I don’t have to ask who he means. Corinne Whitehall. My head is still ringing with that strange and all too familiar mix of lust and anger. I want to fuck January like Doc just did, but I want to strangle her stepmother more. I planned to take January to Malibu for her birthday, but that’s been ruined. It’s too dangerous. It’s unfathomable that Corinne Whitehall had the balls to not only track her stepdaughter but confront her at one of our clubs. What it means for our future I can only guess.
Nothing good, I’m sure.
“I should have shot that woman years ago,” Adriano rages. “How have we let the bitch live this long?”
“Because you can’t just kill January’s stepmom,” Bobby reminds him. “January doesn’t want us to.”
“She doesn’t understand what a viper she is. We do. As soon as January’s home I’m going to New York and blowing her brains out.”
“No, you fucking aren’t!”
I stare into the golden depths of my scotch. Bobby and Adriano have been having this fight for months. Forever it feels like. Not that they’re any closer to an agreement. I sit silently as they bicker back and forth.
“Corinne seeing January isn’t a violation of the contract—” Bobby says.
“I don’t give a damn about the contract,” Adriano snarls. “She’s been keeping January from her sister and now she’s trying to get her back under her thumb in person. She needs to die.”
“You kill her right after she’s been in our club, and it’ll bring heat down on us from everyone. The pigs, Bianchi, the Whitehall family…Eli, back me up here?”
I meet Bobby’s serious brown eyes. “Back you up with what?”
“We can’t kill Corinne, right?”
“I don’t think it matters.”
“What!?”
I return my gaze to my drink, staring as though I might divine the future in my whiskey. For weeks now, I’ve sensed something building. More than sensed. Seen. Glass has cracked at the slightest touch. Blackbirds have massed on the powerlines above. Spilled olive oil. Crossed arms during toasts. Bad omens.
For close to a year, my brothers and I have lived happily with January at our sides. Our relationships cooperative, our business making money hand over fist. Adriano stopped sleeping in the woods like Bigfoot and returned to work. For the first time in years, Doc resumed tinkering with Orchard, trying to remove its fatal flaw. Everything was exactly the way it needed to be. Now my instincts tell me this was no more than borrowed time. That our allotment of good luck has run out and now the price must be paid.
“What’s wrong, Eli?” Bobby presses. “Do you think Corinne’s in league with Parker?”
My shoulder gives an involuntary twitch, as though shaking off a fly. “The contract expressly forbids it and even if Corinne’s not intelligent enough to know that, Parker is. But her showing up tonight is a bad sign.”
A pained expression takes over both of my brothers’ faces. They’re well aware of my omen theory, though they refuse to see them as anything but baseless superstition.
Bobby closes his laptop. “Eli, I get that you’re having…doubts. But the last six months have been the most profitable in Velvet House history. All our lines are up. We’re turning down contracts left right and center and…” His face softens “We’ve got January.”
Adriano gives a wordless growl of agreement.
“January is perfect,” I say. “More precious than all the world. But something is wrong. I know it in my bones.”
“You think Parker’s going to violate the Bianchi contract?”
“I believe he wants to.”
Adriano rolls his eyes. “Of course, hewantsto. But unless he’s suicidal, he’s not going to.”
I drain my scotch. “Perhaps. But I don’t like that January’s mother is attending the wedding. And I don’t like that she found out where January is working.”
“Why don’t you call Mr. Bianchi and ask if she can be barred?” Bobby says.
“I’m not in a position to give John orders.”
“It wouldn’t be giving orders, he likes you. And he asked January to sing at his wedding. He must be interested in keeping her safe.”
A valid point but still, I find myself hesitating. John Bianchi isn’t someone you call without a very good reason. I look to Adriano, who nods. “Just ask.”
