Chapter 46 Episode 46
1650 Words
“Nailed it. She liked to give me sob stories about needingclothes for Elise or money for food, but it all went to gettingher high. I knew her tricks, and I cut her off. But I found waysto get Elise what she needed from time to time. Money sharingapps, giftcards, that sort of thing. But it couldn’t be anythingmy mom would notice—no clothes, no devices—or she’d shutit down. So mostly just some money for her to buy hot lunchat school and get basic necessities, the kind of stuff she couldplausibly pick up from a shelter or a free clinic somewhere.Deodorant, tampons, laundry soap.”
“Things were that bad? You had to send her money fortampons?”
Belle nods, but I can tell she’s ashamed. I have no idea whatshe has to be ashamed of—she isn’t the one who refused totake care of her own child. If anything, she stepped up and didwhat no one else would do.
It’s admirable. She should be holding her head high.
But before I can say any of that, Belle continues. “Six monthsago, Mom went on a bender. A bad one. She’d just gotten outof forced treatment and swore she’d be clean again, but lessthan a week later, her dealer was at the house. This time, he hiton Elise.”
I find my hands clenching under the table. “Did he—”
“No,” she says quickly. “No, Elise got out before anythinghappened. I warned her about him. I told her to stay out ofsight whenever he was around. The guy is a creep. He nevertouched me or anything, but… I was just a kid, barely thirteen,
when he started sniffing around. One night, I overheard himoffer my mom a trade. Me, in exchange for some product.”
If the man was in front of me right now, I’d kill him withoutblinking. Without hesitating. I’d rip his useless head from hisuseless shoulders and laugh at his blood.
“A man like that doesn’t deserve breath,” I snarl.
Belle’s eyes widen at the fury in my voice. “My mom didn’ttake him up on it, for the record. She said no, but… I didn’tknow if she’d always say no. As soon as I could, I got out ofthere. I hated leaving Elise, but—”
“You were a kid yourself. You couldn’t take her with you.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I do. I just don’t know if Eliseunderstands that yet. But I always made sure she could get intouch with me, and a few months ago, she did. She called andwe made a plan. I drove to Omaha, she slipped out of herwindow in the middle of the night, and we left.”
“Your mom isn’t looking for her?”
“She doesn’t have the money to chase us down,” she says.“She has no idea where I’m living, and she won’t call thepolice. They wouldn’t listen to her anyway.”
Maybe I could get a security detail on Belle. Or spies on hermom. Make sure she’s staying right where she’s supposed tobe. Though I don’t know why the f**k it matters to me.
I grab my phone to text Arslan, but before I can, my screenlights up with a call from the man himself.
“Excuse me,” I tell Belle. I stand up and walk into the livingroom before answering. “I was just about to text you. Isn’t itthe middle of the night in New York?”
“It is, so why would you be trying to text me and wake me up?Also, you’re welcome for being so dedicated,” he says.
I snort. “You’re always on call.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” he grumbles. “Anyhow, I’ve been up allnight because Giorgos is up to some bullshit.”
“Last night, I stopped by the Greek restaurant where he likesto hold court. I just wanted to peek in and make sure it wasbusiness as usual, but he wasn’t there. I tracked him down andrealized he was across town at Toxic Kate’s.”
“The Battiato hangout,” I growl. “What was he doing there?”
“I couldn’t get inside—no one ever forgets a face this good-looking—but I sent a few of our newer recruits in. I figuredthey wouldn’t be recognized. They said Giorgos looked prettychummy with everyone there.”
I tighten my fists at my side. “Bastard.”
“He did say he’d partner with them if you didn’t get rid ofBelle,” Arslan reminds me.
“Tell me you’re not defending that motherfucker.”
“Of course not. I’m just saying, he warned us.”
“And I warned him,” I snap back. “Maybe he needs a refresherof what he stands to lose if he takes up arms against me.”
My hands are already itching for revenge. Partnering with theBattiatos is a threat. Giorgos understands that.
