Chapter 15
JOSEPH
She is sure to hate me right now. My aim was to break her. To bash down her walls and shatter her into a million pieces.
I believe I have accomplished my aim.
As I lead her from the room, she is weak. Her hand limp in mine, her spirit broken as she avoids my eyes. Her head hangs low, and as we reach the front door, the man waiting nods to me with respect.
“Mr. Ravera. I hope everything was to your liking.”
“Always. Carry on the good work.”
As we leave, Tiffany appears to have lost the power of speech, which I’m grateful for.
I wonder what is running through her mind right now.
Shame for sure. She will hate how she desired what I gave her.
That she came hard watching another couple will fill her with shame.
What I made her do against her wishes, probably, but she never once pulled away.
She took it, and I must admire her for that.
We take the short walk, and as we enter my home, Mrs. Harrington appears as always, and I nod toward Tiffany.
“Help Miss Zaferelli change and arrange for a warm drink.”
The concern on Mrs. Harrington’s face is well deserved this time because I am delivering her a broken woman.
Mission accomplished.
As I head to my living room, I sigh inside. It’s been a long day and an even longer night. Mission accomplished in more ways than one. Today I broke an angel and tomorrow I will rebuild her into my queen.
Spencer appears from his den, and I beckon him to follow me.
“Good night?” He asks as I shrug off my jacket and roll up my sleeves before slumping on the huge couch, the cushions scattering as I toss them into oblivion.
“I’m fucking exhausted.”
He shrugs. “It was necessary. You can sleep when you’re dead.”
“Who says I can sleep, anyway?”
He takes a seat. “Shall I call Su Yin?”
“No.”
My sigh is barely audible.
“I’ll watch the game. I recorded it earlier. Care to join me?”
“Sorry, boss, but my guest is arriving in–” He studies his wristwatch. “Ten minutes.”
I’m aware of his guest. Spencer is currently ‘dating’ a socialite named Mary Donovan.
She is the daughter of an Irish racehorse owner who boasts a stable of three hundred thoroughbred racehorses.
Spencer appears to like her, probably because her proclivities appear to match his, and as she is in town this week, I’m guessing they are wasting no time.
“She’s been to a gala at the Savoy with the industry. I only have one night with her before she’s expected to return with her father tomorrow.”
“I understand.”
His excuse is not needed because Spencer is a loyal companion who deserves some downtime – hell, we all do, and I resign myself to a night spent in front of the television as always.
“You should take something for your insomnia.”
He appears concerned, and I shake my head, reaching for the remote.
“Perhaps you can arrange some coffee on your way out. That’s all I need.”
“If you say so.”
Spencer is worried and has been for some time. I barely sleep; work is my medicine, and Su Yin is my pleasure. Occasionally I fuck women in my club up the street. It’s a welcome hobby of mine, close to home, that brings in millions of pounds of profit every year under the radar.
Illegal dens of iniquity are the easiest profits to accumulate, and preying on men’s and women’s carnal desires and weaknesses has become a skill I’ve sharpened over the years.
This is my empire, aside from my father’s. I run his business interests in London, and he allows me this hobby for pocket money. All my brothers enjoy some form of escapism, and the house up the street is mine.
Number ten Grosvenor Crescent. That is how it is referred to.
A membership of number ten is an ironic twist to the address of the prime minister and much the same as number ten Downing Street; what happens inside my walls is just as corrupt.
In fact, many members of Parliament are customers, if they can afford the membership fee, of course.
I decide to head to my room to shower and change into sweatpants and a t-shirt, wondering if a workout would help.
I possess a gym in the basement along with a swimming pool, and it’s a possibility that sometimes enables me to relax. However, I’m interested in catching up with soccer—football as it’s known in London, and my team is playing a giant of Europe, and it will help cleanse my mind.
The coffee is waiting when I return, and as I flick on the game, I reach for the strong espresso that I really drink too much of and attempt to empty my mind of nothing but the game.
* * *
The sun is scorching today, and sweat is rolling off me like waves off a beach.
Thump followed by a groan.
“Joe.”
His triumphant smirk causes me to recover, and I land a punch on his shoulder.
“Ow.”
Zac’s smirk vanishes as I land another, and then we hear, “Boys, lunch is ready!”
Mom’s voice wafts toward us from the stone steps leading up to the house, and Zac grins. “To be continued.”
“I’ll finish you, and you know it.”
I notice my brother Nico some way up the beach, alone as always, and I jerk my thumb toward the terrace.
“Last one home must kiss Frankie Pratt.”
“Fuck that.”
Zac attempts to power past me, but we both know I’m the faster runner. However, Zac is a cunning one and will attempt to win another way.
I laugh to myself because Francesca Pratt has the hots for Zac and is the daughter of one of my father’s guards.
She’s unattractive and spoiled, believing she is God’s gift to men and has a huge crush on Zachariah.
He is my best friend and the child of my father’s enforcer, Eduardo Silver.
We’ve been close like brothers since I could talk and are rarely away from one another’s side.
