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I rolled up to the high, wired gates and Fanta popped them open for me, gesturing me inside with a bow. Fanta was probably my favorite out of them all. He’s built like a fucking stallion but had a heart soft as shit. Weird how he lasted so long here, but none of this was my issue, and until I was eighteen, it wouldn’t be.
I parked my bike beneath the shed and kicked out the stand, swinging my leg over just as Ma started walking toward me, her brows curved into the center of her forehead.
“Have you seen your brother?”
I shook my head, but that same anxiety creeped up the middle of my neck. “Nah, but he called me just before and sounded weird as fuck.”
Ma’s eyes closed as she took my hand. “What did he say, Niko?” When her eyes opened again, they were wide with terror. I’d never seen my mom look scared. In fact, nothing scared the woman.
But right now, standing in front of me stripped of her usual banter, I saw it.
Something was wrong.
“He said I needed to take her with me and leave.”
Color drained from Ma’s face, leaving her pale and frozen.
“Ma!” My hand came to her arm. “The fuck is going on?”
She snapped, her eyes shifting to mine so slowly it almost looked robotic. “It’s too late.”
Now
I sit staring at the clock in front of me. The long hand ticks slowly, chased by the small hand. Silence. Absolute silence drowning out my internal thoughts about what I need to do.
Have to do.
Must do.
Flexing my fingers around the familiar note, now crumbled and old from years of obsessing, I push it into my pocket and stand from the office chair, reaching for my cut and throwing it over my broad shoulders.
Nikolai, it is now time to not just take the gavel, but something else I must leave you.—Old Don.
How long?
Too long.
Pushing through the entryway doors of my house in the city, I swing my leg over my bike, ignoring the blaring phone in my pocket. After what Pierre told us at the shitty washed-up casino, I needed eyes on Meraki, but I knew Luca already had the whole fucking apartment lit up with cameras, the fucking creep.
I tap ignore on the phone call and dial Fanta.
“Yeah, boss?”
“I need you stationed at Meraki’s, but don’t make it obvious. Take my Rover.”
I don’t hear from Luca. Usually, he calls me at night and fills me in about his day. It mainly consists of him bitching about his father and the church in general, but I haven’t heard from him. This morning he was active on Facebook, but again nothing. There is a kind of fear that keeps creeping up the base of my spine whenever I move through my house. As if I’m being watched. I gather it’s from my bingeing on thriller movies and TV shows, so now I think everywhere I turn I’m about to run into a real-life issue.
I turn on my podcast and make my way to the barre to warm up my muscles. Since the incident at the clubhouse, I’ve felt my muscles slowly coil around each other in knotted twists of anxiety.
“So, to get started on why my mother killed me, I have to fast-forward over a couple of years from that last incident. Nothing really happened between that and then anyway, you know, aside from putting the fear of something into my father’s friend. I met a man.”
Always a man, I think to myself as a notification pops up on my phone, interrupting. Luca’s name flashes over the screen with the selfie we took in Canada during one of our winter ski trips.
Luca: Where were you last night?
In all the years that we’ve had our—situationship—he has never cared where I’ve been. In fact, he would actively suggest I go out as often as I can.
My fingers fly over the keypad. I was home. How is everything there?
I wait for his reply. As seconds turn into minutes, I feel my anxiety slowly become frantic. Each passing second is agony. I place my phone down and then pick it back up, needing to ask what he means by that.
He doesn’t know you were with Niko. Chill.
Goose bumps break out over the base of my spine and I spin around to see if anyone is behind me, only I’m met with nothing. It’s late afternoon, so I’m not expecting anyone to be here but me right now. Not sure if that makes it worse or better for my current paranoia.
I’m leaning against the mirror wall when I go to text him again, but a message comes through.
Luca: You’re lying, Meraki. Be home in twenty minutes.
My heart stammers in my chest and I quickly collect my bag and slip on my runners. I didn’t know he was going to be home this week, let alone today. Rushing through the hallway, I lock up and quickly run to my car, my cheeks flushed and my heart beating so erratically it feels unnatural.
