I swing my car door open, then slam it shut until the loud sound ricochets through the silence of the parking lot.
It’s old, grim, and has potholes the size of Central Park in the asphalt. But the most unfortunate thing about this place is the man who stands in the middle of it in his signature dashing black suit.
I’m starting to think he never looks less than perfect, as if he were born with the sole purpose of intimidating humans.
Kingsley strokes the handle of the door of his car—a special edition Audi—like it’s an old lover.
At the sound of the slamming, a small translation of my temper, his lips tilt in that infuriatingly gorgeous smile. “Any objections, witch?”
Disregarding my constant need to remain calm, I fully face him with a hand hiked on my hip. “I get you’ve been interfering in my business and actively trying to kick me out of W&S in order to get me out of Gwen’s life, which will not be happening, by the way. And while you’re a goddamn asshole, you’re not an idiot. So why the hell would you get your prim and proper hands dirty with the freaking mafia?”
“Is that worry I hear in your venomous tone? I’d be touched if I had any fucks to give.”
“You could be hanging from a frozen mountain by your dick and the only thing I’d do is bring out the popcorn while I watch. So no, worry is the last emotion I’d feel for you.”
He dips his brows in mock reaction. “Sounds painful.”
“It looks painful, too, in my head.”
“Didn’t know my dick had a personalized section in your head.”
“All dedicated to torture. The extreme type.”
“Seems kinky.”
“Guess you’ll never know.” I flip my hair to suppress a smile. I’m supposed to be mad at this jerk, and I am, but at the same time, I can’t resist gravitating toward bantering whenever I’m with him.
He brings out the worst, the twisted, and the fucked up in me.
All at the same time.
Which means I should stay away from him. Especially after his audacious move last night, a touch that I couldn’t banish from my head even as I plotted and pinned names and pictures on my whiteboard à la serial killers.
But then he had to show up out of nowhere right by Nicolo’s side with the nonchalance of a psychopath.
As if he has nothing to lose, which I’m well aware is far from the truth.
“Have you thought about Gwen in your little plan to become besties with the mafia?” It’s that tone again, harsh but with a hidden softness that pisses me off.
He raises a brow. “Have you? I thought you intended to conquer the title of her mother, but that won’t be happening if you end up in a body bag, whether by pissing off Nicolo or by your father’s gun when he gets out of jail.”
I jolt, my eyes growing in size.
This…he didn’t just say what I think he did, did he?
“What?” He steps closer in that charged way that leaves me on my toes. “You thought I wouldn’t find out the truth if you hid it well enough?”
“My truth or the lack thereof has nothing to do with you.”
“On the contrary, it has everything to do with me, considering you intend to bring your messy past and bloodied family ties into my daughter’s life.”
“I would never do that. I’d protect her with my own life.”
“That won’t be possible if your father kills you and moves on to your next of kin.” He steps toward me, his height and personality metaphorically expanding to fill the horizon. “Listen here, witch. I’ll personally put you in a body bag before your chaos affects Gwen. I didn’t raise her all these years so you could fuck it all up with your past mistakes.”
“I’ve only made two mistakes in my life. The first was meeting you and the second was not suspecting my daughter was alive. Putting away a murderer doesn’t belong on that list and I won’t let you or anyone else make me feel otherwise.”
He pauses, narrowing his eyes in pure contemplation. Kingsley has an unnerving way of looking at people as if he’s able to read the deepest minds and the darkest desires.
I’ve always prided myself on being above his stupid games, but something is different now.
His hands are metaphorically around my throat due to the piece of information about my father.
In the past, his disdain toward me was illogical, but he’s now found all the logical reasons to separate me from Gwen.
And that scares the shit out of me.
“You do realize that Nicolo’s protection is neither absolute nor infinite, right? The moment you’re no longer a useful dog, he’ll euthanize you.”
“Worry about yourself.”
“I hold toys over his greedy head. You hold fucking zilch.”
“I’ll find a way to stay in his good graces. Just do me a favor and stay out of my business this time.”
“I’ll only consider that if you pay for such a favor.”
I release an exasperated sigh. “You’re richer than oil princes and just as hedonistic. Why the hell would you need more money?”
