CHAPTER 22
THE DIPLOMAT
Mr Lewis’ eyes haven’t left mine since I sat down. I can feel the scepticism dripping off him, every look and sip of his drink, a silent interrogation.
He leans forward slightly. ‘Charlie said The Thompsons used to call you “SS”.’
I don’t blink. Instead, I just slowly swirl the whiskey within its glass, letting the silence between us breathe. Letting the name hang between us.
He continues. ‘He said it was for the way you ran protection,’ he adds, ‘efficient, cold, ruthless.’
‘The family needed me to be a ghost with steel hands,’ I say, quietly. ‘So I gave him one.’
‘Then you vanished?’
‘No! I took a step back,’ I exhale, the memory curling through me. ‘Your father didn’t need a hero. He wanted a monster on a leash. When Elina died, I was happy to be his pet. He pulled me from the fire.’
‘My father, your uncle... and now?’ Mr Lewis’ eyes sharpen.
I look past him, staring into the window’s reflection.
‘Sal?’ he asks. ‘And what about Ms Darkheart here?’
I return my gaze. ‘I tried, boss. But I couldn’t turn my heart away from her. I tried. God knows I tried. But whatever this is I’m feeling it doesn’t care about rules or loyalty. It just burns,’ I admit, shamefully.
He nods. ‘To love someone is to hand them the power to break you, and trust they won’t. It’s terrifying, right?’
I nod in response.
I knew I’d end up having this conversation sooner or later. I look at Stella, her eyes wide as she mouths “love” with a crinkled nose.
‘I’m not asking for forgiveness, boss. I’m just asking for the chance to still bleed in her name.’
Mr Lewis sits back in his leather throne, eyes half-lidded. He doesn’t raise his voice – he doesn’t have to. One wrong word from him could rewire the order of things, and tonight he speaks.
‘There’s going to be a few changes ‘round here, Sal, starting with you not calling me boss.’
‘You’re firing me?’ I gasp.
‘You’re to call me Gabriel.’ His eyes flicker to Stella. ‘And if she’s staying-’ he adds, ‘she must earn her keep.’
I disobeyed Gabriel because of Stella. Because I thought this obsession could be a currency no king could ever tax. But being family changes the equation.
Cousin.
The word hits me like bad whiskey. Hearing it aloud sounds bitter, permanent.
Gabriel leans back in his leather chair, the low light catching the edge of his smirk.
‘While you were up the mountain chasing pussy, I took the liberty of drafting a little contract – just in case, you know, she survived.’
Stella narrows her eyes. ‘What do you mean “in case”?’
He laces his fingers and rests his elbows on the desk.
‘I placed a quiet bet on Sal’s life, not yours.
Odds were filthy, the payout filthier. But here you are, you both survived!
Clients cried, but they’ll be back. They always come back – licking their wounds and waving fresh stakes.
You know the sting, don’t you, Ms Dubois?
It burnt you once. This lot will pay double next time, especially now they know how the game works. ’
I stand up, stepping forward just short of Gabriel’s desk. ‘What happened out there,’ I point towards the window, ‘wasn’t the play we mapped out.’
Gabriel doesn’t flinch. ‘Rules shift, Sal. You know how the game works. You don’t like the cards, don’t sit at the table.’
‘We were almost carrion!’ I state in disbelief.
Gabriel exhales. ‘Your life was never on the chopping block, Sal. The danger was crafted – just enough to make the odds dance.’
‘The Trinity...Charlie’s crew…’
Gabriel stands. ‘The Trinity understand value. If they let you walk – they eat. If they moved against you, they’d starve. They’re scavengers with simple needs.’
‘And Charlie?’
Gabriel doesn’t even look up. Instead, Stella answers for him. ‘Finished.’
‘Indeed, Stella,’ Gabriel responds. ‘Finished. Power makes enemies faster than friends, Sal. Now, where were we? Oh, yes, Stella’s contract.’