Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
Max
You could say I found myself more than a little curious about what the home of some mafia dude looked like. Especially one who dressed as well as Miko did.
The building itself was nothing to write home about. It was just your typical New York brick apartment building.
It wasn’t until we moved into the lobby that I saw the luxury of it. My apartment building hadn’t updated anything for a solid twenty years. This one looked like the decorator had just left. There were sleek dark wood floors, the shine still stunningly bright. The walls were painted a gray just shy of black. The whole effect should have made the space intolerably dark and creepy. But thanks to the chandelier and the brushed brass sconces and the golden light they spread across the space, it came off as cozy and expensive.
Even the elevator we took up to the second-to-last floor was nicer than any I’d seen outside of the fancy-ass ones in the private residences of the ultra-wealthy who hired me for my services.
The hallway featuring only four apartments was a carbon copy of the lobby. What struck me the most was the quiet.
No music from the other apartments, no chatter, TVs left playing for the dogs or cats. Just complete and utter silence. Hell, I didn’t even hear the usual blast of a horn or shrill shriek of a siren.
Miko both plugged in a code and stuck in a key before the door made a beeping noise and opened up to let us inside.
It was the scent of his home that hit me first.
I never fully understood the concept of a “house smell” until I started my work as a courier. I guess since I so rarely stepped inside an actual home most of my life. But once I began going to meetings at mansions or penthouses, I quickly realized that everyone’s home had a distinctive smell all their own.
I once asked Tyler what our home smell was. He said it smelled like a mix of all of us: Megs’s vanilla, Nicole’s peach, and my brown sugar scents. He said he always felt the urge to take a deep breath when he took his first step in after being away for a long time.
That was how I felt with Miko’s place.
Because that whiskey and tobacco scent that clung softly to him, just begging you to lean in to get a better whiff of it, filled this space.
As for the decor, Miko had taken a page right out of the building’s decor book, making it melt right in.
There were lots of grays and blacks in the open concept space, with lots of warm, golden lights from overhead and under cabinet lighting. There was even a glow under the slight step down into the living area and under the couches themselves.
Everything about the space begged you to kick off your shoes and shrug off all of the too-bright, too-loud, too-everything of the city, curl up on the leather sectional, and just slip away into the peace this apartment provided.
“This is very cozy,” I said when I realized I’d just been awkwardly gawking around.
“Wish I could actually spend some time here,” he admitted, making his way to the kitchen with its modern, streamlined slate cabinets and an elongated island that served as the dining table. The apartment was big enough to allow for eight seats at that island.
Given what I knew about the price per square foot in Manhattan, my mind was working overtime to calculate just how much he might spend in rent. If he didn’t outright own the place.
Being in the mob clearly paid well.
“Are you a capo?” I asked, watching as he turned back from his fancy espresso machine to give me a slight smile. It said I was being inappropriate, but also that he liked it for some reason.
“The books aren’t open right now,” he told me, as if I had any idea what that meant. “But as soon as they open up, I’m hoping.”
“Why do the books close?” I asked as the scent of rich coffee filled the space. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to have more capos? Then more people under them to do more work and bring in more money?”
“There are all kinds of rules in the Family,” he told me, going into the freezer for some ice. I watched as he clinked them into a ribbed glass that brought back images of the 1920s. “By keeping the books closed, it forces those who want to be Made to bust their asses working to prove their worth when it does open. Since they limit the spaces. And if you miss it this time, it could be years before they open up again.”
That made sense, I guess.
“But aren’t you all, you know, family? Like, related?”
“Mostly, yeah. But some of us are more distant than others. And as you can imagine, there are a lot of us. Not everyone can be a capo at the same time. Building new crews of soldiers and associates—that shit brings risks, too many new people becoming connected at once. So the boss likes to stagger that shit to make sure the dust settles like it should.”
“Makes sense,” I agreed as he poured the latte over ice. “Milk?” he asked. “Or I got some vanilla creamer for my sisters that I’m dubious has actual milk in it, but smells good.”
“I’ll try it,” I said. I liked my hot coffee black. But even I had to admit that it tasted better iced when it had some sort of flavor.
“So, now I’ve told you a lot of shit about me and my business,” he said as he handed me my coffee, not making one for himself, just leaning back against the counter and watching me. “Why don’t you tell me what you really do for a living?”
