AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I follow him, grinding my jaw in frustration.
Chapter22
Camille
Ifollow Evander back into the house, up the central staircase, and into his wing of the mansion. Lycus remains behind with the car and obnoxiously reminds Evander about their upcoming meeting.
“What’s so important he keeps talking about it?” I ask as Evander pauses outside of his office door.
“We’re in the middle of replacing the business we lost when you threw money in the face of the dockworkers’ union reps,” he says mildly.
I clear my throat and try not to turn red. “Right. Sorry about that.”
“No, you’re not. Come.” He walks into his office and I follow.
On the desk is a cardboard box. It’s out of place in the otherwise pristine room. Big bookshelves with leatherbound volumes flank either wall, and a huge window overlooks the grounds and the city beyond. A full bar covers the back wall with a wide selection of brown liquor.
“You pulled me from work just to look at a box?” I ask.
“Among other things.” He hands me a phone, the newest Apple model, and I arch an eyebrow at it. “I had one of the staff fish out your previous device and swap over the SIM card. This is your replacement, free of any spyware or limitations, as a symbol of my trust in you.”
I snort involuntarily. “So you admit I’m not a spy?”
“I believe I did that once already.”
“I want you to say the words.” I glare at him and try to keep my temper under check. “I want you to admit that I’d never spy for my abusive asshole ex-husband.”
“Don’t push your luck, asteraki mu. I am not in the mood.”
I cross my arms, clutching the phone in my hand. As far as apology gestures go, this one’s pretty decent, but it doesn’t fix everything. “At least say I’m not a spy.”
He steps toward me, his body hard and enormous as he leans closer, his full lips parted and his eyes flashing as they stare into mine. “I know you are not a spy, asteraki mu, because you value your life too much. Now, take this.” He turns and picks up the cardboard box.
“I have to be back to work soon, you know,” I say, eyeing him suspiciously. “And you have your meeting, so—”
“First of all, I never said you could return to the diner.”
“I’m working,” I say through my teeth. “And I don’t care—”
He holds up a hand. “We can discuss that another time.” He steps forward. “Here. This is for you.”
I take the box and tilt my head. It smells bad, faintly like garbage and mold. “Uh. Thanks for the trash box?”
He smiles ever so slightly. “Look inside.”
I place it on an end table and gingerly open the flaps.
Inside is a pair of Nike Air Max IIs. The toe is worn, one side is scuffed and ripped, and there’s a stain in the tongue from when I spilled a glass of wine on them. I pick one up and hold it in both hands and my stomach does a twisting dance of excitement as a thousand memories come rushing back—wearing these the first day I bought them, feeling so special and cool as I walked down my block, a kid at school complimenting them, and much later, wearing them every time I left the house when I was with Christopher as a way to remind myself that I do have some power in my life, and a thousand other little moments. Shoes are just shoes, but these are so much more.
Tears spring into my eyes. I didn’t think I could get so damn emotional about sneakers, but here I am, crying over themagain. “I thought you said you threw them away.”
“I did,” he says, returning to his desk. “But fortunately, I have contacts with the sanitation department, and the truck they were on hadn’t been emptied yet. I paid a lot of men a lot of money to dig through a lot of trash until they found those.”
I laugh and shake my head at the absurdity of the image. It sounds too good to be true, but I don’t doubt him one bit based on the smell alone. “You’re crazy.”
“I am not trying to purposefully hurt you, Camille.” He leans both hands down on the top of his desk and looks tired. “I am trying to get you to understand your new role.”
“Which is what? Mob wife?”
