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My phone vibrates in my pocket. I take it out. It’s Hugo, the informant I met in Marseille. My gut tightens. I’m not in the right mindset for more bad news today, but my hand has a will of its own. My thumb is already swiping over the screen before my mind can make the more intelligent decision of taking the call when I’ve calmed the fuck down.
I answer with, “Do you have something for me?”
“Is the line secure?”
“Yes.” I sit down behind my desk. “You can talk.”
“I had an interesting chat with Lieutenant Lavigne. His tongue loosened after a few beers.”
“Save me the details,” I bite out. “Get to the point.”
“Mrs. Russo cut a deal.”
My vision unravels. It’s what I expected. It’s what I knew. Yet hearing it does things to me, things that make violence explode in my veins. I shouldn’t take it personally. It shouldn’t cloud my reasoning. But it fucking does. Because like the idiot I am, I care.
I care.
The realization only makes me more volatile. I’m angrier with myself than with anyone else. A voice deep down says Sabella isn’t to blame. Anyone in her shoes would’ve done the same. But the monster in me doesn’t want to listen to reason. The monster is only interested in vengeance.
“Did you hear what I said?” Hugo asks.
My voice is flat, not giving away my dangerous emotions. “Carry on.”
“If she provides evidence that’ll guarantee you get locked up for good, Lavigne will arrange indemnity for her family and move her to a safe house.”
The words ring in my head. She wants to run away. From me. She wants to escape me. Save her family. Put me behind bars. Does she believe locking me up in a cell will keep me away from her? Does she think I’ll let any fucking thing stand between us?
At my silence, Hugo sounds uncertain. “I thought you’d like to know.”
“When is the exchange due to happen?”
“Whenever she has information. She’s supposed to make contact when she’s ready.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it. Do you want me to keep tabs on Lavigne?”
“Don’t let him smell a rat, but stay close to him. If anything comes up, let me know.”
“Done.”
“Thanks,” I say, ending the call and dumping my phone on the desk.
I stare at the wall for a long time, the control I’m trying to scavenge not coming. Grabbing a paperweight from a stack of papers on my desk, I hurl it at the wall. It hits the bricks with a thud, cracking the plaster. Pieces flitter to the floor. Dust sifts down.
Yanking open the drawer, I dig through the contents and take out the silver cigar box my father gifted me for my sixteenth birthday. The lid is engraved with our family emblem. I never took to cigarettes or cigarillos and neither to cigars. The occasional joint was more my style.
The box still holds my stash from three years ago. I stopped for Sabella because she didn’t like the habit. Back then, she was still a beautiful ideal, a woman I wanted to woo and please. To seduce. To win over. She was always the woman I intended on making mine.
I’ll admit I don’t miss it, the smoking. I was going to stop anyway. I only took a few drags from time to time to take the edge off when the business got messy. Lighting one now seems fitting. If I don’t dull my senses, I may truly kill her. And I don’t want to take it that far. No matter what she’s done or what she’ll do, she’s still the woman I marked with my seal, my ring, my name, and my cum.
Fishing the Zippo lighter from the drawer, I slip it with the box in my pocket. I’m wearing the formal pants, shirt, and jacket from this morning. I didn’t bother to change into more suitable clothes or shoes before visiting the graveyard. I don’t take the time to do so now. On the way to the door, I grab my coat.
I don’t say a word to Heidi. She’s used to my spur-of-the-moment comings and goings. She’s used to cooking meals for a man who doesn’t pitch for lunch or supper. She’ll do what she always does. She’ll keep my dinner warm without posing questions. Against my better judgement, I get into my car and drive at breakneck speed to the new house.
Lights are on in all the windows. Fabien’s car is parked outside. What the fuck is he doing here? Sabella has no business receiving visitors. I let myself in with my key and stop in the entrance. The ground floor is deserted. A blanket is tossed aside on the sofa. A bowl of popcorn stands on the floor. The television is off, the remote lying discarded on a cushion.
Well, well. Isn’t this fucking cozy?
