CHAPTER 8
OLIVER
It’s been just over three days since Damián took me to the parking lot, the night he slipped me the last part of the target list. It took a little longer than I anticipated, but I’ve finally gathered all the intel they need from both lists.
Now, I’m officially ready for a bender.
Well, a fake one, anyway.
After two years of scrambling to find excuses to be alone long enough to gather intel and prep encrypted files for the agencies, I’ve got this routine down to an absolute science.
As long as I don’t overdo it, pulling the ‘Oliver is on a wild drug bender’ card gets the guards off my back and works every single time.
First, I ask Silvio or any other snitch to get me a quarter-ounce of coke. Then, I tell Martin to let the kitchen know I will be expecting my meals delivered to my bedroom door at specific times.
But the most important part of all: I ask my father to give me one of his business problems so I can use my “inspiration” time to fix it.
I learned early on that if I do that, even Elijah will make sure no one bothers me until I’m out of my room.
I pull out my phone and text Zara.
I promised I would always let her know right before I lock myself in, especially since my phone has to stay completely powered off once I start working.
You can never be too careful when doing something this stupidly dangerous.
OLIVER: Got some snow today. See you in a couple of days?
ZARA: Enjoy, lucky bastard.
I close the message thread but keep the phone in my hand, my thumb hovering aimlessly over the screen.
Should I send Damián a text?
I stare at his contact name for a second before shaking my head…
Nah, that’s dumb.
I can’t exactly tell him what I’m actually doing, and texting him a fake excuse just feels weird.
Besides, we’re not really dating… It’s not like he’s going to spend the next few days worrying about me just because I didn’t check in.
I turn off my phone and put it on my nightstand just in time for Silvio to arrive with the drugs.
Once Silvio hands off the quarter-ounce and Martin has briefed the staff, I head down to my father’s office, praying for a quick in-and-out exchange.
I honestly don’t have the mental capacity to handle any of his shit today.
Unfortunately, Rafael is already there.
“You have a book for me?” I ask my father, dropping onto my couch.
“I do,” he says, actually sounding pleased.
It’s been a while since my last bender, so he probably has twenty separate nightmares piled up for me by now.
“It’s fucking ridiculous that you use work as an excuse to get high,” Rafael snarls.
“Jealous?”
“Why would I ever be jealous of a junkie who gets dicks shoved in the ass by men in parking lots?”
Of course, Franco told him…
I roll my eyes. “Oh my god, Rafael. Please, I am begging you to find a new insult that isn’t just about me liking drugs or taking it up the ass. If you keep this up, our business partners are going to realize you’re a fucking idiot with a severely limited vocabulary.”
Rafael’s face darkens as he moves closer to the couch. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“See? You are an idiot.”
Rafael lunges. He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and hauls me violently off the couch, pulling so hard the expensive silk actually tears.
My heart slams against my ribs in absolute terror. But the worst thing I can do around my brother is show fear.
So instead, I look him dead in the eye, and I laugh.
“Boys.” Elijah steps between us and hands me a thick gray notebook with the number 456-2 written in pen across the front cover. “The main issue is at the Civitavecchia port. Look at the new clause and figure out how to bend it.”
“Anything else?” I ask, snatching the book.
“If you have time, check the standard shipment problem on page 24.”
“On it.” I lift the book in a casual goodbye wave and head toward the door, but Rafael steps into my path. “Move,” I warn him.
“Enjoy all the drugs and dicks you like so much while you still can, because when I run things, you won’t be able to get away with shit.”
In the next second, I raise the heavy notebook and strike Rafael across the face with it. The skin above his eyebrow splits open, and bright red blood gushes from it.
Don’t faint, Oliver. Please, God, don’t faint.
“You’ll never run shit,” I scream at him as he stumbles backward, dropping to the floor in shock.
I drop to a crouch, grab him by the collar, and drag his bleeding face close to mine.
“You need to get this into your small fucking head, Rafael… Yeah, you are good at killing. So what? I could buy six hundred of you tomorrow.”
I slap him across the face.
My hand is shaking from the adrenaline and fear, but I move too fast to give either of them time to notice how scared I am.
“The day you are capable of solving a quarter of the shit my brain solves while high is the day Father will finally see a shred of worth in you as the heir. In the meantime? Shut the fuck up, let the adults handle their own lives, and don’t ever get in my way again.”
