FIFTY-SEVEN
Gigi
Another day, another ridiculously expensive dress, this one courtesy of Gucci . The low-back, floor-length gown is described as wine-red, but I prefer blood-red – with my pistol, of course. It’s perfect for today’s heist. My makeup is near immaculate, having been forced to conceal my under-eyes, which highlight my night of tormented sleep.
I’m convinced Richard thinks we’ll fail today’s task, which makes me more inclined to prove him wrong. He emphasised we should have drinks with Lorenzo – whatever we can do to gain his trust before making our move.
Legion Casino in Leicester Square is pure euphoria for even the simplest of gamblers. The casino/bar gives way to four floors of utter chaos. Past the bouncers at the entrance, the curtain unveils a sight I can only describe as going back in time to the jazz age. Just like I’ve stepped into a reimagining of The Great Gatsby , my dress suddenly feels years outdated. Women are dressed in the finest pearls and feathers, while their men smoke cigars, cackle at their shortness of breath, and throw cash like it’s utterly worthless.
At least my Glock makes it look like I’m wearing fancy dress .
It’s a rarity to see Harry without his suit jacket, but I’m not complaining since it’s sight to behold. As if he can sense my desperation to jump in on the action, he nods towards one of the porch doors that lead to the smoking area, insisting I follow. I do even though I’m no dog. But alas, he holds a power over me that I’m helpless to act on. That’s why I can’t let him get too close. Can’t let us kiss when I’m this close to the finish line.
I fear if he presses his lips to mine, I’ll be fuelled to the point I’ll lose myself and all clarity of what I want.
As we pass by the abundance of casino tables, the sound of poker chips rattling and glasses clinking with joyous celebration, my attention is immediately pulled to the side, drawn to our target.
Lorenzo Gallo.
A large, overweight man. Grey hair and a receding hairline give way to dark, cruel eyes. Age lines cover his features, and a cigar dangles from his lips. His suit is black. Black on black on black. As if he can feel my stare he lifts his head, and his eyes drink up the length of me.
Something about Lorenzo makes me cold to the bone and breaks through my hard exterior momentarily. Something that makes me suspect he’d fight with all his might to have his way with me.
Perhaps we can use it to our advantage …
With a jittery feeling, I drop my eye into a wink, scurrying out through the glass doors towards Harry.
He lights up a cigarette on my approach and asks, “Did you see him?”
Leaning against the brick wall, I watch the puff of smoke leave his lips. “Hard not to. Looked as if he wanted to eat me for dinner.”
Panic swarms his features, but the expression drops as he inhales the nicotine. “Makes me fucking sick,” he says on an inhale.
“Why? You jealous?”
“Not in the slightest, princess. If it wasn’t obvious by now, you’re not someone I care for anymore. And I do not trust you.”
“Sticks and stones.” I tut, no matter how much the words try to break through. “I think I have a way for us to gain his trust. ”
Shaking his head, Harry withdraws his cigarette and stubs it dry in the ashtray. “I’ve got my own tactics. Something I know will gain his attention more than anything else.”
“Well, what is it?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Why not?”
He steps closer towards me. “As I said. I. Do. Not. Trust you.”
His words burn deep inside of me, his undermining invoking an anger so strong I force my head away, fearful I’ll say something I regret. One thing’s for certain: I’ll make him pay for thinking he’s better than me. I’m yet to figure out how, but I’ll know it when I see it.
“Fine.” I turn back to Harry where he stands just inches from me. “Because my idea was to flirt with him, perhaps run my hands all over his chest …” My hand moves up the length of Harry’s shirt, dangerously close to the buttons I’m tempted to undo. “And have him at my mercy—”
He grabs my wrists and slams them into the wall above my head.
I smirk. “I’ve rattled you.”
He snarls.
I bow my back from the wall, drawn in by his captive gaze. But as if he knows it imposes a weakness in me that has me teetering on the edge, he brings his mouth dangerously close. Perhaps a kiss won’t swarm my stomach with the feelings it used to, but that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
I rear my head back.
Harry releases me, and it feels like my mental pull towards him loosens.
“Let’s go,” he finally says.
I never would’ve imagined this heist would take hours .
