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I’m so used to hard surfaces that the thought of sleeping on a sinking foam mattress makes me feel uncomfortable. I enjoy the stability of a firm mattress, and the ones we had in prison might as well have been made of stone. A hard floor and a soft woman beat a real bed any night.
“I have PJs, but I guess you’re sleeping naked,” Kimberly says, looking over my body.
I squeeze her hand. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, beautiful.”
“You’re being awfully nice compared to before we had sex,” she says, eying me with suspicion. “Was that all it took?”
I shrug. “Calms me down.”
“Men are too easy.”
I chuckle. “Try it again next time. I don’t mind.”
“I think I’ve spoiled you enough,” she replies, but the glow in her cheeks tells me she’s the one who is spoiled.
I allow her to win the debate, if only to make sure she’s still in a hazy, post-orgasmic state when she closes her eyes to sleep. The sooner she’s in bed, the better. It’s already late, and I’m not going to risk rummaging around in her basement when the sun is up.
The darkness is the only friend I’ve ever had.
Aside from my twin brother, but I haven’t heard from him since we were sixteen and parted ways. He decided he didn’t want to take the same route to riches that I took. He wanted to do it the right way, the way our mother would’ve approved us.
No laws broken. Just clean and tidy business without the thrills that the Bratva life offers.
Maybe he was right, but I have no way of knowing. I don’t even know if he’s alive, much less who he is or what he’s doing. He never reached out when I went away. Maybe he expected it. Maybe he didn’t even know.
I assume he still wants nothing to do with me, seeing as I haven’t deviated from the path I set out on when we were just becoming men.
At least I’m consistent. I’ve always known that I would do anything for money. It’s a character flaw, sure, but it’s also what makes men richer beyond their wildest dreams.
That’s my fantasy, anyway. I can’t be certain that my fortune still exists aside from the block of gold, which only serves as a starter for my new Bratva endeavor. I’m going to need a lot more money than that to rebuild my empire.
So, I follow Kimberly down the hallway, holding her hand until we arrive and she rolls out the sleeping bag on the carpet. It’s too small for two people, but she seems to believe we can fit.
After some unzipping and a lot of squirming, we manage to find an arrangement comfortable enough to make sleep come quickly. She snuggles up to me with her eyes closed, but mine are wide open, glued to the ceiling as I listen to Kimberly’s breathing slow down.
This is the first time that I’m happy to discover the person I’m sharing a room with snores.
I wait a little longer after that to ensure Kimberly falls into a deeper sleep. She needs to be good and gone before I dare leave the room and venture downstairs.
Feeling her warmth against me, I’m tempted to fall asleep and push my plans to a later date, but the thought of money pulls me from me from the comfort of my bed after two hours of stillness.
Nothing good comes to those who can’t forgo comfort for progress.
Even with the furnace on and the thermostat cranked up to seventy-five, I feel cold as I step out of the bedroom into the hallway. I’m unclothed, and every creak of the floorboards feels like an attack.
The hair on my neck prickles as I reach the door to the basement. It’s not how I remember it. Someone replaced the doorknob with one that locks, but when I turn it, the door swings open easily.
I peer down into the darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust.
They never do. The velvet black is all-encompassing, and they’re no way to move down the stairs without turning a light on. Tripping and tumbling down is more likely to wake Kimberly than turning on a light in a room she’s not even in.
But even if I wanted to take the risk of flicking the light switch on, it’s not possible. There’s no switch to be found, so I’m forced to descend in total darkness.
Every step is colder and quieter than the last. It’s like sinking down in the ocean, leaving the warmth of the sun on the surface and losing sense of what direction you’d have to swim to reach the surface again.
The descent takes longer than I remember, but maybe that’s because I’m moving so slowly. The only thing worse than missing a step and having your stomach drop is expecting another and hitting the floor much harder and sooner than you anticipate. So, I move cautiously, feeling each step under both feet before moving to the next.
Eventually, I reach the bottom. When my bare feet touch the smooth tiles floor, I know something is wrong.