“Money is not the currency I was envisioning.” His gaze drops to my Louboutins, then slides up my blue slacks, to my beige button-down, and stops at where the first button is undone.
I’m surprised I don’t catch fire from the charged way he looks at me.
It’s intense and absolutely disarming in its novelty.
He just looked at me as if he wants to devour me for lunch, dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast.
The image sends my heat up a notch and I regret not having more coffee-tequila this morning.
What. The. Hell?
The need to run out of his watchful gaze and asphyxiating atmosphere hits me like a need.
And that in itself is also a what-the-hell moment. I don’t run from men, situations, or my fears. I’m the type who stands right in the middle of a storm with the determination of a buffalo. Either I survive or I die. No in-between.
But this isn’t just any man or any situation. It’s the man who messed up my whole life twenty-one years ago and continues the legacy of destruction in the present.
He’s my worst enemy and most villainous rival.
He’s the devil who’d crush me without a second thought.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warn, my voice as rigid as my posture.
“I haven’t said anything.” He feigns innocence, but his voice has lowered to a rumble.
“You’re looking at me weird. Stop it.”
“Weird how?”
“Like a man looks at a woman. I’m not one of your playthings, Kingsley. I’ll cut your dick off in your sleep before you put it anywhere near me.”
“Is that a challenge, sweetheart?” His voice drops to a chilling range at that damn endearment and so does my stomach.
But that’s not the worst of my illogical reaction. Bats explode in sickeningly loud squeaks in the black cave of my chest and the running away option becomes mandatory instead of optional.
However, I attempt to hold on to my fast-withering calm. “It’s a warning.”
“I don’t do well with those.” He steps forward and it takes all my tenacious control to keep from backing up. “In fact, I most definitely take it as a challenge, so keep an eye open in the dark. You never know what will be lurking in the shadows.”
He remains there, making me breathe the notes of cedarwood and fine cigar off him, as if daring me to make a move.
I glare up at him, but no witty comeback comes to mind. If I speak right now, all I’ll spout is nonsense.
“I don’t usually wish people good luck when I intend on breaking them, but you need lots of it, sweetheart.”
With one last provoking smile, he turns around and heads to his car.
Before my meeting with Nicolo’s sister-in-law, I practice three breathing exercises and count to one thousand.
My cool is nowhere to be found, though, and neither is my usual meticulous way of organizing emotions. Which is basically shoving them to the basement of my psyche where no one notices them, let alone sees them.
Ever since the showdown with Kingsley in the parking lot this morning, they’ve been viciously attempting to break the surface and turn me into a blasphemous version of an emotional mess.
I contemplated calling Nate, but what the hell would I tell him?
Why is your asshole friend bringing up the crazy a notch?
Or maybe I should ask him why the fuck I’m honoring his crazy with a response other than pure disdain.
Either way, the calling Nate option was aborted soon after it formed. Unlike the jerk Kingsley, I won’t bother him or my daughter on their honeymoon.
Which is why I’m sitting at my desk, posture rigid, fingers tapping away at my keyboard with practiced efficiency. Now, if I could focus, that would be perfect.
The phone call from my assistant announcing that Mrs. Luciano has arrived saves me from the mess going on in my head.
I’m good with work, and despite Kingsley’s sexist, dick-shaped ego, I’m considered one of the best in the law circuit with a win rate of ninety-five percent. Only a point lower than his ninety-six percent and not far from Nate’s one hundred percent.
And no, I don’t closely follow the percentage of wins.
Okay, maybe I do. But deep down, I’ve always considered the asshole a rival. Logically, it should’ve been Nate since he’s a civil lawyer like me.
Kingsley is the most notorious criminal defense attorney in recent history, so our scope of expertise differs vastly. But I’ve often followed how he wins his cases—from the background, of course.
He’s a natural at dealing with monsters and making them obey his every command. I guess it all boils down to the fact that he’s a monster himself, but watching him in action is annoyingly fascinating.
He’s assertive to a fault, has the confidence of an arrogant god, and is so unpredictable, everyone in the courtroom leaves extremely entertained by his witty speeches.
The jerk will never know those facts obviously.