“I really am a courier,” I told him, taking a sip of the coffee mostly as a stalling method. The vanilla was a sweet contrast to the bold coffee. I wanted to down it all in two gulps and demand another.
“Bullshit,” Miko said, his lips curving up, doing all sorts of sexy things to his eyes, making them look all gooey. Or maybe that was the golden lighting. Either way, he looked impossibly hot right then. About ten times hotter than he had on the street when his attractiveness made me want to haul off and slap him.
“I am. I have cards and everything,” I told him, reaching into my wallet to produce one.
“ Luxury courier,” he read off. “The fuck does that mean?”
“It means I deliver very, very expensive things to absurdly wealthy people. For example, right before I lifted your wallet, I had delivered the ashes of a beloved dog to some guy who paid me eight grand for the task.”
Something about that had Miko’s brow lifting ever so slightly. “And where did you find those ashes?” he asked.
Damn, he was perceptive.
I liked that more than I should have.
It was one thing to be hot and skate by on your good looks. It was another to actually have a brain in that pretty head, too.
“His ex’s basement.”
“I’m assuming she didn’t open the door and invite you in to fetch them, did she?”
“She was knocked off on two sleeping pills and a bottle and a half of wine. As she was every night.”
“So, you’re a courier in that you bring something from point A to point B. But in that in-between…”
“I’m a thief, I guess,” I admitted.
“That makes a lot more sense. How the hell’d you get into that?”
“It was actually happenstance. I was going through a phase when I was trying to go legit. Stop stealing the wallets of finance bros and rich assholes. I got a part-time job catering parties.
“One day, a woman came in who I’d done a party for a few months before.”
She was a tall, leggy, icy blonde, with a face showing some of those first signs of aging. She zeroed in on me, pulling me away from the salad prep I was working on, and taking me outside where she’d lit a cigarette, exhaling it on a sigh.
“I missed these,” she’d admitted. “Used to be the key to staying thin. But when I got married, I was worried they might create those little lines on my upper lip, so I gave them up.”
I didn’t know what she wanted, so I said nothing, just waited for her to get to the point before I got in trouble for slacking off work.
“You catered my anniversary party a few months back,” she’d continued.
“Yes.”
“I spotted you immediately. That hungry look in your eyes. I saw a younger version of myself in you. Made me keep an extra close eye on you all night.”
“I didn’t take anything.” I’d sure as hell thought about it, but I hadn’t.
“I know. But you debated it. And I think you would have gotten away with it too. That’s why I’m here,” she’d gone on, blowing more smoke before fully turning to me. “You have another party coming up. Same place. My husband’s sixtieth birthday party.”
“Yeah, that rings a bell.”
“I guess it is more appropriate to say it is my soon-to-be ex-husband,” she said with a deep sigh, her pretty blue eyes going hard. Like she couldn’t imagine how her life had gone so sideways. “He’s going to marry his slut secretary he impregnated. Twenty-three. How the fuck could I compare?”
I wanted to tell her that she was gorgeous. Because she was. She was probably one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen up close. But I knew what she meant. Men, especially the rich and powerful ones, liked new and shiny things—like she’d once been but was no longer.
“Anyway,” she said, biting off the words. “He is going through with the party I planned for him, but I am not invited. In fact, I am banned from the penthouse.”
That, clearly, pissed her off even more than being replaced. And why shouldn’t it? She was, no doubt, the one who had put the labor of love into it: paint, fabrics, the china in the cabinets, the impressive stock of every kind of liquor glass, from rocks to coupes and highballs. It was a slap in the face not to let her back into her own home because he went and followed his dick to greener pastures.
“Asshole,” I’d said, unable to help myself.
“Indeed, he is,” she’d agreed, flicking her cigarette to the ground and crushing it under her red-soled shoe. “That is where you come in. I was escorted out before I could do more than pack a single outfit.”
“You want me to steal something for you.”
“I want you to steal my entire jewelry collection for me. I am not going to let that cheating bastard give it to her .”
“I’m not a thief,” I’d insisted, but I’d watched the way her brow lifted and her lips twitched. “Anymore,” I’d conceded.
“In exchange for it, I will give you ten grand.”
“Ten grand was more money than I’d ever seen at one time,” I told Miko.
“So you agreed to do it.”
Of course I had.
