
“Are you being serious? What made her break everything?”
“She’s schizophrenic, just like my mom was. Cindy thinks ‘they’ communicate through frequencies that resonate with glass. When she’s not medicated, she swears she can hear voices coming from anything made of glass. I don’t mean to alarm you.I just wanted you to know in case you notice her acting strange.”
“I appreciate the warning, but is she actually dangerous?” I can’t hide the concern in my voice.
“Not as long as she’s medicated. When she’s not, eh…” He motions toward the side of his head and rubs at his scalp. “You can’t see it because of the hair, but I’ve got a pretty good scar on the side of my head where she hit me with a pool thermometer while we were swimming. You should have seen the blood in the water. It looked like a shark attack. That was early on, right after she got diagnosed and they were still trying to dial in her medications.”
“Did the pool thermometer tell her to hurt you?” I can’t help asking with a small smile.
“You know, I never thought to ask her if it was the schizophrenia or just normal big-sister meanness,” he replies with a grin. “Anyway, I’ll let Maximo know you had to step out, and we’ll see you tonight for dinner.”
“Thanks, Enzo. I’ll see you soon.” I say goodbye and head down the front steps, out to my old car which looks painfully out of place lined up among Maximo’s collection of exotic vehicles. Someone’s taken the liberty of washing and waxing it, which only serves to highlight the deep scratches and dents across the side and rear of my ancient Camry.
I’ve been on the road for nearly an hour and am almost to Monroe’s when my phone dings with a text message. At the next stoplight, I check and see that Maximo has sent me a curt message:
Enzo should not have let you leave alone. Please go back to the estate and take a few guards or wait for me.
I quickly text back:I’m going out to Monroe’s to meet the insurance adjuster and fire inspector. I’ll be fine on my own and be back in time for dinner withyour mom.
I tell myself he’s overreacting, but my pulse speeds up anyway. Lately, it feels like everything is moving faster than I can brace for.
When the light changes, I toss my phone down in the passenger seat. The sooner this claim gets filed and I get the insurance payout, the sooner I can start getting my life back to some semblance of normalcy.
Maximo is amazing, but the anxiety of living in his house while a gang war rages in the streets just outside is exhausting. I’ll be glad to have my own space again and begin rebuilding my life.
And yet, even as I think it, a quiet part of me knows I won’t feel entirely safe anywhere he isn’t with me.
Maximo
We finally get the Russian to admit he speaks English when he breaks and starts sobbing, snot and tears mixing in the bloody ruin of his face. My phone buzzes as he repeatedly screams that his name is Pyotr, and that he’s just a soldier sent out for a delivery.
I check the message from Enzo and am surprised to see that it’s already early afternoon. My surprise quickly sours into displeasure when I see the body of the text.
Constance just left. She’s gone to meet the fire inspector and insurance adjuster at Monroe’s.
A spike of cold dread hits me. Kirill knew her name. What if he also knows her movements?
I type back to Enzo:You shouldn’t have let her leave alone.Then another message to Constance telling her to come back to the estate to wait for me or take a few guards with her.
She responds a moment later to say that she’s fine on her own and that she’ll be back for dinner with my mom.
Dammit! Why does she have to be so fucking stubborn?
Paul raises an eyebrow at my mumbled curse. “Problem?” he asks.
“Constance is meeting her insurance adjuster out at the ruin of Monroe’s, and she went alone,” I explain quickly, keeping my voice low.
The Bratva soldier must have caught enough to understand, because he starts chuckling, a deep, racking sound that at first I mistake for a cough.
“Are you fucking laughing at something?” I demand.
“You don’t even know,” he says in perfect English. “Kirill, that stupid fucking cunt. He must have planned for her to leave. I was the bait to get you away from her. I wondered why he would send me out alone. Fucking bait! I’m just fucking bait,” he moans and trails off as he sags in his chair.
My pulse detonates. If he’s bait, then Constance isn’t just unprotected. She’s fucking exposed, already in their sights.
