Chapter Six
Fifteen Years Ago
The three brothers were speaking in low tones to Ozzie and the two men that were called the two spies—they were the second in command of the organization. Ruthless. Brutal. Terrifying. And also brothers. Twins actually. Rocco and his identical brother, Boris. The six men towered over me, all dominating strength and choking power.
I had never been this close to any of the brothers before, or the two spies. I wasn’t even sure if any of Frankie’s uncles realized I was her only friend. Or that I was the daughter of their recently promoted bookie. Occasionally, my father and Ozzie would work together, but I was still terrified of the man.
And equally as terrified of his son that was currently squeezing my neck so tightly I knew he was going to leave a bruise. He pushed me toward the pakhan and I stumbled over my feet before I righted myself.
“This girl stole from you?” Boris demanded of Atticus.
“She’s a nuisance,” Atticus growled. “I was focused on working. She was in the way. I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been.”
“And that’s her fault?” Dymetrus asked in a low, menacing voice.
Atticus’s expression flattened. “She’s a pickpocket. She steals for her dad. She’s good at what she does.” All of his accusations were true. None of them felt like a compliment.
They were crimes to be punished.
Sins to be judged.
“Your father is the bookie?” Aleksander asked, his eyes on my dad who stood a few yards away, not speaking.
Not defending me.
My chest squeezed, but I managed to answer. “Y-yes. Leon Valero.”
Roman’s eyes narrowed. “And you are?”
“Caro Valero.”
The three brothers shared a meaningful look I couldn’t hope to decipher. “You helped recently with a shipment of TVs?” Rocco asked.
I nodded. “And the shipping container two months ago.” I closed my eyes and willed my nerves to get out of the way of my memory. “And the, the… the thing at the bank.”
“How old are you?” Roman demanded.
My heart dropped to my stomach and started swimming around, doing laps, permanently refusing to go back where it belonged. “T-ten.”
Roman nudged his chin at Atticus. “He’s right that you’re good at what you do, da?”
I shrugged. His question felt like a trap.
Roman didn’t need a better answer than that. “What did you steal from him?”
My hands trembled from fear and I started to sweat. I couldn’t show him. I certainly couldn’t tell him—and not only because I was nervous. This was going to end so badly for me.
“Show him, Caro,” my dad demanded from the distance.
The six men towering over me, glared at my father for speaking without permission. Now I was terrified for his sake.
Just to get their attention back on me, I lifted my hands that were covered by the sleeves of my hoodie. The men turned back to me. Atticus’s grip on my neck tightened. With trembling fingers, I pulled out his wallet.
Atticus snatched it away from me, quickly checking it for money. “There was a hundred-dollar bill in here, Caro.”
His fury made it difficult to swallow. I was playing a risky game. And I was losing.
But before I could retrieve the money, Aleksander spoke up. “Are you telling me that she took your wallet straight from your person. And now, standing before us, she continues to rob you?”
Atticus didn’t respond verbally. His furious glare said everything for him.
“Little girl,” Aleksander laughed, “what courage you have.”
I shook my head quickly. “It-it’s not courage.”
Aleksander continued to stare at me. They all did. With expressions I could not read. I felt like an exotic animal at the zoo, locked away, put on display, expected to perform.
“What were you going to do with the money?” Roman asked in a careful tone.
“Candy,” I lied. “And I want a new doll.” I didn’t, but that’s what all men assumed girls my age wanted.
Atticus made an outraged sound. “Hand it over. The game’s done, Caro. You’ve had your fun, but now you’re caught.”
Except Roman lifted a hand to stop me. “The girl has earned the money.”
Atticus and I were both stunned silent. What?
“No,” Atticus argued after he’d recovered. “That money is mine.”
“And you lost it to a child. That’s your fault, not hers. Let this be a lesson, Atticus. You want to be a vor, but you’re not even aware of common pickpockets.”
I felt Atticus’s defeat rock through his body. If he didn’t hate me before, he would certainly hate me now. And he would definitely murder me.
“Now back to work you go,” Dymetrus ordered. “You’ll need your wages even more after tonight.”
Atticus swallowed thickly, probably the pride that refused to wash itself down, and turned around. But before he’d made it two steps, Roman called after him. “And you’re not to lay a hand on this girl. We are not in the business of hurting children, Atticus. Is that understood?”
I turned just enough to watch Atticus nod stiffly. “I understand,” he said. And then stalked back to his table.
For some idiotic reason, I felt more vulnerable now that Atticus wasn’t here with me. Sure, he wanted to gut me. But he was also the buffer between me and the pakhan. Now it was just me standing before them and I had no idea why they hadn’t dismissed me yet.