I already knew the apartment from the last party. And thanks to the wife, I had an exact location as well as a code to get into the safe where she kept her finest jewelry.
From there, it wasn’t hard work. I would slip away from work and into a nice dress. I would put a wig on my hair and some heavy eye makeup, so my coworkers didn’t recognize me right away. A little superglue on my fingers to disguise my fingerprints.
Then it was just a little sidestep into the primary bedroom, into one of the walk-in closets, past tons of designer clothing, and toward the back wall where the safe was hidden behind a painting.
I didn’t know what I’d been expecting, but the entire vault was filled with shining pieces: rings made of brilliant red rubies or deep green emeralds, diamond earrings of every size and brilliance, bracelets, anklets, necklaces.
I was no expert, but I imagined it had to be a solid million dollars’ worth of jewelry that I shoved into my purse before closing the vault and putting the picture back into place.
My bag was already heavy, but it had some room—enough for me to go ahead and pinch several bottles of her perfume, some silk scarves, and most of her makeup.
I’d half-expected to get caught. But I’d slipped just as easily out of the bedroom as I had in.
I stashed the bag and my wig inside my heavy winter jacket, got back into my work uniform, and went back to work.
No one knew anything had happened.
“The wife had been over the moon with the haul. Enough that she gave me an extra grand and told me she would be sending business my way.”
I did go back to work, just in case anything got wonky with the safe. It would have looked extra suspicious if I quit right after.
It did hit the news.
But no one ever linked the heist to anyone.
The insurance paid out.
The wife hired a bull of an attorney and got the kind of alimony most ex-wives could only dream of.
“And I got business,” I told Miko.
“Lot of ex-wives who got screwed?”
“At the beginning. That was that woman’s circle, so, naturally, that was what came my way. But it slowly became something else after that. Now, it’s a real mixed bag. Angry exes. Bitter old business partners. A little bit of everything.”
“Can I ask the obvious question?”
“How the hell did I get broken into when breaking into things is my livelihood?” I supplied for him.
“Yeah.”
“I guess that’s a mix of things. First, compared to being on the streets, having a door with locks sure felt safe enough.”
“On the streets?” Miko asked. “Like…”
“Homeless,” I supplied. “Yeah. Megs and I were on the streets for years. But it was also a bit of bravado. And a mix of just stupidity. We never had anything worth stealing, so the risk felt really low.”
“Still. Three women, living alone.”
“Yeah, I see that now,” I agreed. “And I’m glad Tyler will be around for a few days. Gives me a chance to get some other systems in place.”
I’d already decided, when sleep had been elusive because I was jumping at every sound in the building, that I was going to devote most of the money from the dog urn to getting our apartment as safe as possible.
Better locks, a digital security system, and cameras were the top priority. After that, I wanted to make sure weapons were placed an arm’s length away all across the apartment.
Nicole would think I was crazy.
But Megs would understand.
As much as I had shielded her from over the years, she’d also managed to see some shit too. Enough to understand how invaluable the right protections could be.
Then, when the day came that Tyler did move in, I knew they were all safe when I had to go. The apartment was big enough for three, thanks to the fact that I worked a lot. But four people would be pushing it. Besides, they would all want their privacy.
There was an unexpected ache in my chest at the idea of going off on my own. I was so used to taking care of Megs, of having her around, that it was hard to imagine a life without her.
Who the hell would I talk to then? Often, the only people I spoke to on any given day were my roommates.
“Where’d I lose you?” Miko asked, suddenly close, making me jump to find he’d moved across the kitchen without me realizing.
“Oh, uh, preparations for more security,” I told him. It was only a partial lie.
“Think maybe you should sit down,” Miko said. Then his hand was suddenly at my elbow. Unexpected sizzles coursed up my arm at the contact, distracting me enough to allow him to turn and lead me toward the living room.
“What? No, I’m fine,” I insisted when I finally came back to my senses.
“You’re pale,” he shot back.
Then I felt myself pressed down onto the couch.
Before I could even think to stand again, Miko was kneeling down at my feet to remove my shoes.
A blanket appeared seemingly out of nowhere to drape over me.
The TV turned on and tuned to a sitcom rerun.
I wasn’t sure at what point the coffee was taken from my hand.
All I knew was that before the credits rolled on that first episode, I was out cold.