Chapter 5 #4
“Apologize to her for being a scumbag,” Julian demands.
“I’m … so sorry, Genesis,” Henry screeches, his eyes pleading with me to control Julian.
Even if I tried, Julian wouldn’t listen.
He’d probably make Henry’s punishment worse.
Julian clicks his tongue along the roof of his mouth and pulls his gun back out, thrusting it against the back of his head. “That’s not good enough.”
“Julian, this really isn’t necessary. I told him no,” I finally say, stepping closer.
Julian slowly shakes his head at me. “It’s completely necessary.
” He pushes the gun against Henry’s head.
“Now, say it again—and like you mean it. I want to hear the regret in your voice. I want to hear what a disgrace you are as a man. You’re trash, a fucking predator, who doesn’t deserve to enjoy another day in his life. ”
“Genesis, I’m so sorry.” Henry presses his palms together in a praying gesture. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll give you legal services, free of charge. Whatever you want.”
“She doesn’t need your fucking services.” Julian squeezes the trigger.
Blood splatters everywhere—the walls, the floor, the desk, on a family photo, on Julian, on my cheek . It reminds me of what happened in my father’s office, and I swallow down the vomit rising up my throat.
Death seems to be the theme of the day. Henry’s scrawny body sinks to the ground, blood gushing from his head, just like how my father’s did.
I hear a gasp and turn around to find the secretary standing in the doorway.
“Try to run, and I’ll shoot you next,” Julian warns, aiming the gun in her direction again.
“Don’t you dare,” I say to Julian.
No way in hell am I okay with him murdering this poor woman.
With the gun still on the woman, he walks around Henry’s body, dodging the blood, and stops in front of me.
He lowers the gun to smear the blood across my cheek. “Red looks good on you, baby.”
I’ve seen two dead bodies and cleaned their blood off me in less than twelve hours.
Two men who’d been role models my entire life are now dead.
Two men I thought I could trust.
Moral of the story: Don’t trust men, especially ones who love power.
Though does that mean I can’t trust Julian?
After Julian killed Henry, he sat the secretary down, handed her a stack of cash, and told her if she kept her mouth shut, he’d send her more every month. He also offered her a better job with higher pay at Lucky Kings. It didn’t even take her a minute to accept his offer.
She told Julian where the cameras were, and he erased all the data from the office and lobby.
It’s like I’m living in the Veronica Mars movie, only with way more violence.
He told the secretary to tell the cops a man dressed in a suit came in, angry that Henry had lost his case and cost him money, and shot him.
The fact that it doesn’t take Julian hours to do this is scary.
It’s like he has it down to a science.
We leave, and Julian drives straight to my building in the city.
He parks in the back, and we enter through the employee door.
I frown, hating that I don’t get the chance to tell my doorman or neighbors goodbye.
Though it may be a good thing. I’m sure they have tons of questions if the Feds did go through my apartment or they saw the news.
Julian holds my hand tight, leading me down a hall and up a flight of stairs. I’ve never been in this way before.
My parents bought me the condo for my twenty-first birthday. I spent six months working with an interior designer, decorating it with bright colors and lush furniture. I also had a delivery of fresh peonies every morning.
It was supposed to be my forever home—or at least until I married and started a family. Now, that future is gone.
My cheeks flush from embarrassment.
I’m twenty-five, and my parents still funded my life.
It’s not as if I spent all my life lounging at home and vacationing. I treated my volunteer work as a full-time job. It’d been my life for so long, and my parents had no issue financing my philanthropy work.
My father had me on payroll, but technically, I did some work for the company. I attended dinners when he asked and talked to people at events, convincing them to become clients and hand over their finances to his company.
On our drive here, I googled my father’s name. Breaking news article after article popped up. The police raided our family home and found his body. The stories continued with the crimes they accused him of committing. I made Julian pull over and puked up what little was in my stomach.
I finally cried.
The shock wore off as reality set in.
The life as I had known it was gone.
We take the elevator to my floor, which opens directly into my kitchen. It’s messy, not the way I left it, making it obvious that someone—or someones —was rummaging through my things.
A tall man, at least six-seven, wearing a black coat with an FBI badge, stands in my living room. A black cap is on his head, chestnut-brown hair sticking out from the sides. He pretty much solidifies that my father was in deep trouble.
“Julian,” he says, jerking his chin toward him before offering me the same gesture.
I hold my hand up in a slight wave.
“Get your things,” Julian tells me as the man walks in our direction.
Julian slips him money when he reaches us, and they move away from me, toward a corner.
I kick off my shoes out of habit and head toward my bedroom, moving slowly in an attempt to hear their conversation.
“They want to speak with her,” the guy tells Julian. “Does she have an attorney?”
