Doc moves to duck past me, but I grip his shoulder. “You mean it? You agree to a contract?”
“Yes! Now get the fuck off me.”
I hold him fast. There’s still another blow to deliver. One last barrier to overcome.
“Parker isn’t going to want to negotiate with us. He’s too angry that January’s gone and too stupid to see the benefits of a contract. We need something to bring him to the table. Something he can’t turn down.”
Doc shoves my hand aside. “Give him whatever you want, I don’t give a shit.”
“You will. I’m going to offer him Orchard.”
Doc’s head draws back. “Oh, is that all you want? Is there anything else you wanna take? My Charger? My nuts? You gonna dig up Alessia and grind her into Parker’s cornflakes?”
“I have no intention of giving Parker the formula,” I say, trying to hold his gaze. “But it’ll bring him to the table and give us leverage to negotiate a cease-fire. There’s no other option.”
Doc looks to the monitor, where January sits combing her hair. His face goes limp and his eyes dull. “I’m going.”
“I’m calling Bianchi,” I tell his back. “If you leave, you’re forfeiting your right to make decisions in the initial negotiation.”
The look Doc gives me is just short of hatred. “What the fuck is left for me to negotiate, Morelli?”
It is time for the truth, unvarnished and uncut. “You love January Whitehall. You will not let her suffer willingly and we all know it. Be a man and accept responsibility for your actions and her future.”
There is a moment, a beat, when Doc’s mouth twitches and for a horrifying second, I think he’s going to burst into tears. Then he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Seven
Domenico Valente
Ilearned toswim in the sea. My mom never had the time or the money to take me to the pool and I never had the interest. But when I dove into the Mediterranean, I knew if I could only do one thing for the rest of my life, it would be this.
In my first few months in Naples, it was all I did. Go swimming, get drunk, pass out. I guess I was smoking too and getting tattoos. Pain, I liked. Constant little licks of pain. Burning lungs. Burning skin. But mostly it was swimming.
Once I came to shore and some middle-aged guy waved me down. My Italian was good enough by then that I understood he was telling me I had a swimmer’s build and to come to some training pool nearby. I told him to fuck off. The other guys made fun of me. Said he was trying to lure me into his van to suck me off, but I knew he wasn’t. A few years later I saw him on TV hugging some kid who just won gold at the Olympics, and I thought ‘huh, I really could’ve been Michael Phelps.’
The pool at Velvet House is only half the size of an Olympic, but it’s big enough to get a flow going. The walls, ceiling and the bottom of the pool are covered in tiny, green tiles and when you turn off the lights, you feel like you’re in a sea cavern.
I was against moving to Velvet House until Morelli showed me the pool. It almost makes up for the fact I’m living in a rich bitch monstrosity with servant quarters and a fucking hedge maze.
I swim a hundred laps in my briefs, chlorine bleaching my hair and stinging my eyes.
Alessia never learned to swim, never lived anywhere but our mom’s shitbox apartment. I’ve got lines around my eyes now, and my knees do weird clicking things when I run, but she’ll always be twenty-four. Beckett got married years ago. She and her wife have three kids and five dogs. I’m happy for the bitch. Sometimes.
I swim another fifty laps. My legs and lungs ache, but I keep going, pushing as hard as I can, and when I finally surface, I’m gasping. I slump against the tiled side, air cutting my throat like glass. I want to get out, but I don’t have a towel. Maybe I’ll stay here and drip dry. Maybe I’ll slit my wrists and bleed out in the pool.
Parker.
The idea of him being alive and me not trying to kill him is like the sun suddenly vanishing from the sky. What the fuck am I gonna do? There’s nothingtodo. I’ll have to kill him. But if I sign a contract, there’s no chance. Violating it wouldn’t just mean my neck, it would be the end of Velvet House and Adriano, Bobby, and Morelli. January too. I press my face back into the water and scream, bubbles blasting out of my mouth.
How can the others be okay with this?
“Doc?”
I surface so fast my neck pops. January is sitting at the other end of the pool. She’s wearing a tiny blue sundress, her bare legs dangling in the water. I feel like someone’s ripping duct tape off my chest. She’s too much. Too bright. Too fucking nice. My thoughts return to the black visions that have replayed in my mind ever since she was abducted. Tying her up and bruising her perfect white skin, making her scream around a ball gag as spit and cum run down her face. Hurting her. Making her pay.
I stand, swiping the water from my face. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Her timid smile dissolves.