I release my grip, letting Rafael slump back against the floor, and walk out of the office before my eyes start to water.
And as I walk down the hall, I honestly don’t know what disturbs me more… the sheer, murderous hate I saw in Rafael’s eyes, or the pride I saw in my father’s.
I reach my room, get inside, and lock the door. In the time it took me to get the book and come back, Martin had already set my table with breakfast, the ingredients for ten mimosas, and a clean silver tray so I could cut and inhale the coke.
Level of service, ladies and gentlemen.
I throw the notebook across the room and collapse onto the carpet. My entire body is shaking.
Ugh… maybe I am a chihuahua and not a corgi…
Still, no matter what dog breed I am, right now I’m drowning in a dozen different emotions at once.
I hate doing this.
I hate how violent I have to be. I hate it with all my heart.
But after the incident three years ago, I knew I had to do whatever it took to keep Rafael from becoming the heir, and unfortunately, humiliating him with violence is the easiest way to keep him from rising.
Because there is no way my father will ever let someone he perceives as weak take the throne.
Any other day I pulled a stunt like that with Rafael, I would’ve felt sick for hours. I would’ve felt trapped and terrified, and it would’ve taken at least half of the movie The Holiday for me to feel better and calm.
But strangely… I don’t feel that way today.
Yes, I am trembling, and yes, I’m in shock. But I also feel… okay.
I unbutton my shirt pocket and pull out the folded list Damián gave me.
Yeah, yeah, I’m a fucking idiot for carrying this around with me.
But holding this piece of paper makes me feel electrified. It gives me a new sense of purpose and a feeling I’ve rarely ever had: like someone is actually sharing this burden with me.
I’ve been trying to pretend that the fact Damián had it, and exactly how he passed it to me… has nothing to do with this sudden rush I feel.
But please, who am I kidding?
My body has been on fire since that night, still tracing in my memory all the places where he touched me, where he kissed me.
Would he be thinking the same?
Not likely.
And that’s where my fantasies stop. Of course, he’s not constantly reliving our time together.
Unlike mine, his reputation is actually real. He’s not a dumb virgin spending his day remembering how it felt to hold hands, to kiss and touch.
Fuck, he is so hot…
I wonder how—no, no…
Well… I mean, he is so big and thick, that how would that feel insi—… What?! Oliver, no!
Don’t go there…
“Come on, get out of your head, you have work to do,” I mutter. I stand up, softly slap my cheeks with both hands, and shake these thoughts away.
Let’s freaking do this.
I prepare a mimosa… because, why not?… and begin to sweep the room for any hidden cameras or bugs.
It takes me thirty-seven minutes, but with the help of a handheld RF detector, I am able to find a mic that was hidden between the blinds. I place a cup on top of it so it muffles the sound I make.
Once I know my room and bathroom are one hundred percent bug-free, I put on a movie, turn the volume louder than necessary, and lock myself in the bathroom.
There, I sit cross-legged on the cold tile floor and spread the two lists out in front of me.
For this, I brought three different colored highlighters, a black pen, a burner laptop, and a heavily encrypted micro-USB drive disguised as a tube of expensive lip balm.
Zara is a master at getting weird gadgets like that. Well, more like she’s a master at flirting with all those men who can get weird gadgets like a fake lip balm.
I smooth the papers with my hands and stare at the list of names Damián’s team provided. I can’t help but laugh. Alexios is good, but both lists are way too short.
I uncap the red highlighter and drag it across the first name.
Mario Rodriguez.
“Human trafficking,” I whisper to the empty room.
I know Mario. I spent an entire hour pretending to be blacked-out drunk on his yacht last summer, draped over a sofa while he bragged to a cartel boss about how he sneaks people across the border using his shipping company.
I pick up the blue highlighter.
Senator Morris.
“Narcotics and bribery.” I highlight his name, remembering the disgust I felt when the man cornered me at a charity gala, his hands moving far too low on my waist while he drunkenly slurred about how much my father was paying him to keep the Port Authority looking the other way.
He even hinted that I should do him a favor… and well, let’s just say that beating him up was the only case where the rumors about how I got charged with violence were actually real.
To make it easier for the Harknetts… not that they need it… But I color-code the entire list. I use yellow for weapons, blue for drugs, and red for human lives.
My hand cramps as I type everything into the burner laptop. I add dates, port numbers, ship names, and every disgusting, terrifying detail I’ve hoarded in my brain over the years.