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–I have felt this torment.
– Catullus, 85
Claudia
Five years ago
“Get down.” My father’s hand on the back of my neck is gentle, but firm. “Stay silent.”
I appreciate his care, even though I don’t need his instructions. I’ve hidden in the secret compartment behind his desk more times than I can count, listening to his meetings and business dealings. Daddy says it’s the best way for me to learn what he does and why. Afterward, he helps me out of the tiny crawlspace hidden in the bookshelf, perches me next to the window in a leather chair that once belonged to Robert Frost, and we talk over what I heard. He listens while I dissect his supply chain conundrums and commiserate with him when he has to discipline his soldiers.
I’m nearly thirteen years old. I’ve never set foot inside a school and I can’t name the United States presidents, but I know international shipping, gun-running, and rare-artifact smuggling better than the government agents Daddy outwits every week.
He’s filled my head with everything I need to take over the family business from him – while my mother has made sure I know all the gossip that will help me navigate the world of crime. “I want you to disarm them with your brilliance,” Daddy said to me once as he quizzed me on shipping routes for the hundredth time. “Your enemies will underestimate you, and you will use their stupidity to consolidate your power.”
That’s why when Daddy pulled me from bed tonight, I didn’t protest. I know this is just another lesson.
He’s in a hurry. His tie is creased and one of his shoelaces is untied. I point at it, and he flashes me his brilliant smile as he bends down. His fingers tremble ever so slightly as he ties the laces in bunny-ears.
Is that a tremble of old age? Daddy is sixty-two, although he doesn’t look it. He still has his hair – not golden blond like mine, but dark and wavy and luxurious. He’s reed-thin, but strong. He works out every day, lifting weights in our basement gym. Antony makes him a personalized program and meal plan to keep him healthy. Daddy is nuts about his health. He doesn’t want to be a stereotype – the fat gangster bursting from his pinstripe suit as he chews on the end of a Cuban cigar. Daddy abhors smoking, and he won’t even allow guests to light up in our home.
I don’t like the idea of Daddy getting old, but the alternative is even worse – the tremble must be old age because it can’t possibly be fear.
Daddy isn’t afraid of anything.
I’m used to being hauled away from lessons or out of bed at all hours of the night. But rarely did Daddy do it with such concern in his eyes.
He touches his fingers to his lips, then presses his kiss to my forehead. “Listen well, Claudia. I’m not certain what lesson you will learn tonight, but I fear it might be the most important one I’ve ever taught you.”
I nod. Behind Daddy’s head, a bust of the emperor Augustus stares down at me with quiet contemplation. Daddy swings the hidden panel shut. The last thing I see before the lock on the doorway clicks shut is Daddy’s eyes – hard as flint, steeling himself for whatever it is he has to do.
I lean my back against the internal wall of the compartment, keeping my breathing calm. I listen to Daddy’s leather chair creak as he shuffles papers on his desk. I hear him sigh. I wonder when—
BANG.
My heart stutters. A gunshot? Daddy, no, please—
No, not a gunshot. I’ve been at the firing range enough times to recognize the sound. Real gunshots – especially with the weapons our colleagues use – make a different noise. A dull POP.
I steady my racing heart. It’s the crack of Daddy’s door hitting the back of the wall as someone barges in. Whoever’s here to see Daddy hasn’t even shown him the respect of knocking. My stomach twists.
Something’s wrong.
“You shut down the Bangkok deal,” the intruder yells.
“Hello to you too, Brutus.” Daddy’s warm voice reaches my ears. It’s muffled by the wooden doorway separating us, but I hear no trace of his trepidation from before.
What’s Uncle Brutus doing here? My throat closes. I understand now why Daddy is on edge. Brutus is Daddy’s tribune, although lately he’s been more of a thorn in his side. Every time Daddy makes a decision, Brutus is there to argue with him. What’s worse, in meetings with Daddy’s high ranking soldiers, Brutus’ arguments have swayed others, especially when it comes to the new markets he wants to open up.
I only met Brutus a couple of times as a kid, and he made me uneasy even then. Brutus believes, like the rest of the organization, that I’ve been sent away to boarding school. Daddy doesn’t want them to see my face, not just yet. He wants me to be powerful, to take them by surprise. “If they see you now, my beautiful daughter, I’ll be fielding marriage proposals from the most powerful families in this city, and one of those families will force my hand to accept. This way, you remain out of sight, out of mind until just the right moment.”
A cramp runs along my leg. I rub the skin, hoping the moment will come soon. It’s hard to remain a shadow in my own life, to hide away in cupboards. But Daddy knows best. I’ll do whatever I need to do to make sure our empire continues after he’s gone.
I turn my attention to the situation outside. Brutus is yelling at Daddy. “…it took me weeks to arrange that shipment. And you swooped in and shut everything down. Do you have any idea of the trouble you caused? I owe money to—”
“You’ve brought this trouble down on your own head, brother.” My father’s calm voice cuts Brutus off. “You went behind my back to make that deal. You know our laws. You know the August family doesn’t deal in skin.”
Skin.
