Chapter 22 #2
I follow him through the gorgeous space and out onto his veranda. Just like inside, the exterior is ridiculous, with huge Japanese maple trees in large earthen pots everywhere, giving the illusion of being in the woods even though we’re high above the streets of New York.
We sink into deep chairs around a stone pit. Vaughn touches a button on the side of his, and a gas fire flickers to life.
“Jesus,” I grin. “Got a little robot that comes out and serves cocktails, too?”
My brother smiles a rare smile at me. “Working on it. And yes, you may.”
I cock a brow at him as I finger the pack of cigarettes in my pocket.
“Smoke,” Vaughn clarifies. “You were about to ask me if you could.”
“Okay, you might be leaning into the Bond villain vibe too much,” I mutter, pulling out the pack, slipping one between my lips, and lighting it. Smoke curls around my face as I lean back in the chair and gaze up at the sky through the trees.
“I’m glad you called, Val.”
“I’m glad you answered. Sorry again if I’m interrupting a sleepover—”
“You’re not interrupting anything. Tell me about your dream tonight.”
I shake my head. “Nothing concrete stays after I wake up. It’s just…a general feeling of doom and terror.”
“Have you tried sleeping pills—”
“I don’t want meds.” I shake my head. “And… I dunno. When I have them—the nightmares—even if I can’t remember them, I know they’re about before.”
He knows what I mean.
“Before”, as in “before my memory loss”.
“In a way…” I shake my head. “I guess it brings a little comfort, knowing that at least some part of my fucked-up brain remembers that time.” I look over to him. “Home. Mom and Dad. You and me, two brothers.”
“We’re still brothers,” he says quietly.
I smile wryly. “I know.” I take a slow drag on my smoke. “Would you please tell me something about Mom and Dad?”
“You’re looking for more nightmares?”
I chuckle. “Something good.”
“I don’t know if there is anything good,” he grunts. “Seriously.”
“Nothing?”
Vaughn looks away, dragging his hand over his chin, thinking.
“This one Christmas—you were four, I think—Dad brought home this sick car-racing thing, like a Hot Wheels set. It had this little battery-powered wheel that would fling the cars down the track, around a bend, through a loop, and then all the way back to the start where the wheel would send them flying again.” He smiles to himself.
“That was a good Christmas morning, even if the house was cold and we were probably hungry.”
I grin. “Sounds fun.”
“It was. I mean, obviously he stole it, but it was fun—at least while it lasted.”
I snort. “What’d he do, sell it for drugs?”
Vaughn shakes his head. “No, though I’m sure he was planning to.
He went out that night to get fucked up.
Mom had one of her guys over, and they got into an argument over prices.
He went storming out of Mom and Dad’s room, and he kicked that racetrack as hard as he could on the way past.” His mouth twists.
“Shattered the battery wheel and snapped the track in half. And that was that.”
We sit in silence, looking into the crackling fire as I slowly smoke my cigarette.
“We never could catch a break, huh?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Let me ask you something.” I turn to him. “This thing between you and the Nikitin family—”
“I already told you,” he says. “I didn’t have anything to do with the bombing.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just mean the general rivalry to get close with that Cosimo guy.”
“That Cosimo guy controls the purse strings to one of the oldest, most powerful underworld institutions in history,” Vaughn says stiffly.
“No, I get that—”
“So, what’s the question?”
“Is any of it about Dasha Lukashova? You were originally the one marrying—”
Vaughn chuckles quietly. “Are you asking if I’m driven by some jilted lover bullshit?
” He smiles. “No. I had about as much interest in marrying Dasha as I gather she had in marrying me. Did I want that connection to Cosimo Sangrini? Of course. But as far as I’m concerned, Roman Nikitin can have her.
” His lips pull into a wry smile. “Though something tells me she’s not exactly his type… ”
My jaw tightens. “Meaning?”
Vaughn shrugs. “Meaning Roman’s been keeping secrets from his father. One day, those secrets might be a way to—”
“Don’t fucking do that.”
The words shoot from my mouth like a bullet.
“Don’t.” I shake my head. “Leverage is everything, especially in your world, I get that. But not this.”
Vaughn arches a brow as he glances at me. “So, you’ve seen it, too?”
“What I’ve seen, regardless of what Roman is or isn’t,” I growl, ”is the way the world looks through the pain and self-loathing of knowing you’re different.
” I exhale slowly. “Remember when we had that talk? When we first reconnected, and I was trying to wrap my head around you being the head of a big shadowy criminal empire?”
He nods.
“What’d I ask you?”
Vaughn draws in a breath. “You asked me what my line was when it came to the Syndicate. What’s the one thing I wouldn’t do.”
“And what was your answer?” I press.
“Children. I told you I wouldn’t ever go after or harm children, even to get what I needed from their parents.”
“Exactly,” I say. “And this thing you might have on Roman?” I shake my head. “That's in the same category. You can’t use that against someone. It’s not a secret mistress or a gambling debt. It's part of their identity. You can't hold that hostage.”
Vaughn looks at me curiously. “Can’t I?”
“I won’t let you.”
His eye drag over my face, as if he’s trying to peer into my mind. When I give him nothing, he draws in a slow breath through his nose and finally nods.
“Fine,” he murmurs. “I won’t.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I ask why you’re so concerned with Roman Nikitin and his sense of identity?”
My face stays totally impassive as I shrug. “I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to hate yourself simply for what you are. It wouldn’t be leverage, Vaughn. It would be abject cruelty.”
He nods slowly. “All right.”
I finish my cigarette and toss it in the fire before standing. “I’ll let you get back to your sleepover.”
He smirks as he stands as well, dropping a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you came by. Truly.”
“Me too.”