Chapter Eight #2
My anger went away as I continued to stare at him. “I thought Mr. Matthews was the boss.”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “He is only the boss in Chicago. Mr. Romano—”
“Who is that?”
Kevin smiled. It was a sad smile. “He is the big boss. He introduced my momma to my father years ago.”
“Why are you telling me this? Don’t you have some baseball practice to go to?” I wondered, trying to hide the envy in my voice.
This kid had it all.
I only had the shirt on my back and the torn-up jeans on my legs. Both were stolen from Goodwill last Christmas.
“I just wanted to warn you…Mr. Romano doesn’t like strays.”
Thirty minutes later, I was upstairs on the first level of this giant house. Mr. Matthews was rich…I mean rich. He had people who just wait around to drive him to places.
I wished I could drive. Then I could just drive him around.
Mr. Matthews told me that once a day I was allowed to come upstairs to get food.
I didn’t get food at night. Just in the middle of the day.
I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone. I had to wait by the back door until one of the kitchen people brought me a plate.
Once I was done eating, I had to wash my plate and put it on the counter.
It was the same plate every day. I was grateful for it, because most of the time, I had to eat off the ground.
A plate was a nice change.
Today, I had three hard boiled eggs and bread with peanut butter. It was so good. I ate it all within two minutes.
A new record for me.
“Slow down there, sweetie,” a soft voice said.
I froze.
I stopped chewing my food and stared straight ahead as a woman came into view. She was pretty. Broken, but pretty. She had the face of a model but her eyes—I'd seen eyes like that before. Down in the “sex alleys”
All those women have the same eyes.
Soulless.
I nodded slowly and swallowed down the last bite quickly.
“Where did you come from?”
Nothing. I could say nothing. All I could do was stare.
She had dark hair, like Kevin and Ian. Her eyes were a deeper green, but I knew this was their mother. She was dressed in shiny pajamas, a deep purple with white flowers on them. Her hair was a mess. She must have just woken up. It was one in the afternoon. She had dark spots under her eyes.
I think that happened to everyone when their soul died. It hadn’t happened to me yet.
I kept checking every day.
“I don’t care about that, Cal!”
We both jumped at the male voice from down the hall. Probably Mr. Matthews’ office. He did his work there. When he needed me to do something, that was where I went for instructions.
“The devil is here,” the woman whispered, her voice shaking. I looked back at her.
“Who?” I slapped my hand over my mouth. Shit. I wasn't supposed to talk to her.
She raised a single hand, her finger pointing down the hall. “The devil is here. Don’t make any deals with him, or he will own you. Forever.”
I fell to my knees. Bloody and aching. Romano’s harsh breaths filled the room as blood dripped down from my nose. My lesson was nearly over.
“How was Boston?”
I coughed up some blood and spit it out on the floor.
“Roman is a fucking idiot,” I pushed out through the pain.
This lesson wasn’t bad, at least not compared to the others. I would be sore for a few days, but nothing I haven’t been through before.
He chuckled, walking away from me, wiping his bloody hands. “What do you propose?” he asked, his dark eyes meeting mine.
“Kill him. He knows something, but he isn’t willing to share. Charles was last seen at Club Sweat."
He nodded once. “Do it then. Make it quick.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You would do well to remember not to question me,” he said calmly as he gathered up the reports. He crossed the room and threw the papers into the fireplace. He looked back at me, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Do you mind?"
I reached into my pocket to toss him my lighter.
He lit the papers and tossed them into the fireplace; the flames making a slow crawl across the pile of dead trees.
The evidence I had gathered. Gone. The feeling I experienced in my chest when dealing with Aiden Connors made itself present once more.
Taking my bloody hand, I rubbed the spot absentmindedly as Romano took his leave.
The door closed, and a few moments later, I heard his speedboat drift away from the island.
I sighed, wincing at the pain in my back as I stood, my shredded shirt falling to the floor. The office was covered in blood, but I didn’t care. Bella would take care of it.
She always did, no questions asked. Her loyalty was rare.
Walking to the window, I saw the waves in the water left by his boat, heading back to the mainland. His guards were gone.
I learned two things today:
1.) Ray Romano was a trafficker.
2.) Making additional copies was always a good idea.
The need for a cigarette consumed me as dread settled on my shoulders.
For the last five years, I had been a faithful servant—killing those who needed to be killed, networking when necessary, doing whatever he commanded of me.
I hunted down Kevin Matthews and his family.
It was a pain in the fucking ass, tedious but vital.
I was grateful Romano didn’t kill Kevin the second I brought him in, tied up like an animal carcass.
Instead, he ordered me to kill him, and I had every intention of doing so. Despite the compassion Kevin showed me in our younger years, his lungs still taking in air would only mean complications.
I stretched my neck, chuckling at the fucking irony.
Romano ordered me to kill Kevin Matthews and I didn’t. He ordered me to kill Haley Austen and I didn’t. He ordered me to kill Aiden Connors and I didn’t.
All of those were complications—difficult and messy.
A part of me wondered if I should just get in line and be the errand boy he was trying to make me.
But my thirst for power would never allow that.
I hated it. I hated the conflict inside me, the constant battles.
Three years ago, I made the decision to have a backup plan.
A way out, so to speak. I may have come from the streets, a poor, helpless child thrown into the depths of darkness, but the need for power had been inside of me from the beginning.
Meeting Cal Matthews happened by chance; I was just a child looking for food.
I took it for what it was—an opportunity.
I did my bidding, obeyed my orders like a good little boy.
I was promised power, and it was taken from me the moment Dean Connor’s bat touched Cal Matthews' head. Romano took me on. Another opportunity. The first two years under him, I learned the ins and out of this business. I learned more in six months than Cal Matthews taught me in ten years.
Born in darkness, raised in the cold, I learned quickly that fear would be your biggest ally. Romano’s lessons were a powerful tool in this journey; it was quite comical how he thought I willingly submitted to him.
After getting the pack of cigs out of my desk and lighting one, I walked over to the painting of Romano.
All his key players had a painting of him in their home, a sign of loyalty and respect.
I took it off the nail and let it hit the floor with a thud.
Thirty seconds later, the safe behind it was unlocked, and the copies of the reports were in my hands.
As the smoke left my body, I shook my head in disappointment about what I was about to do. People were only good for one thing, and that was disappointment. I retrieved my cell phone and pressed the code.
It only rang once.
“Ah, director. I hope this isn’t a bad time,” I said politely, smoke falling from my lips with each word.
“Not at all, Mr. Stevens,” the man rumbled. “How can I help you this evening?”
There wasn’t time for bullshitting. “Dark Devil.”
“Understood.”
I hung up the phone and sat behind my desk, slapping the reports down on the desk surface. A knock sounded at the office door a second later. Bella emerged with medical supplies; I waved her off.
“Not necessary,” I snapped.
“But infection.”
“He didn’t break skin,” I quipped, my eyes scanning the papers. The last time he broke my skin was the night I discovered Dean Connors was alive…and whatever guilt that had settled in the pit of my stomach vanished the second that baseball player smirked at me.
It was going to be my absolute pleasure overthrowing Ray Romano.