My new tactics as of late are spurred on by an eagerness to get the job done quickly. Yet if we’re looking to gain Lorenzo’s trust, then trust takes time. Trust looks like the millionth game of poker as we waltz around the room joining people’s games on tables and slowly decreasing the distance to where our target sits in the corner of the room.
Throughout Harry’s games I sit at his side like a trophy wife, running my hands up and down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscular behind as I occasionally drop lower.
He hisses as the distraction causes him to roll an unlucky number.
“I’m bored,” I tell him.
He squints as if it’ll help him focus, breathing into his clenched fist, which holds a few dice. “There’s no point rushing him. We might as well have fun while we can.”
“Oh, I’m having fun,” I say, squeezing.
Throughout the night I’ve felt that same uncomfortable gaze burning into the side of my face and the lower half of my body. Turning my head, I catch Lorenzo’s eyes from the far end of the room again. He brings a glass to his mouth, smirking over the top of it. Despite the action making me shudder, I jump to my feet as Harry’s head whips towards me.
“What are you doing?”
“What we should have done ages ago.”
Straightening my posture, I tug down the front of my dress to show further cleavage and strut towards Lorenzo and his men. With an extra swagger in my step, his eyes are ravenous during my approach.
Here goes nothing.
I reach his table and press my hands against the cloth, purposely puffing out my chest. “Hello, boys,” I tell them. “You don’t mind a woman joining in on your game, do you?”
Though I’m not looking directly at Lorenzo, he speaks instantly. “Why, of course, my dear. Please sit beside me.”
I flash Harry an “I told you so” look from across the room as I walk around the length of the table, sitting beside my soon-to-be victim. I sit in the spare seat beside him, flashing my winning smile.
“Do you play much?” I ask, my question full of meaning.
Lorenzo chuckles, taking a sip of his beverage. The hollow sound vibrates against the clinking ice cubes in his glass. “Where have you been hiding all my life?” he asks.
Just as I thought.
Harry approaches the table, taking an unoccupied seat. “Are we playing poker dice? Do you mind if I join?”
A waitress leans over me, passing me a glass of champagne, and I smile my thanks, turning my attention back to Harry.
“You look like you were on a winning streak back there,” one of Lorenzo’s men says, his dark, bushy brows pulling into a frown. “What’s your trick?”
I mirror the expression since all I can remember is Harry groaning as I ran my hands over his buttocks.
Distracting me from the thought, a large hand runs over the back of my dress, cupping my waist. Breath fans my ear, and the stench of cigar washes over me.
“You look divine tonight, miss. I don’t suppose your boyfriend would mind if I captured you for a night?”
I freeze, knowing we have a role to play. I turn my attention to Harry, lingering on him for merely a second. “I—”
I catch sight of the drink I left idle on the side. The champagne sparkles with an excessive fizziness, and if it wasn’t for the increase in bubbles, I’d assume the liquid was untouched .
But unfortunately, I’m a victim to these scenarios.
The fucker tried to spike me.
Sadistic rage swarms through me, and I laugh bitterly. Thank God we’ve already planned on murdering this man tonight.
Since Richard asked us to gain Lorenzo’s trust, that would involve me taking a sip regardless, acting innocent and allowing the effects to take over me while hoping Harry catches on.
But anger forces me to ask, “Did you really not think I’d notice? What’s the fun in taking a woman unwillingly?”
Lorenzo draws his head back, shock overtaking his features. He fists the material of my dress, and I lift my chin, refusing to surrender under his gaze.
“Why don’t we make this interesting?” Harry asks, gaining my attention. There are five men around this table, and he looks every one of them in the eye. Yet he piques Lorenzo’s interest the most by asking, “Put something more valuable on the line.”
Gripping my dress harder, Lorenzo sucks the air from my lungs. “I’m listening.”
With dice in hand, Harry toys it between his fingers as he says, “Just a simple game of odds and a man looking to make friends. If I roll a six, you’ll sit and have a drink with me. Talk business.”
“And what if you don’t roll a six?”
Harry smirks. “If I don’t roll a six then you get the girl.”
I blink.
Lorenzo cackles and shakes his head. “You must be awful at maths, ’cause that’s hardly a fair deal on your part.”
