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“Don’t be a child, Camilla,” Bea says. She brings the cigarette she’s holding in its vintage silver engraved cigarette holder to her mouth, and her gaze moves over me. “Santos. What a surprise. Come in.”
She stands back, and the twins move into the house so that I can pass through the door. I notice another soldier inside the house. The Commander never had so many armed men so visibly present. Thiago wouldn’t have either.
This is because he’s gone.
Once we’re inside, Bea Avery leads the way to a formal living room and takes a seat on an armchair by the fireplace. She doesn’t invite me to sit while Camilla and Liam perch on the couch. That’s fine. I don’t intend on staying long. Besides, this is like old times. To them, I am a servant. One who deals in blood, but a servant nonetheless.
“I’m here to see Thiago,” I say flatly and watch them closely. I see how Liam glances to his sister for a clue on how to react, see Camilla’s eyes narrow accusingly, and watch Bea Avery’s cool gaze not wavering from me once.
“Are you? Well, I’m sorry to say he’s not here.”
“No? When do you expect him home? I’ll come back.”
“Why? What business do you have with him?”
“That’s between us.”
She studies me as she takes a drag from her cigarette. “Any business you have with my son is business you have with me.”
“As far as I know, Thiago is the head of this family since the Commander’s unfortunate absence.” I add the last part in with a grin I don’t like the feel of and a glance toward the twins.
“You mean since his murder?” Liam asks.
“Shut your mouth,” his mother chastises him, exhaling cigarette smoke as she speaks and looking like the fucking dragon she is. “My son was on his way to dinner at your club two nights ago, but sadly he never arrived, and we haven’t seen him since. He seems to have vanished off the face of the earth, in fact. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh? Has he called in?”
“Of course not. I’m not stupid, Santos.”
“I hope he hasn’t disappeared like Father. You do have a knack for making people disappear, don’t you?” Camilla asks in a sickly-sweet tone that grates on my nerves.
“I learned from the best,” I tell her.
She flips me off.
“Well, if you could let Thiago know I came to see him when he’s back, I would appreciate it.”
Bea is twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. I always wondered about her. Despite knowing exactly the kind of man her husband was, she was devoted to him in a strange, unnatural way. They had a dynamic between them that was pure hatred at its core, but neither was willing to let the other go, as if the other’s suffering took precedence over their own happiness. I never understood it. I saw with my own eyes how he treated her and she knew well how many women he took to his bed.
I also saw what happened to those he was particularly fond of once his wife got wind of it.
Bea Avery grins, and I wonder if my face gives away my revulsion at the memory of what she is capable of. “Camilla, see Santos out.”
“Yes, Mother,” Camilla says, standing. She hates her mother, but she’s also afraid of her. I think that fear and Thiago are the only two things that keep the little psychopath in line.
“I can see myself out.”
As if she doesn’t hear, Camilla steps toward me, standing too close. She smiles, then slides her hand into mine. When I take mine away, she weaves her arm through mine and holds tight as she leads me out of the living room and down the hallway toward the front door. Her familiar perfume is cloyingly sweet, and I hold my breath because it reminds me too much of the past. Of my life when I lived with this family. Of the kind of man I became during those years.
Just before we get to the front door, though, she turns to another that a guard is standing in front of, and she nods to him to open it. He does.
I raise my eyebrows.
“I don’t want to be interrupted, understood?” she tells him in a tone that is neither bratty nor at all like her usual tone. I study Camilla Avery, wondering how the power dynamics of the family will shift now that Thiago is gone.
“What do you want, Camilla?” I ask when she closes the door and we’re alone in a small library.
She lets her gaze move over me, then brushes non-existent lint off my shoulder. “You look good, Santos. You’re aging well.”