He’ll also never know that I’m sure he’ll get what Nicolo asked of him done in no time, which is getting his brother out of a battery and assault charge.
As for myself, I’m stuck with a divorce case.
It’s not even my scope of expertise, but what Nicolo wants, Nicolo gets. Besides, he said my job is to convince his brother’s wife to accept his conditions and leave.
The same brother with the assault charge, Mateo Luciano, is going through a divorce. Nicolo wants me to convince Mateo’s wife to take $300K, sign away all her rights to the Luciano fortune, and disappear from his brother’s state.
Due to my pending cases, I haven’t had the chance to do an appropriate background check on her, but I will later tonight.
It could be my negligence or the load of emotions running through me, but I’m not ready when she walks in through my office door. And it’s not only because she showed up alone instead of being accompanied by her lawyer.
It’s the woman herself.
The girl I thought I’d never meet again in this lifetime after we parted ways in a less than glamorous manner. Her fair hair falls to her shoulders and it’s way less shiny than when we were teenagers.
“Let’s get this over with. I want nothing of his money, so we’re done here…” She freezes mid-sentence when her eyes meet mine. “Aspen…?”
The rotten taste of memories bubbles in my throat and I clear it. “Caroline.”
She kicks the door shut with her foot, completely disregarding her “public” code of conduct. Caroline used to have two personalities—one for the people, one for me and herself.
I liked the crass, misbehaving Caroline who got me addicted to beer way better than the plastic version she showed everyone else.
Her designer dress sways with her movements as she storms toward me and plants her hands on the desk. She dresses like a Stepford wife and her makeup isn’t as loud anymore. But her face is the same, older, but still striking in its beauty.
“It’s really you,” she lets the words out on a small breath. “Wow. You actually look the femme fatale role now. How have you been?”
“Fine.” I stand up and motion at the sitting area in my office.
She complies, flopping onto the dark red sofa and crossing her legs. “I’m speechless. You’ve done so well by becoming an attorney in this big firm and all. You really are getting that glass slipper for yourself as you said back then. Too bad you’re still a dog for men like my soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“I’m no one’s dog. I’m merely doing my job.”
She snorts, running her gaze over my office without saying a word.
“Will your lawyer be joining us soon?” I ask, trying as hard as possible to sound professional.
“I fired that tool. Too much money for nothing.”
“Will you not be getting a replacement?”
“No…unless you’re thinking about switching to my side.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
She clicks her tongue. “Shame, though I really don’t need your services.”
“Not mine, no, but you need a lawyer to negotiate what you can get out of this divorce.”
“I want nothing but the piece of paper to prove I’m no longer the piece of shit’s wife.”
“Still, you can and should get compensation out of this. He’s offering three hundred grand.”
I planned to start with $150K and go from there until I reach Nicolo’s final offer, but seeing as she’s not interested, and the fact that she’s Caroline, of all people, changed my course of action.
After all, this is the “I’m going to marry rich” Caroline, the “I’ll take you on a states tour in my Porsche one day” Caroline.
“He can keep his blood-stained money.”
“Since when do you care what money is coated with? This is your livelihood, Caroline, so take it and you can even demand more, depending on how much damage he inflicted on you.”
She smiles a little. “I thought you were his attorney, but here you are offering me advice. Sure you don’t want to change sides?”
“Quit joking.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Take the money.”
“No.”
“Since when is that word in your vocabulary when it comes to money?”
“Since I grew a backbone.” She stares in the direction of my floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the skyline.
As tiny droplets of rain hit the glass and countless others follow, Caroline’s low voice carries with the sound like a haunting melody. “I was married when I first met Mateo. My first husband was everything I’d ever wished for. A frat boy with Mommy and Daddy’s oil fortune. He gave me my fairy-tale dream. A big house, luxurious cars, and trips to exotic places. Oh, and a few black eyes. But hey, some fairy tales need to have an abusive Prince Uncharming with fertility issues, right? He crushed my dream to conceive children of our own, and I still stayed. But then he cheated on me. I grew a backbone between that and hearing that he’d been telling people I was the infertile one.