Harry shrugs as if the loss would be meaningless. “I don’t particularly like her, and you’d be doing me a favour by taking her off my hands.”
Green eyes finally turn to me, but they give nothing away. Not a glimmer of remorse for putting my life on the line. At a time like this it’s hard to remind myself that I encourage this kind of behaviour between us.
Harry’s simply playing the cards I dealt him.
So why does it sting?
As if Lorenzo has already won, he wraps both arms around my waist and brings me closer to his chest.
Harry doesn’t falter at the sight.
Not once.
Lips assault my neck, stale smoke spilling over my skin as Lorenzo howls, “Let’s fucking play, boys!”
Lorenzo shakes his head in utter disbelief. He laughs, continuing to toss his head back and forth as he says, “I really can’t believe you actually rolled a six. Luck must be on your side, kid.”
Pushing open a set of large swinging doors, Harry responds, “I’ve never been one to believe in luck.”
My steps falter as Lorenzo’s feet grind to a halt, his eyes tearing up the restaurant kitchen. It’s empty of people but stocked with appliances, including ovens, fridges, and so on. The walls and floor are pristine-white and about to be spoiled with blood as Harry orders, “Duck.”
I drop to a crouch instantly as he swings his arms around, biceps flexing as he connects with the top of our victim’s skull. The fireman axe plunges into Lorenzo’s brain.
The axe gets stuck in the sludgy mess, and Harry presses his black loafer to Lorenzo’s stomach, kicking him hard. Blood spurts at the impact as the cutting edge slices free with ease, allowing the Italian to drop to the floor like a piece of rotting meat.
Harry clutches his knees, axe still in hand to catch his breath.
“It’s cute that we opt for the same choice of weapon. Quite romantic, actually … but I’d have done it better.”
He scoffs through a strained breath. The axe drops to the floor with a heavy clunk, and Harry flexes his palms to revive the feeling in them. He huffs at the hair dangling from his forehead.
“Do I even want to know why you’re axing people?” He shakes his head as if he’s made his mind up and then says, “Let’s get this cleaned up. Then we can figure out the sleeping arrangements.”
He turns his back to me, stretching out his arms and heading towards the equipment. As if my feet have a mind of their own, I stand over Lorenzo’s body and stare down at him. Blood pours from the wound in his head, and I struggle to stray my eyes from the spill.
Perhaps a shade darker, it’s so eerily like that guard who had similarly bestial ideas. Who wanted to “force” me if I wasn’t compliant …
Did Harry even know what Lorenzo said to me? Did he even know what his true intentions were? Did he even care?
Of course he doesn’t.
“Gigi,” Harry says carefully, as if he heard how my thoughts strayed to him.
Watching him through heavy lashes, I look at him. Really look at him. I’m angry – so fucking angry – and bitter at the fact he was willing to sell me off so easily. But more disappointed in myself for being taken aback.
That voice screams through, reminding me I ask for this every day. This is what I want.
I know it is, but … but—
Harry carefully reaches his hand out towards me. I swear his eyes soften as if he can hear my internal battle. As if he just witnessed it firsthand through my telling facial expressions .
I grit my teeth.
“I’m not weak,” I say with authority.
He responds with unmistakably honesty. “I know you’re not.”
His hand is steady as he continues to reach for mine. Ignoring the gesture, I turn my back to him and steady myself.
Through the act of severing Lorenzo’s limbs and grinding them down, I blink away the haunting memories that try to fight their way through, leaving Harry to cut the remains into freakishly precise cubes of meat.
My search for containers gives way to a selection of peculiar items that have no right to be in a restaurant kitchen. There’s a weird, sinister feeling to each of them that I’m convinced is my subconscious playing tricks on me. Yet I take the handcuffs, sneaking them behind my back.
Harry puts the pieces of Lorenzo in the refrigerator next to the minced meat. And when anger fuels my outburst, I lock his wrist to the door handle with an audible click. I step back, and his face stills, dropping with emotion as he tugs at the restraint.
I retreat a few steps and head for the door.
“GIGI!” Harry roars, cutting his wrist raw as he tugs relentlessly against the cuffs.
“Call this payback for trying to sell me.”
The closer I get towards the exit, the louder my heels click against the marble, and the sound of Harry’s screams subsides.