8. Elijah
Elijah
T here’s a mouse at my door.
How very interesting.
“What happened to your hair?” I ask.
Leonora pauses on the landing, trying to discreetly steady her breathing.
I’ve texted this woman all night and not received a single response. Her cheeks are red, her hair off her face, showing the scar on her left cheek. My scar.
I’m unsurprised to find her in a pair of sneakers. I am intrigued, though, to find her wearing a pair of opaque tights, her legs open to the elements of a harsh New York winter.
She must be wearing a dress.
I want to see it.
“Coat.” I hold out my hand, pushing off the doorframe.
Her brow knits together at my voice and I don’t know why. She’s the one who showed up on my doorstep.
I motion for the coat. She shakes it off, and while she hands it to me, I step backward, leading her in.
“This is your place?” She eyes the hanging light fixture in the foyer, which is only a long hallway, and the rich red hardwood flooring.
I don’t know why people are so surprised when they discover I don’t live in a dark lair.
“It’s empty downstairs,” she says of the old, gutted warehouse.
“Yes.” I hang the coat up, pretending I don’t notice her eyes on me. “Shoes off.”
“This looks very nice.” She trails after me into the large, square living room.
A record plays, a jazz artist. It’s tucked into a shelf full of books and a trailing vine plant Roma insists I keep watering.
Her gaze shifts from the large couch and the TV in front of an exposed brick wall. There’s a coffee table where my whiskey waits for me.
Albert, the Bernese mountain dog, sits up on the couch. He has his own bed in the corner, but refuses to use it so long as the sofa’s available. He cocks his head to the side, showing off the white, brown, and black fur along his face.
At her gasp, he decides it’s in his best interest to get up and pads over.
“Go.” I shoo him back. The furry beast pants, not giving my directions any thought.
“I love you!” Her tight dress rises when she kneels to hug him. Where in the fuck did she go wearing that?
It brings me back to another important point.
“What did you do with your hair?”
Leonora frowns, but doesn’t look away from Albert. The dog leans his face into her chest, asking for more pets. She happily obliges.
“He’ll slobber all over you.”
She doesn’t care. “I love her.”
“Him.”
“Oh, sorry. I love him.” She scratches his neck. “What’s his name?”
“Albert.”
“Alby,” she coos.
“Albert,” I correct. When she won’t leave the damn dog alone, I grab her elbow and force her upright.
She stares at my hand before looking up at me.
“You never wear your hair up.”
Now it’s in some elaborate bun, her cheekbones on full display.
Her scar is on full display.
She remembers it, her hand reaching for her cheek before she forces herself to drop it. “It’s called a chignon.”
“A what?”
“A chignon,” she repeats.
“I’m sorry, a what?”
“A chi—” She closes her mouth, shooting me a dirty look.
“And the dress?” I openly appraise her, soaking in every inch of her as I scan her from head to foot.
She crosses an arm in front of her, locking her wrists together. There’s no hair hanging in front of her face to help block the blush creeping along her cheeks.
“Why are you at my doorstep, Leonora?” I shove my hands into my pockets, the picture of nonchalance.
Inside, I’m desperate to know why the mouse showed up at my home. Why and how did this happen?
For years I’ve toyed with her. Tried to push her in my direction.
Little did I know she’d end up here on her own.
And to think everyone accuses me of elaborate plots all the time. But really, every now and again, I get lucky.
She swallows, her neck delicately moving.
I cock my head to the side. “You’re wearing makeup.”
She blushes further.
“Did you dress up for someone special?” I keep my voice light and playful.
Inside, I am raging.
My words snap something inside her.
“Yes.” She drops her arms and straightens her spine. “As a matter of fact I did and it was awful.”
“Is that why you’re in a feisty mood?”
She wrinkles her nose. Albert bumps her hand, asking for more pets.
I shoo him away, successfully this time, and motion for the couch. She continues to stand while I sit, leaning back and pulling my drink closer. I lift it, offering her one.
She shakes her head. “No, um. . .”
“Tell me why you’re here, Leonora.”
Dilly-dallying is such a waste of time unless it’s deployed strategically. Lennie doesn’t have that gift. Her pauses and stutters come from her nervousness. She’s a cute little mouse, but her sudden arrival demands answers.
“I need your help.” She drops into a leather chair across from the couch. She’s mistaken if she thinks the coffee table between us will protect her.
“Why?”
She pauses, her eyes shifting as she rapidly thinks.
“Leonora,” I tut.
“I think I accidently went on a date with a psychopath.”
“Think?”