And no one threatens what I’ve built without consequences.
“What do you have in mind?” Arslan asks.
“What don’t I have in mind?” I retort. “The bastard deserveshis fat head stuck on a spike. He wants to let his sister try toyank me around by the balls? Let’s see how Giorgos liveswithout his.”
Arslan whistles. “Brutal. Unnecessarily visual, but brutal. Youplanning to come back and deal with it, then?”
I’m about to say yes when I hear Belle clear her throat absent-mindedly from the other room.
I turn back to look at her. She’s stooped over her blacknotebook, her pencil scratching furiously across the page.Even from here, I can tell she isn’t paying me any attention.She’s wholly focused on what she’s doing. Absorbed in thetask at hand.
Her hair is tucked back behind her ear, her tongue poking outof the corner of her mouth. She’s relaxed here.
“No,” I say, deciding all at once. “You can handle it. I trustyou.”
Arslan almost chokes. “You’re going to let me handle this?”
“Isn’t that what you’re always begging me for? To let youhave more fun?”
There’s a brief pause before I hear my second-in-commandchuckling darkly. “f**k. Yes. This will be fun.”
“Remember, you’re giving him a warning,” I remind him.“Don’t make me regret this.”
“A warning shot. Yeah, yeah. I know. Nothing a little fire can’tsolve.”
“You pyromaniac,” I laugh. “If you have to incineratesomething, make it one of his businesses.”
“You want to cripple him financially? That feels like morethan a warning shot.”
“It’s a reminder,” I say. “He’ll remember how much he needsme as soon as one of his streams of income is cut off. And ifhe’s smart, Giorgos will also remember how little I need him.”
I hang up, feeling mostly confident that Arslan will stay withinthe bounds of reason, and pad back into the dining room.
Belle is so focused on what she’s doing that she doesn’t evennotice me walk up behind her.
She jolts and then flings her arms over her notebook.“Nothing!”
She narrows her eyes at me and tries to casually close thecover. “You just surprised me.”
“Then you won’t mind if I take a look.” I snatch the notebookout of her hand and hold it above my head.
“Technically, this is my suite. And my hotel. I’d sayeverything here is mine.”
“Just because something is under your roof doesn’t mean youown it,” she hisses. “You don’t own me!”
Our eyes meet, and I know she’s thinking the same thing I am:how good it could be, for both of us, if she was mine.
My c**k stands to attention at the thought, at the memory ofher riding me last night. The way I f****d her on the rug in thefirelight. I have half a mind to toss her notebook aside andspread her out on the table.
But then Belle looks away, her cheeks flushed. And my bloodstarts pumping upward again, helping me think with myupstairs brain.
“I own anything I want,” I repeat with finality.
I flick the notebook open. I expect to find a half-finishedsketch, but it’s immediately obvious Belle has been workingon this drawing for a while.
It’s a house. A fantastical one. A small bungalow-style homewith a covered porch and dormer windows that branches outinto a gothic cathedral with a medieval-style turret. There’s astone spire covered in vines and delicate flowers. It couldeasily be silly or cartoonish, but Belle has drawn it all withserious, loving detail.
“Where’d you learn how to do this?” I ask.
“I didn’t. I taught myself. Can I have it back now?”
I shake my head and turn away from her. “You taught yourselfhow to do this?”
“But you came up with all of this,” I say. “You dreamt it upand made it real on paper. That’s a talent. A gift.”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“Because you’re an accountant,” I snort.
Belle looks rightfully offended, but I don’t apologize. Shecrosses her arms. “I wasn’t always.”
She shrugs and lifts her chin, making it clear she won’t sayanymore. But I want to know more. About Belle, about herlife.
“I’ll give your book back if you tell me the story.”
She sighs, and I can tell it’s taking a lot to drag this tidbit outof her. “I initially went to college to be an architect. I’vealways loved houses and design—”
“The dollhouse,” I infer. “The one your father promised you.”The pieces are starting to click.
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