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I read through the medical reports that Grant submitted to the police department. He’s had high blood pressure for the last five years, but otherwise, he’s in peak physical condition. I obtained his annual reviews from last year to the year he first started as a cop. His superiors have always had a high opinion of him, even higher when his violent streak led to drug busts that the station had spent years trying to uncover.
Ares Jackson, the oldest twin by three minutes, was only ever close to his brother. There are very few pictures of him and Calliope over the years. And once he moved to New York, he cut off all contact with his father and younger sister. It made me wonder if Grant had been a little heavy-handed on Ares as well, but with no filed reports, there was no telling. He married the first woman he met and started popping out kids a year later.
Apollo followed his brother to New York but he’s kept in contact with the family since his move. He and his wife go over to Ares’ every Sunday night for dinner. They work in the high-powered business of finance, but Ares is a Financial Analyst while Apollo is a Financial Operations Manager. Apollo calls Calliope every few weeks to check in and she lies to him about her whereabouts and what she’s doing with her life. He texts his dad weekly and the two often chat about the silly things that happen in their perspective lines of work.
Calliope’s folder is both the slimmest and the most interesting. She didn’t go to college or leave the little apple like her brothers. Her criminal past probably prohibited her from getting the degree she wanted, but also, so did running away from home. Grant happily paid for the twin’s bachelor degrees, but the second Calliope stepped out the front door and didn’t look back, he cut her off. He was nice enough to seal her youth record, but that didn’t stop him from hunting her down on the homeless streets of Manhattan to arrest her for minor infractions.
I knew their reports forward and backward. My men spent weeks gathering intel about the Jackson family and I spent weeks devouring it like a five-course meal at a Michelin-star restaurant. But after my explosion in the dining room, I needed to make sure I hadn’t missed something.
By the time morning rolls around, I’ve had four hours of sleep and I’m in desperate need of a coffee with three shots of espresso if I’m going to make it through the day.
“Good morning, Mr. Valenti,” the morning cook greets with a smile. She’s a nice woman with two kids at home. Her husband used to be in my service, but he passed a few years ago in the line of duty. I offered her everything from riches to a place to live, but she was happy enough to take a job cooking for me. I pay her an exorbitant fee to make up for her loss and she treats me like one of her sons. “Sampson told me you have a guest staying with us. Do they have any allergies?”
Apollo Jackson is allergic to strawberries. Ares is allergic to shellfish. Calliope is allergy-free. “No, Grace, not that I’m aware of.”
She sets down a plate of freshly made waffles before giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Let me know if that changes, okay?” Then she absentmindedly starts humming as she returns to the kitchen.
I could survive without the staff I employ to care for my home, but my life would be significantly harder. My parents created lifelong wealth for themselves and their kids before leaving me their home and returning to Italy. I use some of that money to give jobs to old friends and people in need. If I would have run across Calliope on the streets and thought she needed a job, I would have offered her one.
Grant Jackson thinks I’m a bad person because the things the Valenti family does aren’t completely legal. But I don’t see him at elementary school fundraisers or golf tournaments that benefit underprivileged children. He isn’t the one keeping his family members afloat with loans that he never expects to be paid back. He doesn’t give poor people jobs, keep them off the streets, and help them make a better life for themselves.
I might have bludgeoned a man to death once or twice, but I protect the people that I love.
Sampson enters the dining room with Calliope in his grasp. He’s holding onto her arm so tightly that when he releases her, there are white pinpricks from where his fingers were just holding her. “She’s very inquisitive,” he informs me with a shrug as if he can read the question on my face. “I suspect she’s gathering information to plot an escape.”
Calliope turns to glare at him as she rubs her arm where his hand once was. “I am not!” She rebuts. “I’m just trying to figure out why I’m here.” Today she’s wearing a pair of soft, figure-hugging black pants and a red shirt with a fitted bust and an empire waist. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail.
“I’ll take care of it, Sampson. Thanks for your help.” I usher her forward and she looks at the floor for a second before hesitantly taking a step in my direction. “You can sit in your own chair,” I tell her with a careless wave toward the place setting beside me.
I’m not going to make her crawl around forever. You can call me a nice guy if you want, but frankly, I don’t want her to fuck up her knees. I’m going to want to see her on them again and I don’t want it to be an uncomfortable experience.
Calliope looks at me and then at the empty seat beside me before finally stepping forward. “Thank you,” she mumbles. When she grabs the chair to pull it out, I notice that her nails are chewed to the quick and the skin is torn into ragged strips.
“There are bandaids under the bathroom sink if you need them,” I offer gently. I want to reach out and grab her hand, kiss away the pain she holds in her bad habits. But I gesture toward the table instead. “Help yourself.”
She hides her torn fingers in the ball of her fist. “Do you have any syrup?” Calliope asks between gritted teeth.
Just then, Grace comes out of the kitchen with a tray full of offerings. There’s a bowl full of butter and two others filled to the brim with jelly. She has warm maple syrup in a container that you can see the steam coming off of and next to it is a little bear full of honey. “Forgot about these,” she says with a smile as she sets it down on the table, “the maple syrup was still heating. Welcome, miss.” Grace nods her head politely at Calliope. I can tell she’s curious about what to call our new guest, but Grace doesn’t ask in front of her. She knows that I’ll tell her when it’s needed.
As Grace returns to the kitchen, Calliope is already grabbing the butter and syrup off the tray. She has a waffle on her plate and she’s slathering it in butter like she hasn’t eaten in a week.
I sip my coffee and watch her in delight. Despite last night’s carnal display, she doesn’t seem at all bothered to be in my presence. I thought she might be a little put off to see me this morning, but she’s more annoyed that I called out her chewed-up fingernails than being around me.
“Your father tried to pin a murder on me.” I knew she would have questions; it’s my duty to answer them.
Calliope drops her fork. Slowly, she turns her head toward me. “Hewhat?” She asks sharply.
I’ve had run-ins with Police Chief Grant Jackson since he arrived at the Manhattan police department. He’s always been a pain in my ass. I don’t know what the previous cops told him about the Valenti family, but he’s had a vendetta against us since the day he showed up.
He pulled me over for having a tail light outwhileI was on the way to get a new one. He tried to flip the members of my family against me. He arrested me for jaywalking once. None of his charges stuck, but that didn’t stop him from trying his damnedest to ruin not just my day, but my entire life.
“I belong to an important family in Manhattan,” I explain to Calliope. “While we are incredibly philanthropic, there are others in town that see us as predatory.”
“The Valentis,” Calliope snaps her fingers together in recognition. “I thought Raniero was a strange name.”
I glare at her and bark back, “Because Calliope is so normal.” This shuts her up immediately. “The point here is thatyourfather has been running a smear campaign against me for over a decade. When someone was beaten to death in an alley a few months ago, he had me hauled in for questioning despite having a clear alibi for the night in question.”
Calliope snorts as her eyes return to her plate. “Yeah, that’s my dad for ya,” she says with a roll of her eyes. She grabs her knife and starts cutting into her waffle.