“Mateo came into the picture when my loser of an ex-husband chose his girlfriend as his next affair. In pure mafia fashion, Mateo kidnapped them, strapped both her and Steven to chairs with duct tape, brought me over, and told me, ‘Want some old-fashioned revenge?’ And then we fucked in front of them. It was the best sex of my life, which is probably a poor reason to stay with Mateo now that I think about it. We got married soon after I divorced Steven and I thought I was turning over a new leaf.”
“But?” I ask in a soft voice.
Her eyes fill with tears and she blinks them away. “But he’s no different than Steven and all the other men. He got bored, and bored men cheat. I walked in on him wrapped up with his side piece in a hotel room.”
“Did you sign a prenup?”
“No. Nicolo threatened me to do it, but Mateo was vehemently against it.”
“Did Mateo own things after the marriage?”
“Yeah. A resort and some real estate.”
“You can own some of that if you can prove emotional and maybe physical distress. If you were trying for a baby, that can be added to play on the judge’s favor. You have to emphasize that you stayed with your infertile, abusive and cheating ex-husband and thought you’d get a new chance with Mateo, but he didn’t keep his part of the bargain. There’s an eighty percent chance you’ll win half of his assets owned after the marriage.”
She snorts out laughing and I pause.
“What?”
“You really haven’t changed. People usually try to comfort me and offer fake apologies in these situations, not suggest I sue for a mafia boss’s assets.”
“Only half, not all, and it’s not all of his assets. You have no right to his inheritance. Besides, I’m not good at comforting. It’ll just come off as uncoordinated and awkward and will serve no purpose. My advice, however, can be useful.”
“Are you sure you should be offering me that advice? Nicolo will off you if he finds out.”
“He doesn’t need to find out. Any lawyer, including the one you fired, would give you this advice. Besides, how did you know Nicolo hired me and not Mateo?”
“Nicolo calls all the shots in that godforsaken family. The only reason he’s allowing the divorce and not sending one of his goons to off me is because he doesn’t want to lose Mateo.”
“Why?”
“Mateo is the rook in his chessboard, and apparently, that’s important according to my soon-to-be ex-husband.”
“I meant, why would he need to allow the divorce? Isn’t this yours and Mateo’s idea?”
“Mateo doesn’t want a divorce, which is why he’s in jail after beating the hell out of my date last night. I hope he stays there for a few days.”
“I wouldn’t hold out much hope. He’s probably out as we speak.” Especially if Kingsley is his attorney. He’d get him out on bail in no time.
“Oh, well. Doesn’t hurt to wish.”
“You really want nothing of his?”
She shakes her head with a whimsical expression on her face. “When I first divorced Steven, Mateo made sure my ex-husband signed the house, the cars, and two yachts over to my name. I felt so triumphant, because I hated the slimy asshole and was happy I could get some monetary compensation for the physical and mental abuse I went through. But it’s different now. I don’t want anything that reminds me of Mateo. So tell Nicolo you convinced me to walk away with nothing. He’ll be pleased with you for driving the gold digger, aka me, away.”
She retrieves a card from her small bag and slides it across the table. “Now that the crap is over, let’s meet for mimosas sometime under less stressful conditions.”
I grab her wrist as she’s about to retreat and my eyes widen at the violet fingerprints on her arm. I pull her down and stare closely at her face. Sure enough, there are bluish marks beneath her heavy foundation and concealer.
My blood boils as I say in a guttural voice, “Did Mateo hit you?”
She swiftly jerks from my hold and plasters on a fake smile. “It’s nothing you should worry about.”
“Caroline, either tell me or I’m taking your ass to report this to the police, even while you’re kicking and screaming. Actually, I’m taking you anyway, so speak while I’m still being nice.”
“Bitch, please. This is nice?” She laughs.
“Caroline,” I warn.
“It wasn’t Mateo. That date I mentioned earlier? He’s from a rival crime family and, shocker, he doesn’t like being told no. So he decorated my face with his own lash of violence.” She clears her throat. “Mateo doesn’t know about this. Don’t tell him or he’ll be sent back to jail for a lifetime subscription. This time for murder. I mean, yes, he’s a prick and a damn cheater, but I don’t want him to spend his life behind bars because of me.”
“Jesus.” I sigh, joining her side.
“Not sure he can do anything. Some people are just off his mercy radar.”