“Th-thank y-you,” I told them, deciding that was what they were waiting for.
“What did you really take?” Roman asked. My heart picked up speed, racing in my chest. He stared at me with crystal clear clarity, like he could see right through me, like he could see every thought in my head and unspoken word hiding on my tongue.
The truth sat there, waiting to be confessed. Of course, I would tell him the truth. Lying to Roman Volkov was the stupidest thing I could do.
It was suicide.
He would probably pull out his gun and shoot me right here in front of his men. In front of my dad.
And yet, I couldn’t make myself tell him what he wanted to hear. I’d gotten away with it. Atticus’s wallet had been a distraction and it had worked.
I wasn’t going to give up Sayer’s chain.
I’d earned it.
“His money,” I said, the words wrapped with confidence I didn’t feel.
Roman took a menacing step forward, threatening me with his body. He rippled with power. Cruel intent vibrated off him like a palpable thing in the air. This man wasn’t just dangerous, he was evil. He had the authority to end me. And Sayer. And my dad. He was everything bad guys were made of and he knew I wasn’t telling the truth. “Don’t lie to me.”
My chin lifted in defiance and the lie hiding in my inner being became a feral creature protecting the truth. It prowled back and forth inside me, baring razor-sharp teeth dripping with venom. “You’re my dad’s boss,” I told him. “I would never lie to you.” I turned to my dad, shooting him a terrified look. My eyes begged him to help me.
When I looked back at Roman, his perceptive gaze had narrowed. “Your dad works for me, but do you really know who I am?”
I dropped my eyes, a play of respect, and tucked my hands into my pockets. My fingertips brushed the chain, but I kept my expression the same. “Y-you’re the pakhan.”
“That’s right,” he confirmed gently, softer than I’d ever heard him speak before. He wanted me to trust him, to let down my guard. “I’m the pakhan. Which means I am the ultimate authority. I own all of the men in this warehouse. I own your father. And most of all, I own you. I’ll give you one more chance to tell me the truth, child. Tell me what you took from Atticus and you’ll be free, without consequences. Lie to me again and I will break both of your dad’s hands. Is that what you want? Do you want me to break your father’s hands?”
I hiccupped a sob and it was real. Shaking my head back and forth, I sniffled, “No, please don’t. Please don’t hurt my daddy.”
His voice remained cold, completely devoid of emotion. “Then tell me what you really took from Atticus.”
My lungs shuddered as I tried to steady my breathing. The truth pushed forward in my mouth, demanding that I spill it.
I had no doubt that Roman would follow through with his threat. Boris moved toward my dad, putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.
My dad wasn’t a small man, but Boris towered over him. All bulk and Russian grit, the spy was made of only muscle and hatred. Dad didn’t say anything, but his eyes pleaded with me to give Roman whatever he wanted.
The truth.
The necklace.
Whatever this scary man demanded.
But I knew something my dad didn’t. If I told Roman the truth, my dad would be saved but I wouldn’t be. Boris might break both of my dad’s hand, but he would cut off one of mine. Broken bones healed, but medical science had yet to make a hand regrow. My fate would rest with the man I lied to.
I would risk Dad to save myself. The hardest con game I had played yet.
Letting the tears fall unchecked, I turned back to Roman with a trembling chin. “Please don’t hurt him,” I begged softly. “I didn’t take anything but the wallet.” I sniffled and pulled the money from my pocket. “You can have it. You can have all of it. It’s all I took, I swear.” Roman only stared at me, so I pushed forward, hiccupping more lies until they sounded like truth, until I believed them myself. “It was just a dare. I was bored and I just wanted to do something. It was just a dare to see if I could get his wallet. It was stupid. I’m sorry. Here, take the money. I don’t even want it. I’m so sorry.”
Nobody reached for the money. They didn’t need Atticus’s hundred bucks.
“Who dared you?” Dymetrus asked quietly, his voice hard rock against my soft, mushy tears.
“F-Frankie,” I wailed louder than I needed to. “I’m so sorry.”
The three bosses looked across the warehouse to where their niece still sat against the wall, and back to me.
“Please,” I begged. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never do it again. I swear. I’m so sorry. Please don’t hurt my dad. Please believe me.”
Roman’s expression wrinkled in disgust. “Enough, girl. No more of the useless crying.”
I wiped at my nose with the back of my hand, and took a trembling breath desperate to follow that order. It was difficult, but I managed to stop the flow of tears by keeping my eyes downcast, focused on the floor and not the scary men getting ready to do something awful.