I easily sprint along the beach, his attempts to catch up with me easy to avoid, and as I stumble up the steps, my mom’s amusement is obvious as she hands me a towel with a loving smile.
“You win again, Joseph.”
“I will always win, Mom.”
I remember how sad her smile was that day, which was not unusual for Mom.
She never said anything, but it was part of her soul.
A burden she carried around with her and attempted to disguise from us.
But I caught her empty expression when she gazed at us sometimes.
The way she bit her lip when our father issued punishments because of the slightest misdemeanors.
She tried to protect us from this life, but she was resigned to the fact that it was never going to happen.
“I hate you.”
Zac stumbles onto the terrace, and Mom hands him a towel with a grin. “I take it you are referring to my son and not me, Zachariah.”
He blushes a deep red and mumbles, “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was referring to Joe, but please don’t tell my father.”
Once again, a fleeting expression of sadness reflects in her smile, and she shakes her head. “Of course not. Go and enjoy your lunch. I instructed the chef to prepare your favorite.”
It always struck me how she held a soft spot for Zac. She always treated him like her fifth son, and it never bothered me at all. We were all he had outside of his father, and I suppose it was the kindness in Mom that reached out to the motherless child who lived in our home.
* * *
I jump, the present returning and my happiness fading back to a time when I didn’t realize how painful life can be.
An old movie is on the screen, replacing the game, and I glance at the clock on the side. 2 am.
Two hours tonight. I must have been tired.
I rake my fingers through my hair, slightly longer than my brother’s, reminding me I always did prefer to be different to them.
It’s still evening in New York; perhaps I should call Mom. It’s been a while, and she is the only woman who is ever concerned about me.
“Joseph.”
She answers immediately, and her familiar warmth reaches out across the Atlantic Ocean.
“How are you, Mom?”
“I’m good, thanks. More importantly, how are you?”
“I’m good.”
Lying has always come easily to me, especially when it concerns her. I never let on how fucked up I am because anything that causes her worry is like a knife in my heart.
“And your guest? I hope that you are treating her right?”
A hard edge creeps into her voice, and I wonder what she would say if she saw exactly how I am treating my guest, as she calls her.
Images of Tiffany tucked up sleeping in the hard single bed in the attic room entertain me. The way I finger fucked her in front of a couple of strangers and forced her to watch a knife fight to almost death. Mom would not be impressed, so I say carefully, “She is settling in well.”
“I hope so, Joseph, because if I hear to the contrary, I will be angry.”
I smile because Mom has the softest heart inside a hard exterior. She is a formidable woman who accepts no mistreatment of women, which is ironic when her husband has a mistress and yet loves her with a fierce intensity; we have never been in any doubt of that.
“I have a question.”
As always, my mind reverts to business, and I waste no more words on pleasantries.
“What can you tell me about a woman named Serenity Woods?”
Silence is my answer, and I wait, unwilling to fill it with words.
“Why do you ask?”
Her tone is guarded.
“She visited Sister Agatha recently, and Spencer informs me that you were friends at Canton House, along with Sister Agatha.”
“Spencer is right.”
I can only imagine Mom’s expression right now. She will be angry because she doesn’t like her business being under scrutiny.
“We were friends. All three of us and she was probably just visiting Agatha when she was in the area. Why do you ask?”
“Because Sister Agatha referenced giving the Zaferelli keys to a woman.”
“She told you that?”
Mom sounds guarded, and even though I can’t see her face, I can tell by the tone of her voice that she knows something.
“I want to know what woman and why, and I wondered if you could help me with that.”
Her silence tells me she’s thinking hard, and I prepare myself for lies, avoidance, and anger, even.
Instead, she sighs. “Joseph. You always question everything. Is it not possible that Serenity was merely visiting an old friend? It could be anyone. The convent is full of women. Are you certain it was a visitor who Agatha gave the keys to ?”
She makes a valid point; one I hadn’t considered until now, and I revisit the conversation I had with Sister Agatha only this morning, which seems unbelievable considering how far we’ve traveled.
“It was for the best. When you find the answers, the truth will present itself, and the keys are too valuable to hand to a stranger.”
My mind turns to Tiffany, and I wonder if she has any ideas, vowing to ask her tomorrow. Spencer must also run a check on every nun in that convent because Mom is right, we must have missed something.
“Joseph.”
Her soft voice is full of concern.
“Go to bed. It must be nearly three in the morning there. You’ve had a long day, and this can’t be good for you.”
“I’m okay.”
“I insist.”
I hate her concern.
“Fine. I’ll grab some sleep. Good night, Mom.”
“Good night, honey. Don’t be a stranger.”
I cut the call, and my heart is cold as I drag myself up the stairs to my bed.
I envy a person’s ability to sleep without their demons haunting their nightmares.
To sleep is to die, and as the pain of the past stabs me, much like the fighter did his victim earlier, I bleed out inside.
Death replacing life in my soul as I come to the realization that I have been dead for quite some time.