10.
I place my forearms on the railing that connects the two stairways, and lean forward, just as Varsha comes to stand next to me, mirroring my position.
“This is sad,” she says, addressing the crowd, then sighs. “Like, really sad.”
I laugh. “You don’t think it’s absolutely significant for these people to be dressed in clothes that cost more than an average person’s annual salary? Or is it that you’re not a fan of the number of times you’ve heard “ Oh my God, really? ” so far tonight?”
“Both?”
“Come on, V; live a little. I expected better from you.”
She rolls her head in my direction and gives me an exasperated look. “Eat glass, Ledge.”
“Come shove it in my mouth yourself, you coward.”
She grins. “You’re mad; I love it.”
“I’m glad to hear that I’ve still got it.”
“See, now you’re just pushing it.”
“When have I ever , Sister Mine?”
She shakes her head. “You’re a real douc–” She pauses for a second, and before I can ask her what the matter is, she looks at me and points at something below us. “Ledge, look.”
I follow her hand, and see Jedediah and Selina at the estate’s entrance.
Aras immediately looks up at me from where him, Solo, and Magner are engaged in a conversation with a pro wrestler whose name I can’t remember right now. Solo glances at Jedidiah and Selina, then gives me a nod, which I return.
“Go,” I tell Varsha. “Maintain distance and track them for a while. And don’t forget to text me with updates.”
“Got it.” She makes her way to the foyer, and once she reaches it, she elegantly grabs a flute of champagne from a server and glides over to a group of upper classes that is the closest to our targets.
“Wonderful evening, is it not?”
I turn sideways at the sound of her lush voice, and am hit with the soothing scent of a perfume that’s both rich and distracting.
It’s something I’ve never smelled before, and I don’t know why it’s the first thing about her that holds my attention, when there’s so much more to her appearance that I have yet to examine.
She’s quite shorter than me, and has eyes that are just as brown as her shoulder-length hair.
The long, pink dress she’s wearing hugs her wide, hourglass frame, and because it has no sleeves, I can see the dark, intricate designs of henna painted on her golden skin.
These designs start from the tips of her fingers, and go all the way up to her forearms. She’s holding a glass of water in her left hand, and clicks her long nails against its surface as the seconds pass and I don’t answer her question.
“I thought you were in a committed relationship,” she states, making me meet her eyes. “But I guess there are limits on control, even among the wisest.” Her accent is thick, velvet-smooth, with a heavy emphasis on the letters H and R.
I smirk as I lean against the railing. “Hmm…arrogant, are we?”
“Confident,” she counters with a smirk of her own.
“You flatter yourself too much,” I say.
“Perhaps. But isn’t it thrilling to believe in yourself? Self-empowerment is a beautiful thing. That is, until it turns into self-obsession – which, in my case, isn’t the issue.”
I can’t help but smile. “ Yet .”
She lets out a soft chuckle. “Quite the psychic, aren’t you?”
“I’m just good at reading people.”
“Spoken like a true killer,” she muses, and her eyes shine in a way that’s all too similar to me.
And then it hits me – all at fucking once. The accent, the henna, the goddamn perfume…
“You’re…” I straighten and give her a once over. “You’re Safiya Gaddafi,” I say. Of course it’s her. I don’t know why I couldn’t place her from some of the photos I’d seen of her on the internet while researching the mafia families of Anaheim.
Safiya is the younger sister of Naila Gaddafi, who is the head of the Gaddafi family.
Known as The Assassin, the exotic tormentor, Safiya’s ways of ending lives are ruthless, and frankly, quite inspiring as well.
She isn’t, however, a contract killer, so I’m assuming that her being here tonight isn’t a business thing, but an obligatory one.
“I’m afraid so, yes,” she replies, inclining her head a little.
I stretch out a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She smiles and shakes it. “Likewise, Mr. Ledger.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Do I wanna know how you know who I am?”
She lets go of my hand and takes a small sip of her water. “I didn’t take you for the type to underestimate yourself.”
“I assure you, I’m not. But not every guest here tonight knows me, or of me, for that matter.”
“A shame, if you ask me.” She waves a hand dismissively at the crowd below. “But then again, I don’t consider myself one of them, so you shouldn’t misconstrue my skills.”
I don’t sense defensiveness or annoyance in her tone, and her body language shows signs of ease instead of alarm.
“I wouldn’t dare to,” I tell her, then gesture around us. “So, one killer to another: what do you think of the gala?”
Safiya’s face contorts. “I’d rather spend my time at a zoo.”
“Oof, the accuracy .”
She scoffs. “You’re here on business, then?”
I grin. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you wouldn’t have been here otherwise.”
I arch a brow. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re a killer, Mr. Ledger, and a magnificent one at that. I don’t see you attending galas in your spare time when you could be spending it with those you care for the most.” She lifts a shoulder. “At least that’s how it is for me. You can tell me if I’m wrong.”
I don’t wanna say I’m impressed, but damn , I’m impressed.
“You’d be correct,” I say. “And please, call me Dorran. Mr. Ledger makes me sound like an upper class, and that is not something I would wish upon myself, or even my worst enemy.” I point a thumb downward. “May they rest in hell.”