“Stop joking.”
She gives a bitter smile. “Would you rather I throw a pity party and wallow in misery?”
“At least take this seriously. Why did you even go to another mafia man?”
“Why do you think? For old-fashioned revenge the Mateo way. Karma and I are cut from the same bitch cloth and have a similar dark sense of humor.”
“You should get a restraining order against both men and hire some bodyguards.”
“Stop acting like my nonexistent mother, Aspen. I’m an adult.”
“Who still can’t sense danger even after it hits her in the face. Literally.”
“Ouch. Touché.” She smiles, then hugs me out of nowhere. I freeze as her frail arms wrap around me. “I missed you, bitch. I’m glad we met again.”
I slowly lift my hand and pat her back, and I can feel her sniffling against my chest, but I don’t say anything out of fear of dropping the most awkward bomb of the century.
After a few moments, she pulls back and wipes her eyes. “Enough about me, tell me about you.”
“I’m as you see.”
“Don’t give me that. Wait, are you still mad because you think I told your aunt and uncle about that night?”
“No. I kind of forgot about that.”
“It wasn’t me, Aspen. I swear.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t you? Aunt Sharon said you told her. Forget it, anyway. It’s all in the past.”
“I can’t just forget it. That hooker lied to make you feel alone. You were my ride or die, and I wouldn’t have sold you out. I tried talking to you, but they had you under house arrest during the period of your pregnancy and had thugs watch over your house. I came to the hospital after you had the baby, though, but you were too dazed to even know I was there. After that, you were gone.”
My throat dries as I whisper, “I ran away.”
“I know. I searched for you and left corny phrases with my lipstick on bathroom mirrors, hoping you’d see them.”
“You did?”
“Why do you look so surprised? Of course I did. I said, ‘You’re my best friend ever, call me.’ ‘I’m sorry you lost your baby, no one deserves that. I’m here for you.’ ‘Please don’t leave. You’re my ride or die.’ You ghosted me anyway.”
My lips part and those stupid emotions are now banging on the surface of my heart. I clear my throat. “I didn’t see them. I left the state.”
“I figured you did.” She lifts a shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?”
“Your baby being stillborn. I know you wanted the child, even though you were a kid yourself.”
“She wasn’t stillborn.”
“W-what?”
“They lied—the hooker and the alcoholic, as you called them. They shoved a stillborn in my arms and made me think it was my daughter while they sent my real daughter to her dad.”
“Oh my God, they found him?”
I nod.
“Even though we searched for him for weeks and couldn’t?”
“Yeah. They could’ve gotten outside help. I thought it was yours.”
“Of course not. I’d rather drown in shit than snitch to that hooker.”
I frown. I was sure it was Caroline who hid Kingsley’s identity from me yet told my aunt and uncle. But if it wasn’t her, then who?
“Does that mean you found your daughter now?” she asks hopefully, scooting closer.
“I did. She still doesn’t consider me a mother, though.”
“Oh, she will once she gets an earful from Auntie Caroline.”
“No, Callie. We’re fragile as it is. Don’t meddle.”
“You’re fragile because you’re being stupidly careful as usual.” She grins.
“Careful is intelligence, not stupidity. And stop smiling like an idiot.”
“What? You called me Callie again.”
“Whatever,” I say with nonchalance, but I can’t resist the smile.
Caroline smiles, too, and we keep talking for an hour, then grab lunch together before we finally part ways because I have to meet a client.
She texts me immediately when she gets home as I asked her to. She even sends me a picture of her giant huskies and proof that she activated the alarm.
Caroline continues to text me throughout the day until nighttime when I get home. Her updates include a burned lasagna, a millionth rewatch of Friends, and bad dad jokes.
She makes me smile anyway and feel lighthearted at how fate has thrown her in my path again.
When I reach my building, I step out of my Range Rover and pause. I swear I just saw a shadow in my peripheral vision.
Pulling out my phone, I dial 911 and head to the elevator with my finger hovering over the call button.
I expect someone to jump inside the elevator or jam his hand against the door as it closes, but nothing appears.
Still, an ominous feeling accompanies me even as I enter my apartment.
The feeling of being watched.