“No,” Julian replies so easily, as if he didn’t just kill mine—aka Henry—in cold blood. “But I’ll get Warren to represent her.” He turns, as if he knew I was listening, and motions toward the man. “Don’t say a word to this guy. Get your shit and let’s go.”
The man laughs, jerking his head toward me the same way he did moments ago. “I’m Derrick.”
“He’s irrelevant.” Julian glares at Derrick. “Don’t talk to him without me.”
Derrick chuckles. “I’m not irrelevant. I’m one of the men in charge of your father’s case.”
Does he even have a case?
I mean, it’s not like they can charge and jail his corpse.
Or will that fall on me as well, like the whole Russian-bride situation?
“You’re irrelevant to her because she had nothing to do with his crimes,” he tells Derrick sternly before whipping his attention back to me. “Now, go get your shit.”
I scurry away from them, run into my closet, and grab the largest suitcase I own. I throw some belongings inside—jewelry, handbags, shoes, and photo albums. I dump my bra and panties drawer into a tote bag—because ew, I don’t want the Feds going through those.
“One minute,” Julian yells.
I leave some of my expensive handbags. If what Julian said is true about my father stealing his clients’ money, they’ll sell them to pay the innocent families my father stole from. They’ll need that money more than I will. I’ll only take the items that mean the most to me.
I leave my bedroom with a bag draped over my shoulder and a Celine tote hanging off my elbow and wheel my suitcase behind me.
“In situations like this, do people not get any of their belongings?” I ask, my focus on Derrick since he seems to be the one in charge of seizing my shit.
He adjusts his hat, staring at me. “I’d guess they’ll give you five, maybe six months before freezing the remainder of your assets and liquidating your belongings to pay your father’s victims. You can keep some, what you have there, and you should be fine.
” He gives me a sincere look. “Sorry, and I’ll also apologize in advance for when we have to interview you. ”
“You pull the good cop, bad cop shit on her, I’m killing you,” Julian warns him.
Derrick laughs, as if Julian’s threats are nothing new.
“Can I stay here tonight?” I ask as the realization that I’ll be homeless soon dawns on me. “Until they kick me out, the place is mine, right?”
Julian takes two large strides in my direction, stopping in front of me, keeping his back to Derrick. “Dima knows where you live,” he says in a low tone.
I grip my suitcase handle. “Dima read the contract. He knows I’m not his, so I doubt he’ll mess with me. Plus, it’s not exactly easy to get into my building.”
Well, not easy to get in through the front.
It seemed the employee entrance wasn’t a problem.
“You’re not staying here,” Julian snaps. “Conversation over.”
At this point, I don’t want to stay here alone anyway.
I’ll find somewhere to sleep that isn’t Julian’s.
It’s after two in the morning when Julian helps me load my bags into the Escalade.
This has been the longest night of my life.
Yawning, I shut the door and pull my phone from my purse.
“Who are you texting?” Julian asks, not knowing the concept of privacy as I hit Favorites in my Contacts.
“Darcy,” I answer. “I’ll crash with her tonight.”
“You’re not staying with Darcy.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re not .”
“Why?”
“Her brother is a fucking creep. I don’t like him.”
“You don’t like him because he asked me out.”
Julian only knows this because he overheard me telling Melissa in their living room. He’d left his father’s office, and apparently, he had ears like a hawk. He made a pit stop, told me to stay away from the guy, and left the room.
“That’s one of the reasons,” Julian says. “He’s also a coke-addicted trust-fund kid who’s been arrested twice.”
I lean toward him in my seat and waggle my finger. “Now, if we’re going to talk about criminals, I don’t think you’re on the nice list there either, Mr. Bellini.”
“I’d think you’d be more careful with your words after all you’d witnessed tonight.” He starts the Escalade and drives off.
“Did you know he felt me up once?” I say this to rile Julian up because I don’t like him telling me where I can stay.
“Did you know I kill men who do things I don’t like?”
I snap my mouth shut.
He plucks my phone from my hand and slips it into his pocket. “You can have this back when we’re home.”
I shake my head and mock his tone and words.
He turns to me, and even though I can’t see his face in the dark, I know he’s glaring at me.
“You’ll stay here tonight,” he says when we reach his home. “We’ll discuss our plans tomorrow.”
I have no other options.
Darcy is in Paris with her parents, so I’d still have to find a ride to her place. She’d also ask a million questions about why I needed somewhere to crash, and right now, my head is pounding too hard for me to even answer one.
“I’m not sleeping in your bedroom,” I say as he pulls into the garage.
“Did I invite you into my bedroom?” He opens the door. “There’s a guest room for you. Read the contract tonight and sign it.”