“Know. I know I went out with a psychopath.”
Very interesting considering I’m aware of every psychopath in this city. It pays to keep up with such information.
Her eyes briefly close and she jams her lips together. For a second I stare at the scar along her left cheek. The grooves of the white line contrast with the smooth skin around it.
By the time she opens her eyes, I’m sitting back, swirling my whiskey. Albert shuffles back and forth. On one side he’ll get pets. On the other, loyalty. He chooses wisely, hopping up on the couch and placing his chin on my thigh.
If Lennie wasn’t there, I’d probably take a picture.
“I wasn’t aware you were dating.” It’s a recent development, because I keep detailed tabs on her, not that she knows it.
She gets annoyed any time I talk to her which in itself is amusing. Since the accident, we’ve done the same song and dance. I try to catch her attention, but she pretends she doesn’t want to speak to me. But she hangs onto every word I say, her eyes floating toward me when we’re in the same space.
Some might call it a game of cat and mouse.
“That’s not really the point,” she says. Her sneakers are glued together, keeping her bare legs closed. It’s freezing outside and the opaque tights she wears do nothing against the cold. She wore a dress for this psychopath.
“What’s the point?” I ask, sipping my whiskey.
Her thumbs tap against each other. “Have you ever heard of the Stuarts?”
“They own half of London.”
“I went to school with one of them. And. . .” She’s not wanting to fill in the dots. “I need your help.”
“Why?”
“Because apparently putting a hit out against Leopold Stuart amounts to starting an international incident.”
Leopold Stuart. I roll the name around. “I assume he deserves to die, though, right?”
Conflicted feelings cross her face. The spark of fire in her eyes, says yes, but a second later her morals kick in.
“No.” Her fingers fidget, but she sits up. “No, killing.”
I frown. “Then why did you come here?”
“I’m not asking you to kill him.” She pauses to think, her brow quirking like it always does. “Just. . . well, you know how to get people to back off.”
“Why exactly does he need to back off?”
“He wants to get married,” she mumbles.
Then it’s not a matter of if I’ll kill him but when .
I stare blankly at the amber liquid in my glass. There’s no need to alarm her with details and there’s a few more worth knowing.
“Why?” I ask.
She shrugs, a shadow crossing her face. “I knew he was loaded, but I had no idea his family was looking for a seat at the table here. He made it seem like the marriage was a done thing.”
Proof the Stuarts have no idea what they’re doing. “Everyone on this planet knows Gia Akatov will never allow her daughters to be married off.”
It’s why she scoffed at Max’s marriage. She’s remained adamant her daughters won’t be used as bargaining chips.
If Lennie went to her mother and fessed up about the night’s events, all Gia would need to do is snap her fingers. Boris might not like it, but he’d get it taken care of. Leonora’s right in knowing it’d cause a scene, but the Akatovs put family above everyone else.
It’s why, despite Boris’s relationship with my dad, I found myself on the chopping block after the accident. Eighteen years later there’s still only fire in Gia’s eyes when she looks at me. Naturally, I always smile back.
“What do you want me to do?” I cross my ankle over a knee. She’s doing everything she can not to wiggle in her seat so I have the decency to bite back my smirk.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I just. . .”
“You want me to take care of him?” I ask, leaning my head to the side. She nods. “How?”
She nibbles on her bottom lip, my eyes trailing the movement. My beast stirs, coiling deep in my chest. Leopold is wrong if he thinks those lips will belong to him.
“Well, could you talk to him?” she asks, her dark eyes pleading.
“And say what?”
She stares at me.
“That’ll just start a fight.” I scratch behind Albert’s ears.
Lennie’s knee starts to bounce. “Okay, war strategist, why don’t you tell me what you think will work.”
I lean back, considering. “It’ll take nuance.”
“Nuance?”
“Like you said, you don’t want dead bodies floating around. Times are rough as it is. No need for a war when the enemy hasn’t even declared itself.”
Because as far as I’m aware the Stuarts are playing nice overseas. They’ve made no overture of expanding into New York.
“And I suspect the real reason you’re here is because you don’t want to upset your dear mamma .”
“Don’t mock my mom. You know what she went through.”
My opinions on Leonora’s mother will only upset her, so I remain quiet.
“You want me to be the bad guy,” I guess.
It’s not a bad play. I’m slightly impressed.
And I press my advantage the moment I see it.
“Well, the good news is you won’t be marrying Leopold.”
She snorts. “No shit.”
A grim smirk tugs at my soul and stretches across my face. “Because you’ll marry me instead.”