Chapter Eight — Vinny
I found myself standing at Bael's door. I could hear the sound of his newborn crying through the thick wood. I had already knocked and been waiting more than a minute, but I was prepared to wait longer. I needed to talk to him.
The door finally swung open another minute later.
Bael stood holding a squirming brown baby in one arm.
She was gorgeous. Her parents had named her Athena.
Their son Terry was almost three now. Seeing and being around them made me think about children of my own, so I didn't come around often, no matter how many times Egypt told me I was welcome.
Bael's expression shifted from surprise to mild annoyance when he saw me. He was always annoyed with anyone who wasn't Egypt.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside. His voice was tired but not unwelcoming.
I stepped inside. The scent of jerk and baby powder hit me like a wave.
It was an odd mix, but somehow it fit the family.
I followed him upstairs to his office. It was dimly lit, cluttered with bottles, papers, and baby gear.
Fatherhood looked like chaos on him, but he was used to chaos, so he was thriving despite appearances.
Egypt appeared from the hallway, her gaze flicking between Bael and me before she swooped in and snatched the baby from his arms. She rolled her eyes at him. I guess she was mad at him.
"I made spaghetti," she said, her tone clipped. Then she added, "The Black way. You want some?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "No, thank you."
Egypt had once explained to me that there was a Black American way, a Haitian way, and an Italian way to make spaghetti. I didn't argue. I wasn't about to step into that minefield. She disappeared with the baby, leaving Bael and me alone in the cluttered office.
Bael didn't waste time with small talk. He never did. He just leaned against his desk, arms crossed, and waited for me to start.
"Why are you here?"
I told him everything—the warehouse, the deal gone wrong, the girl I thought was just some homeless witness who turned out to be Demetrius Lucas's daughter. And then I told him the part that had been eating at me: how she looked like my wife.
Bael leaned back, rubbing his jaw as he processed it all. Then he shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Keep her."
I frowned. "What?"
"Keep her," he repeated, his tone casual, like he was suggesting I order takeout instead of cooking. "Make her act like your wife. Offer her safety. Use her until you get some closure. Fuck Virginia and fuck Demetrius."
I stared at him.
"No." I adjusted my glasses and stood to leave. "Why would I do that?" I was agitated because I was thinking about it. And hating myself for it.
"Vinny."
I paused, glancing back at him.
Bael exhaled, shaking his head. "You've obviously considered what I said because she isn't dead yet.
I know you don't kill bitches, but you aren't above delegating.
If you're not going to use her, I don't know what to tell you.
But don't get caught with her. You told Virginia she was dead.
She's gonna be looking for any excuse to kill you when she finds out she isn’t. "
He paused.
"I wish you would have taken the out I gave you. But since you didn't, don't make me choose between my mother and you."
Years ago, Bael bought my debt from the Bellamys.
Five million dollars.
My life.
My future.
Everything.
I'd spent years paying him back by working for him.
When Bael retired, he told me we were square even though I still owed him.
I should've walked away. He would never have spoken of it again.
But debt wasn't something I knew how to carry halfway.
Bael had saved my life.
Freed me from the Bellamys.
As far as I was concerned, there was no number big enough to repay that.
So when he stepped away, I stayed.
I grunted in response, not bothering to address what he said about choosing. I noticed it wasn't a threat—just a warning.
"Speaking of your mother. Where's her wife Delilah?" I asked. I hadn't seen her at the warehouse or the meeting.
Bael's face remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes. I knew I wouldn't get anything from him, but he also knew something. He just shrugged. "Don't know. You should ask Virginia."
"Thanks for no help," I said sarcastically. I didn't know why I came to him, but I knew why I did. He was the only person I could have this conversation with.
Bael chuckled behind me. "You're welcome."
He stood and walked around the desk to pull me into a brotherly hug before escorting me to the front door.
The drive back was a blur. I sat in the car for five minutes before I could go inside.
By the time I got home, she was asleep. I moved quietly, sitting down at my desk. I had work to do. I needed to know for sure she was who she really said she was.
I pulled up my laptop and started digging.
Her real name was Lola Jamie Lucas. Lola. Not just Jamie. The name felt different in my head. Softer. More dangerous.
She had a five-million-dollar bounty on her head.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. Five million. Virginia would definitely trade her for that money.
I kept digging. Found out who she was supposed to marry—a forty-year-old man. She was twenty-eight now, which meant she'd been missing for eight years. The math made my stomach turn. That was disgusting. But that was part of her world. A world where daughters were bargaining chips, not people.
No wonder she ran.
No wonder she was willing to kill to stay gone.
I sat there for a while, staring at the screen, until exhaustion finally started creeping in.
I got up and entered the bedroom. Jamie had the covers over her head and was lightly snoring. I kept walking.
The hot water hit my skin, battering it. I barely felt it. My mind was somewhere else.
On Jamie.
Picturing her naked. Her body. Her whispering in Spanish to me. Her skin slick.
I cursed, shaking the thought away. I wasn't doing this. I couldn't. Not to her. Not to Sophia's memory.
I finished my shower, pulling on a T-shirt and boxers before stepping back into the bedroom.
She was awake. Sitting up against the pillows. Watching me.
Her cheek was red from where I had hit her. It had been instinct. Something in me wanted to apologize.
"Did you tell her?" Her voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.
"No," I answered, crossing the room.
She exhaled.
I didn't say anything else. Just walked to the couch and lay down.
I could feel her eyes on me in the dark. My heart was beating too fast for a man who was supposed to be sleeping.
Because I already knew—I was in too deep.