39. Luna
39
LUNA
“I t’s time to move.”
A voice breaks the moment before I can answer his question. I lift my eyes and find Scarface standing there, his brows furrowed as he looks at me. Why is he here? Why is he talking to Attila? Doesn’t he work for my father?
“We need to go,” Attila says, holding his hand out to me. I rise, although I don’t understand why. I don’t know where we’re going or why. Isn’t his work here done?
“Where?” I ask, then follow up with a question about my brothers. Both men look at each other then turn back to me as TJ comes floating down the aisle, roaring that it’s time to go, go, go.
“Police are on the way,” he says, clapping his hands together. When he reaches me, he takes one look, frowns then steps toward me.
“Luna. We have to leave. You can’t stay here.”
“Why not? This is my home,” I remind him.
He tsks and shakes his head, putting his hands on his hips as he faces me. He looks like he’s getting ready to rip off a band aid.
“You can’t be here when the police arrive, Luna. There are things in this house you won’t be able to escape.”
I hold the blanket closer to my chest, my safety net, and turn toward the exit. Somehow, his words have made a difference, and I’m escorted out of the house and into a waiting black van where I sit opposite Scarface and Attila. TJ sits beside me, a meter of space between us.
We drive away from the house, down the winding road beside the clifftop, at a speed that makes my heart palpate irregularly. I may as well follow my father to his grave; death by accident. I don’t know what his death does to me. The realization that he is gone and I am now an orphan — devoid of either mother or father — flutters inside me like a bird trying to escape its cage.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice a hoarse whisper. I can’t look at Attila; any time I do, I see him pulling that trigger, and it grates at something deep inside me.
“Somewhere safe,” TJ says.
“Why?”
“What do you mean?” He is soft, patient with me. When these traits probably go against everything he knows.
“Why are you here? What brought you here? Where are you taking me and what do you want?”
“So many questions, little one.”
TJ gives me a small smile. It’s sad, in a way, and I wonder what he has to be sad about. I just lost my father. I lost everything. He wasn’t the best father, but at least with him around, I always knew my purpose. I always knew what to expect, I guess.
“Are you going to answer them?”
“One of us will answer your questions. Once we’re relocated and settled into a safe house.”
“In Mexico?”
“For now. As soon as the jet is ready, we’ll leave for the States.”
* * *
“Who are you?” I ask Scarface, as I come into the living room. I showered and changed and had a nap for I don’t know how long after a doctor came to check on me and literally shoved a pill down my throat. I’m feeling more like myself, although I’m still a little numb.
Scarface is sitting in front of the coffee table, cleaning out a gun. I sit on a nearby sofa and watch him as he works, wondering where everyone else is.
The house is whisper quiet, and ironically, it’s just a few miles down the road from my father’s house, also overlooking the sea. Surrounded by a massive stone wall, it’s a more modern take on Mexican architecture, and it’s beautiful. I find myself wondering who the house belongs to as I look around the room. Obviously someone with immaculate taste in decor.
”Does it matter?” Scarface responds. I lift my eyes to his and wonder again about the jagged scar running down his cheek.
“How are you here if you worked for my father?”
“I work for the person who gives me what I want.”
“And what is it that you want?”
I’m actually curious to know, but instead of answering, he turns away and goes back to assembling his gun. Choosing to ignore my question.
“Where is everyone?”
He lifts his chin and points it in the direction of the large bay window looking out toward the sea. I stand and walk slowly; it feels like I’ve taken a beating, and my side hurts where my father’s knife plundered my skin.
The men are standing in a tight circle on the grassy lawn that leads to a drop into the ocean. I can see the azure waters off in the distance beyond the cliff, the softly lapping waves rippling like silver streaks across the sea.
Attila and TJ are standing with two other men — Dante, who I now know is the man who held the gun to the back of my father’s head. And the fourth man, handsome and impeccably dressed in a navy suit, the top button of his shirt undone and his tie missing. He has his hands on his hips as he talks to the men, and although it’s obvious he’s powerful and a leader, I can’t differentiate who is the elder amongst them. They all seem to have an equal footing. Except… that they’re arguing.
I can’t hear a thing from where I am, but judging from the looks on their faces and the gesturing back and forth, it’s Attila against the fourth man, while TJ and Dante stand quietly by allowing the dispute to happen. At times, TJ speaks, and the fourth man directs weary eyes toward him. Once or twice, Dante says something that has the unknown newcomer deferring to him.
The tension between the two men — Attila and the newcomer — is palpable. I cock my head and watch, trying to decipher their body language, but I get nothing. Until Attila looks up at the window and sees me standing there. He holds my gaze, even as the fourth man continues to speak, until all the men turn to the window to see what’s captured Attila’s attention. Four sets of eyes blaze through me, each different yet all the same. The eyes of made men.