Chapter 4 #2
She watches me carefully. “Are you happier that he’s still alive? Or upset?”
I’m not shocked that she’s asking me this. We all rely on Luce to keep things real.
“I’m conflicted about both parts.” I swallow my bite. “I was hoping Emeric would help. Maybe tell me that he already had it handled, or that, I don’t know...”
I trail off, unsure if I’ll ever find the right words.
Luce rolls her eyes. “You put way too much trust in that old man. I can’t believe you talk with him like that.”
Wiping my hands on a napkin, I shrug. “He’s not who you all see.” We’ve hammered through this exact conversation a dozen times over the years.
“Anyway! I’ve done some research.” Luce digs into her Chanel handbag and yanks out a piece of paper, slapping it flat on the bed.
“This is all I’ve gathered. The years leading up to last winter, Asher would go missing from time to time.
I mean, obviously, the cameras followed his every move.
But eventually, people gave up asking because he never answered and he’d always pop in and out of the spotlight. Fast-forward to last winter.”
She taps the timeline, leaving a grease smudge.
I scan the chaotic lines Luce drew.
“Punk said she bumped into Atlas on accident,” she says, blinking at me.
Silence spills between us before I lift a brow. “Are you saying otherwise?”
Her shoulders dip. “No, of course not.” She gestures to the pages. “Here’s what we know so far, right?”
She taps at the notes. “He’s a pro snowboarder, sure, but what else do people care about when it comes to Asher Jameson?
The pretty face, the fact that he’s an heir, and that he’s known to fly off the handle now and then, using a swing-now-ask-later approach, but I don’t know, Ivy…
” Her voice goes soft. “There’s something we’re missing, right? ”
I lower the paper just enough to lock eyes with her. “If you say mafia, I’ll shoot you.”
“That’s fine!” She widens her eyes and pops a fry in her mouth. “I’ll come back in a year and marry you.”
I throw a fry at her and her laughter dies.
“Fine! I’ll stop playing. In all seriousness? Mafia? No. As if I’d go there without proof.”
She’s partly right. They both spend too much time playing to crowds to belong to any outfit.
We’re also close enough to Chicago that they’d warn us if we started drifting into that world.
Leon and their underboss trade shit over cognac.
We’ve crossed borders for hits and shared intel on rival territories when it fattened everyone’s pockets.
If Asher or Atlas had stepped into that blood pool, we’d have heard about it.
“Then what?” I ask, because no way are these two putting us in a spin. “Spill it, Luce.”
She chews slowly, holding my stare.
“Think patterns, Vanya. The winter before last, Asher ghosts, and then is hot and cold on you for months. Atlas sticks closer to the spotlight, but even he ducks questions about his twin’s downtime. And then fast-forward to last winter, to you—you know…”
My legs itch to move, and I shove off the bed and head for the window, pacing back and forth as if it doesn’t add water to an already steamed engine inside my head.
“Everything feels off,” I finally say.
My fingers trace the choker around my neck. “I can admit that.”
She slides off the mattress, crossing the room in two strides until her hands find my shoulders.
“Off is right.” She squeezes once. “But you’re not going in blind. I’ve got Punk digging deeper, off-grid stuff that doesn’t show up in searches. Even our own.”
I nod. This should be a relief because I trust them, but the knot in my gut pulls even tighter.
Am I contaminated? So much so that I can’t see through whatever smoke he’s blowing onto my mirrors?
Maybe I’ve unknowingly trained myself to believe monsters always wear the face of evil, when it’s love that makes for a perfect mask.
She forces my chin up. “Listen to me. If he is hiding something, you know we will find it.”
Luce is soft, but she’s soft like the wires that connect a bomb. She goes into everything prepared for carnage, sure, but she’s also the brain that holds us together.
This time, I’m not so convinced by her words.
I collapse onto the mattress. “I don’t know what he wants from me, other than my mind to torture. I’d prefer a bullet to the heart, if I got the choice.”
Luce flicks through images on her phone without looking up. “Sounds terrible. Is he going to fuck you in the meantime?”
I glare at her. “I’m serious, Luce! I’m too old for this.”
“You’re thirty-one, Ivy.” She drops the phone onto her thigh. “You’re nowhere near old.”
I drag my hand over my cheek. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Her smirk dies. “I’m sorry. I know...” She gathers up the trash and drops it in the bag.
“Look. He’s not going to hurt you. At least not yet.
It would defeat the purpose of all—“ She lifts both hands, gesturing blindly around the room. “—this. I say we scope him out. Play the game. See what his deal is and why he’s doing what he’s doing, and then when we find our opportunity, you leave for good. ”
She grabs me by the face, forcing my attention. “I mean it, Ivy. You’re going to be free of this life. Even if it’s the last thing I help you do. This is a bump in the road, not the final destination.”
I want to believe her. God, if there ever was a time that I want to believe her…
“Anyway!” She claps her hands. “Atlas mentioned some small get-together tonight and showing face. Jord and Punk are somewhere, most likely getting the grand tour of this monster house.”
I chuckle. “It is annoyingly over the top.”
Everything stops.
“Wait, what do you mean get-together? I didn’t know about a get-together?”