“What do you think, Roman?” Aleksander asked, amusement ringing in his jovial voice. “Is the girl lying? Should we have her father’s hands broken?”
Dymetrus laughed next, the tension miraculously breaking. “It looks as though Boris is dying to break some bones, brother. Maybe we should give him this kindness, da?”
Roman chuckled, low and sinister. “No, brothers, the girl has promised she isn’t lying. I’m inclined to believe her.”
All the men in the half circle let out surprised chuckles. “Is that so?” Ozzie asked.
“She has promised that the money was all she took. Atticus hasn’t claimed that she’s taken anything else. There’s no reason to continue torturing the girl.”
I kept my eyes trained on my shoes, so they wouldn’t see the victory I knew was there. “Th-thank you,” I told them with another sniffle. “Thank you so much.”
“All right, girl, get out of here,” Rocco ordered.
I spun around, my tears already dried and my fear disappearing quickly. There was a smile trying to break free on my face so I determined not to turn around or look at them again. Instead, I threw myself into my dad’s arms and hugged him tightly, burying my face in his flannel jacket that smelled like cigarettes and cheap whiskey.
He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head affectionately. More scheming. More conning.
From both of us.
He started scolding me softly, but I couldn’t hear him. My ears were whooshing with the disbelief that I’d gotten away with it. I’d conned the pakhan.
I’d stolen from Atticus.
“Caroline,” Roman called from behind me.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I half turned my head, keeping my cheek pressed against my dad’s chest. “Yes?”
“You have a gift. I have not seen anyone so young lie so proficiently before,” Roman told me. It was a compliment. And at the same time, it was not at all a compliment. “You are very convincing.”
I immediately started to protest. “I didn’t—”
He held up a hand, cutting me off. “When you get older you will work for me.”
My dad moved me around his body, stepping in front of me. “Roman, that is too generous. Your offer is very kind, but she’s—”
“She will come work for me, Leon,” Roman insisted. “When she is thirteen. That is how many years?” I opened my mouth, but Roman quickly added, “The truth this time, krasivaya devushka.”
“Th-three,” I whispered. “I’m ten.”
“Three years then,” Roman agreed. Then he turned away from me and resumed his discussion with his brothers.
I sucked in a deep breath that felt like life and death all at once.
“Are you an idiot?” My dad hissed against the top of my head as he pressed another kiss there. “Goddamn, Caro, how could you be so careless?”
I stepped back from him, hating him in this moment. This was his fault. Didn’t he see that? He brought me into this world. He kept me here. He regularly made me go on jobs for him. Did he really think I was somehow safe from this life?
I was in a warehouse filled with stolen guns. At midnight. Because he was afraid the Irish would find me if he left me at home.
And this was my fault?
“You’re surprised? And here I thought this was a family business. Just trying to make me dear, old dad proud.” Turning around, I skirted along the edges of the warehouse until I was safe with my friends again—the people as equally forced into this ugly world as I was.
I sat down next to Frankie and laid my head on her shoulder. She didn’t say anything. Gus didn’t either. There was nothing to say.
Out of the three of us, I had been the most likely to escape this world. To get out. And now I was as tied to it as they were. My fate was sealed. I had three years to run away or sell my soul to the devil himself.
We eventually fell asleep, huddled together against the wall. We kept each other warm, and hid each other’s secrets and didn’t speak of the future or what had happened tonight or the sorrow that filled us all.
I didn’t see Sayer again until the guns were all unpacked and loaded into trucks headed in separate directions. I had awoken to find most of the warehouse cleared out. Frankie had left a few hours earlier with her uncles and Gus was nowhere to be seen.
Deciding I should find my dad before he left me, I stretched my stiff legs and set out to search for him. The warehouse was eerily quiet now, littered with trash and the peace these men were leaving behind. War. War with the Irish. We’d be lucky to survive.
Sayer was hiding behind stacks of now empty boxes when I reached the far corner of the warehouse. He reached out when I walked by and grabbed my hand, yanking me behind the cardboard with him.
“Hey,” he hissed. “Are you crazy?”
Too tired to defend myself, I blinked at him and said, “Maybe.” Guess, we were jumping right into it then.
“He could have killed you! Or broken your dad’s hands!”
“I know,” I agreed through a yawn. “But if I had told him the truth he would have done those things no matter what.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sayer snarled. “That was stupid.”
Irritated with him for blaming me, I slammed my hands on my hips. “No, I saved myself. That was smart. You’re the one that lost something important. That makes you the stupid one.”
