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Cali.
That’s the name of Constantine’s tribune, the one who tried to choke me at the council meeting. The one who claimed to be Brutus’ lover.
“Tell me about this Cali.”
David shudders. This dude who’s running numbers for an actual crime family shudders. It’s kind of adorable. “She’s terrifying.”
“Brentwood was the assassin you called if you wanted someone rich and influential to disappear,” Antony calls down. “You hire Cali if you want to send a message. That bitch be crazy, and she loves to make as much mess as possible.”
I glare at Antony. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“Because it was irrelevant —” Antony glances away. “Fuck. Never mind.”
I sigh. “Okay, fine. Here’s what’s going to happen. Effectively immediately, all contracts with Nero Lucian are under review. In everything else, we’re business as usual, and over the coming weeks I’ll be looking to revitalize my father’s old contacts and get some of our neglected businesses back up and running. If you need more soldiers or resources to do your jobs, put in a list with my tribune Eli and he’ll make sure you have the resources you need. Now, I want to talk about a new line of business—”
Po raises his hand. “What about this week’s shipment?”
“Shipment?”
“Nero’s shipment of girls arriving on Christmas Eve.”
I shake my head. “There must be some mistake. We don’t deal in skin.”
Po shifts in his seat. “Maybe when Julian was in charge, we didn’t. But Brutus brought in girls for Nero all the time. What do you want me to do with the boat? I can’t exactly turn it around.”
I flash back to a memory of the woman I’ve always called my mother. She’s stumbled home from a night at the theatre, her steps giddy, her eyes still twinkling with the ghosts of the opera lights. I’m not in bed. I’m not sure why. Perhaps I couldn’t sleep – that happened often, especially after Brutus’ assault. The shadows in my bedroom taunted me. She kicks her shoes off in the foyer. THUMP, THUMP, they hit the wall. She grabs my arms and swings me around and around until I gasp from dizziness. She smells of fruity cocktails and musky perfume. I nuzzle up against her and say that I wish I could have been to the opera with her. ‘Ah, but I have brought the opera to you.’ Her perfect lips part and she leaps onto the sofa, her hands clasped to her breast as she sings the aria, note-perfect, and collapses into a dramatic feigned death.
She was beautiful, brilliant, loved by all who knew her. She filled her life and mine with only good things. She lived for my smile. And she was sold by her parents and carried to America across the seas to be a sex toy in one of Nero’s clubs.
That is, until Julian August laid eyes on her. He claimed her for himself. He sent his soldiers to her home to kill her parents for their crime. He brought her brother and his young wife to America and gave them jobs and a home and a life. He may have twisted his morals to suit his own ends, but he loved her with a fire that transcends death, for that same fire now burns through my veins.
I understand now – as I never have before – what an accident of fate it was that gifted me with her love for thirteen years. And even though I’m not born of her womb, I will never doubt that she loved me, and that she inspires me still to look at each day as a gift I’m not worthy to receive but will cherish fully. I will not spit on her memory by allowing my city to be contaminated by the rot that brought her here.
When I turn to face Po, my face is an ocean of calm, even though beneath the surface, I’m ready to bathe the city in blood. “I’ll join you on Christmas Eve for unloading. I want to see the mess Brutus has made of my father’s once-great empire. Then, I’ll decide what’s to be done.”
Claudia
A crisp breeze blows off the ocean, raising goosebumps along my bare arms. I shrug on Ainsley Malloy’s fur coat, but it does nothing to halt the chill that reaches to my bones.
It’s Christmas Eve – the first Christmas in five years I’ve had someone other than Antony to share with. Instead of sitting around the tree with my family, swapping presents and listening to Gabriel and Noah bicker over who baked the best Christmas cookies (it’s Gabriel, no contest), I’m huddled in the freezing cold waiting for a ship of horrors to arrive.
A ship carrying women. Women from foreign countries, stolen from the streets, sold by their families for survival, coerced into signing their deal with the devil.
A horn sounds. I squint into the gloom as the ship pulls up alongside the docks. It’s big, larger than I expected. I swallow hard. I’ll never rid my mouth of the taste of their blood.
Men swarm the decks, doing what they need to do to secure the vessel and unload the valuable cargo. They wear the uniforms of the dock workers, but I know they’re really Brutus’ soldiers, here to make sure everything goes without a hitch.
Not Brutus’ soldiers. My soldiers.
Po mutters into a walkie-talkie. A truck pulls up, the doors open and a metal ramp is laid out. Men emerge from the ship’s cargo hold. They brandish guns and bark orders. The women step out, timidly at first, shaky on their legs. They wobble and hold each other as they descend the gangway into the waiting truck. Their feet never touch American soil – the home of the free is so close and yet impossible to reach.
My hands ball into fists.
Men poke the women with the butts of their rifles. Some grow impatient and shove their captives, or drag them toward the truck. Hair flies, and threadbare clothing rips as the women tear at each other to get away from their captors.
This is done under my name.
Not anymore.
