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I shove my chair back, but Claudia holds up a hand to stop me. I want to wrap my fingers around Nero’s throat and squeeze the insolence out of him, but it’s important Claudia is the one in control. I sit back down. The thumb-drive digs into my thigh.
“I’ll tell you what’s happening, Nero. Our shipping lines are open to you should you wish to import or export any drug you could imagine. I have the North American antiquities market wrapped around my pinkie finger. If you want weapons or gold bullion or diamonds or faux Prada fucking purses, I’m your girl. But the August family does not deal in skin. What’s more, we won’t tolerate it in this city. This is the twenty-first fucking century – there are plenty of women who enjoy the company of clients such as yours, women who will happily dish out the humiliation and degradation they so deserve. This is the only warning I’ll give you – stay in your lane, or I’ll be forced to call on my other fiancé.”
Nero leans forward. “What arrangement do you have with Dio?”
Claudia crosses her elegant legs, dangling her Champagne glass from her long fingers as she gives an indulgent smile. “My business with Constantine is my own.”
Nero does not like this, but he seems to decide to put it aside for now. He adopts a businesslike tone, as though her answers are of no consequence to him. “Well then, on your head be it. As a matter of interest, what are you doing with my shipment? You’ve got fifty-three illegals on your hands. That’s going to be an annoyance.”
“It’s not your shipment, so what I do with them is not your concern.”
“Indeed. Well, I must get back to work.” He stands and smooths his lapels. “I hope you understand that we’re busy with plans for our NYE party. I’ve sent your invite to Antony. I can’t wait to have you on my arm all evening. Perhaps you will wear this dress. Perhaps I’ll give you a taste of what our married life will be like. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby girl?”
Nero’s insults are so laughably childish, I expect Claudia to quip back with an insult of her own. Instead, she reaches across the table and slaps him across the cheek. The sound of her palm hitting his flabby skin echoes through his vast office. When Claudia draws back, I see her face is pale and her arm trembles.
“If you survive to see the New Year, it will be at my pleasure,” she hisses. She turns on her heel and storms out. I run after her, Nero’s hyena laugh baying at my heels.
As soon as we’re outside on the street, Claudia sways on her feet. “Eli…”
“I’ve got you.” I fold my arms around her. Her shoulders tremble. I don’t know what’s brought this on, but whoever’s responsible dies tonight.
Nero. Nero dies tonight. But when I think back over what he said, I can’t think of anything that would freak Claudia out like this.
I fold her into the Porsche. She slumps against the door, her hand pressed up against the spot where the bullet entered her. Her ice eyes fix on a spot on the horizon, and she retreats into herself, trapped in some dark place in her mind where I can’t follow. I slide in behind the wheel and drive like the wind away from the Vault, away from Nero and the Triumvirate and this cursed city.
The ranch has been tainted by the blood we spilled there, but it’s still the most private place I know.
We drive in a tense, stilted silence that makes me want to punch things. By the time I drive through those familiar ruined gates, I’m a mess trying to figure out what’s wrong and how I can fix it. I bundle Claudia out of the car and sit her on the porch swing, my jacket over her shoulders. I throw Noah a quick text, letting him know where we are and what happened, then I run inside to grab a stack of blankets, which I drape over us. One’s a little bloodstained from last time, but I don’t care.
Claudia rests her head against my shoulder. For the longest time, she doesn’t speak. It’s one of those crystal clear winter nights, with the Milky Way splashed overhead in all her magnificent glory. A shooting star streaks down to Earth. Claudia leans forward, watching it in silent rapture. It seems to give her the strength to speak.
“Brutus, he…” she swallows. “I can’t even say the words.”
I don’t say anything. I wait. I’ll wait forever for this woman.
She sucks in a breath and tries again. “When I was twelve, Daddy had a party downstairs. I was hidden in a secret compartment in the wall, listening. But I got bored so I snuck out and went to bed. I woke up to a noise in my room. My bed creaked and a man climbed on top of me. He pinned me with his knee. He held his hand over my mouth so I couldn’t scream. He whispered in my ear, ‘Let me show you a man, baby girl’.”
I can’t move.
I can’t breathe.
I remember Brutus saying that to her, over and over, the night we found him here. I remember Claudia screaming at him not to call her that. But I had no idea what it meant and now that I do, I want to resurrect Brutus from the dead so we can kill him all over again.
Death is too kind to him.
But I can’t do that, and I know I can’t do a single damn thing to make this better for her. I’m helpless again, and it’s a terrible feeling. But this isn’t about me. I grip Claudia tighter and I do the only thing I can do right now. I listen.
“After, I found Antony. He helped me get through it. He taught me to be strong, to use my fists so I could never be hurt like that again. I never truly understood what Julian’s over-protectiveness was about until that night. I was Claudia August, and that man brought me to my knees. He took away my power before I even understood what it was. I swore I’d never allow that to happen again.”
She balls her hands into fists. “Baby girl. Brutus wrote that on the note he left on Brentwood’s body. That’s how I knew he was the man in my room.”
“And Nero said it today.”
“That’s right. Brutus probably told him because he knew it would disarm me. Nero said it today to threaten me. I hate it. I hate that he got to me.” She slams her fists onto her knees. “I hate that it’s been years and those two words can still bring me to my knees.”
“You’re Claudia August. Nothing can bring you to your knees.” I hold her and rock her and kiss her head while she thrashes and rages and sobs. I hold her until the tension flees her limbs, until she’s spent all that hurt she’s been holding inside. “Are you sure it wasn’t Nero who did this? It could be the other way around – he told Brutus about that night.”
She shakes her head. “Nero was a big guy even back then. The man without a face was leaner, but strong.”