He made an ugly face. “Yeah, well maybe I should learn to lie like you.”
My eyes bugged. “Uh, yeah! How else do you expect to stay alive? You’re already in the life, so you better figure it out fast. Don’t be stupid anymore. And never, ever get caught.”
His expression softened at the same time his eyes lightened, like a switch had been turned on in them. “You got it?”
Glancing around to make sure nobody was looking at us, I retrieved the necklace from my pocket. It was a simple silver chain with a key looped through. Plain. Simple. Insignificant. But Sayer’s entire body relaxed at the sight of it. “Thank you,” he whispered.
I dropped it into his hand and he closed his fist around it at the same time he closed his eyes. I felt funny looking at him, seeing the relief on his face and the affection he had for this one tiny thing. Sayer felt more for this one necklace than I had ever felt for anything, even my dad. This weird key, necklace thing was something he loved, something he would have found a way to get back by himself had I not offered.
Clearing my throat, I hoped to pull him out of whatever it was that he was doing. I felt uncomfortable. And he had a deal to settle.
“Okay, let’s see it,” I said to him.
His eyes opened, looking truly confused. “See what?”
“The tattoo,” I growled. “It’s your turn. Pay up.”
He rolled his eyes. “You really want to see it?”
“Show it to me already.”
Fastening the necklace around his neck first, he took his sweet time tucking it beneath his T-shirt and then putting his hands on the hem of his shirt.
I felt weird again.
Where was this tattoo?
“All right, you asked for it,” he mumbled.
He began lifting his shirt slowly, revealing a tanned, flat stomach. I quickly glanced around again, embarrassed by everything. Every single thing.
And yet too fascinated to tell him to stop.
He was so different looking than when I first met him. He was clean this time and he didn’t smell bad. Actually, he kind of smelled good. His hair had been trimmed and he’d started to put on weight so he didn’t look like a skeleton anymore.
There was a long scar over the plane of his stomach, reaching from his ribs, across his middle, straight through his belly button. I was fixated on that long, puckered line of white flesh. How had he gotten that? Had it been bad?
Whatever had caused it had to have been bad for it to be that long and pronounced.
I was about to ask him about it, when his shirt lifted all the way over his chest to reveal an orthodox cross just over his heart. I forgot all about his scar in an effort to take in all the details of that tattoo.
The lines were still red and raised and it was shiny from the salve he’d put over it. But it was breathtaking all the same. Darkly beautiful. The old style of cross looked so big on his thin frame, and too mature for his thirteen-year-old body.
It was the mark of the syndicate.
It was his mark as a thief.
He was theirs now, for life.
With one tattoo, he’d sealed his fate.
I had leaned forward without realizing it. Raising a trembling hand, I softly traced the lines of the cross, finding the number six in the center. He sucked in a sharp breath at my touch, his chest jerking, bringing me fully awake to realize I was only a couple inches away from him and my hands were on him.
Blinking up at him, I took a small step back. “Sorry,” I whispered. “It’s pretty.”
He leaned forward, erasing the space I’d just put between us. His blue eyes darkened with laughter. “Pretty?”
“Er, not pretty. I mean, cool. It looks cool.”
“I thought you hated it?” he asked. “I thought you hated this life.”
“I do.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and willed my feet to stay still. “I, uh, I’m just glad you’re not dead.”
His head dropped toward mine. I lifted my face thinking he was going to tell me a secret. “Me too,” he whispered. “I have you to thank for that.”
Then he kissed me.
Kissed me!
My mouth was half open and my eyes were all the way open and I wasn’t expecting it at all. But he didn’t seem to care. His lips brushed mine, and then again, and then for longer. They were so much softer than I expected. And wetter. And my stomach did this weird flipping thing and I thought about kneeing him in the balls, and at the same time asking him to kiss me again.
But before I could do any of that or get my thoughts together or just run away, he murmured, “See you round, Six,” in my ear and walked away.
I stayed there for a long time, until my dad started calling my name because he couldn’t find me.
Sayer Wesley had just kissed me. Sayer Wesley had just kissed me after I’d risked my life to steal his necklace and been promised to the syndicate. And all I could think about was doing it again.
I didn’t care about working for Roman or that Atticus was probably going to try to kill me anyway or how pissed my dad was going to be. Not when I had Sayer to think about.
Not when I had decided that Sayer wasn’t supposed to be in my life, he was supposed to be gone already. Yet here he was, carving out a permanent place for himself in the brotherhood.
And in my heart.