Safiya laughs – the sound gentle, airy. But she stops suddenly and glances sideways, towards the stairway behind her, then looks up at me with an expression I can’t quite put a finger on.
“Well, as unfortunate as it is, our time has come to an end. For now.” She offers me a hand.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Dorran. Let’s have a sit-down sometime.
I would love to meet Cignette and the rest of your crew. ”
I smile as I shake her hand. “Of course. It was nice meeting you as well.”
She nods and pulls back her hand, and then, glancing sideways one more time, she smirks before saying, “Do tell your client that the next time he decides to invite a Gaddafi to one of his shindigs, the least he can do is offer a better collection of wines at the open bar. Because kahretsin , the ones I’ve had to taste tonight are sure to give me lifelong nightmares.
” And with that, she walks away from me and down the stairs on the other side.
“I see you’ve met her .”
I look up, and find Aras making his way to me, with a glass full of scotch in one hand.
“She asked me to tell you that your wine collection is shitty,” I say, then click my tongue. “I mean, she didn’t exactly phrase it like that, but the sentiment was the same, I assure you.”
Aras smirks patronizingly. “She’d turn into a frog if she didn’t affront me in some way or another, so I’m not surprised she said that.”
“I sense something here,” I remark, then pull out a box of cigarettes from my jacket pocket. “Mind if I…” I wave a cigarette at him.
“Please, go ahead.” He grabs a thick glass ashtray from a small table behind him and places it between us on the railing.
“Thanks, man.” I put the cigarette between my lips and light it up, then take a long, satisfying puff before pulling it out. “So, what’s the issue here?”
“For someone who has a reputation of minding his own business, you sure are being very nosy right now.”
I laugh and take another drag from my cigarette. “I’m allowed to evolve as a human being, alright?” I tell him, and when he snorts, I add, “Also, having spoken to her right now, I thought she was pretty fucking cool.”
“Of course you’d think that. The two of you are cut from the same cloth. Blood and madness are your middle names, so it’s only natural for you to find her interesting. No offense, by the way.”
I chuckle. “None taken. I love myself some blood and madness. It’s fun, therapeutic.”
“Therapeutic?” Aras repeats, then laughs. “Like I said: madness .”
“You’re a killer too, though, aren’t you? Surely you enjoy the things you just listed.”
Aras polishes off his scotch and sets the empty glass next to the ashtray.
“I kill, yes, but I don’t like making a mess, Ledger.
I end lives quickly, neatly. I told you earlier: I don’t like getting my hands dirty.
As much as I enjoy witnessing torture, I don’t exactly enjoy delivering it.
I’m a crazy motherfucker, but I do have preferences. ”
“I can respect that.” I take one more pull from my cigarette, then kill it on the ashtray and exhale a dull puff of smoke. “So, about Safiya…”
He laughs again. “Seriously?”
“Did I stutter, Lutkus?”
He sighs, then fixes the collar of his black shirt.
“Well, let’s just say that the Gaddafi and Lutkus families were going to unite in marriage through Safiya and my brother around three years ago, but didn’t because Safiya stole something from us and denied having taken it.
Now, we’re always at each other’s throats because we think they are liars, and they think we’re false accusers. ”
“Why invite her to the gala, then, if your families don’t see eye-to-eye?”
“Curtesy. And also, to avoid unnecessary gossip – or worse, a scandal ,” Aras provides.
“The conflict between our families – it’s a personal affair.
And I’d very much like it if it stayed that way.
If Safiya hadn’t attended the gala tonight, her absence wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the other upper classes.
She knew that too, which is why she showed up here.
She hates my guts just as much as I hate hers, but seeing each other’s faces every once in a while is better than seeing our names in a newspaper-column written by bored, invasive journalists.
We just have to pick the necessary evil when there’s no other choices, so to speak. ”
I let out a low whistle. “Man, I’ve barely stepped foot into this world, and I already think this shit is way out of my level of expertise.”
Aras grunts in agreement. “Welcome to Anaheim, my friend. The mafia bullshit here isn’t for everyone, that’s for sure. You try to stay on one family’s good side, and accidentally end up offending the other. It’s a whole ballgame, I’m tellin’ ya.”
“I do not doubt it,” I say. “But I’m sure you don’t mind offending the Byrons, given that you want me to kill Fredrick’s son.”
“Fred can kiss my ass,” Aras spits out. “And so can Timothy.”
I laugh. “Now, wouldn’t that be–”
My phone pings back-to-back with new messages, so I immediately pull it out before looking at the screen. I can feel Aras watching me, but he’s respectfully keeping his distance, which I appreciate.
Cigs: You know what I just realized????????????
Cigs: You have peacock-blue eyes! Yes, that’s it! YOU HAVE PEACOCK EYES, DORRAN!
Cigs: DORRAN?????????????
Cigs: Baaabyyyyyyy????????
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Everything okay?” Aras asks.
I look up. “Just someone I love being a goddamn menace, that’s all,” I hiss.
“Uh…”
I push my fingers through my hair. “I gotta go, man; I’m sorry for being abrupt.”
“No problem at all. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“I wish,” I mutter, then give Aras a pat on the arm before all but jogging down the stairs to go find my now-drunk girlfriend.
I’d asked one thing of her.
Just one .
Fucking ONE .