Chapter Eighteen
Sayer
Five Years Ago
Caro moved around my apartment like she lived here. I watched her from the island, wondering if this was the moment to pull out the ring I’d been hiding for over a year.
It wasn’t anything special, a thin platinum band with an inscription on the inside. It was meant to be simple, understated… indestructible. I had picked it with care.
Sure, I could have bought huge diamonds that showed off our wealth and our status, but that wasn’t the point of a wedding ring—it wasn’t the point of marriage.
Love wasn’t meant to be expensive and flashy. Love was soul deep and simple. I wanted a ring that lasted forever. I wanted Caro to put her ring on and feel comfort, home. I wanted her to know that she could buy whatever she wanted in this world, but this ring was set apart, unlike anything else she owned.
She had plenty of glittery jewelry and designer clothes and all the material possessions she could possibly want. I didn’t want this ring to be another thing. I didn’t want it to be one more accessory. It was different. We were different. I’d taken a risk and bought the band I thought she would be proud to wear for the rest of her life.
My fingers burned as I decided whether or not this was the right time. She was humming to herself as she made a sandwich and cleaned up the kitchen as she went. She wore a ripped-up sweatshirt that had cutouts where I could see her silky skin underneath and workout pants that hugged every inch of her, forming to her body in a way that left little to the imagination. Not that I needed to imagine what was under them. I was very well acquainted with her small, tight body. Her hair was pulled back in the way she wore it when she worked out, and she was totally makeup free. She had never been more beautiful.
She bounced on her heels and groaned. “That class murdered my legs. I’m not going to be able to walk straight for a week.”
“What class was it?”
She pulled a Cherry Coke out of the refrigerator and I resisted the urge to remind her that she gave up pop yesterday. “It’s like a boot camp thing. I think the goal is to make us cry.” She glanced at me with a playful smile. “Or puke.”
I frowned, hating the idea of her in that much physical pain. “Whose idea was this?”
“Frankie’s,” she said. “Who else? That girl’s trying to exercise herself to death I think. She’s up to like two or three classes a day. I can’t keep up with her.”
“Two or three classes a day? What for?”
She paused across the island from me, deep in thought. “I don’t know actually. She’s literally always working out though. She’s constantly off to the gym.”
“Is she in really good shape?”
Again, she thought about it long enough that I started to doubt Frankie’s entire gym alibi. “She’s in better shape for sure. I think part of the problem is she’s not eating better. Last night she ate an entire pint of coffee ice cream.”
I must have made a face because she laughed at me. “It’s not that bad! If we’re going to continue this relationship, I really need you to get on board with coffee. I can’t see myself spending the rest of my life with somebody who hates something so good.”
The itch to propose swelled to a fever pitch. I knew she didn’t mean anything by it, that she was just teasing me, but I couldn’t ignore the burning need to make our relationship permanent, to tie her to me legally for the rest of our lives.
That was the last and final step. We were bound together already by love, by our souls, by the brotherhood. But this final step felt unbearably important.
“What are your plans today?” I asked her, already coming up with ways to make this proposal happen. I could take her out tonight, to one of her favorite restaurants. Afterward, we could walk around the Washington Memorial. The cherry blossom trees were in bloom. I’d get down on one knee beneath one.
Or I could cook dinner for her here. She could stay in the clothes she was already wearing. I’d simply slide the ring across the counter and wait for her answer. Then I’d slip it onto her finger and take her right here, on the floor of my kitchen.
My heart pounded double-time in my chest, my adrenaline rushing with anticipation. My wife. The words echoed through my head, beating a victory drum in time with my heart.
She shrugged. “I should go home and shower,” she said. “I don’t have anything clean here.”
How was that possible? How was it possible she still had her own place?
Marriage would fix that. She wouldn’t have an excuse to live with Frankie anymore. She’d have to move in.
“You can wear something of mine,” I suggested, hating the idea of her leaving.
Her head tipped back, and she laughed. “Nothing you have even comes close to fitting me. And what am I going to do about underwear? “
She shouldn’t have said that… now I had one thought on my mind and it didn’t involve her wearing any clothes, clean or not. “Don’t wear any.”
She laughed again. The sound was infectious, pulling a smile from my lips. “That will be unfortunate when my pants fall down.”
“Unfortunate for who?” She smiled, not taking me seriously. I leaned forward, the perfect way to end this day hitting me so hard I felt it physically. “All right, you can go home and shower, but you’ll have to put something nice on afterwards.”
She looked at me incredulously. “Three seconds ago, you wanted me to somehow make your sweatpants work. Now you want me to get dolled up?”
“I’ll take you to the Gallery, tonight. Or the American if you prefer. Even the Smithsonian. You pick.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “The Smithsonian closes at five.”
I shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “Semantics.”
Her head moved slowly back and forth. “You hate art.”
“I love art.” Grinning because she would never believe that, I amended. “I love you.”
“Gus will want to go,” she reminded me.
Gus was the real artist, although it was because of Caro that he even knew anything about it. For as long as I’d known her she’d been obsessed with art, history, opera, symphonies, the ballet and on and on. She was a delicate bird living among wolves. She craved culture and class in a world of depravity and sin.
“Gus is not invited,” I told her firmly. “This is a date. No third wheels allowed.”
“Are you going to pick me up or send a car?”
This was a carefully crafted question that required a clever answer. Usually I would send a car and meet her at our destination. I had appointments this afternoon and it would be difficult to get to her on time, but this was a special night. I needed to make her happy from the very beginning. “I’ll pick you up. At seven.”
She looked down at her sandwich, hiding her smile. Pride swelled in my chest and I resisted the urge to pat myself on the back. “We’ll get drinks at Capitol and spend the night being art critics.”
She leaned forward on her hands, her smile holding a secret. “That’s a pointless game. I already know what you’re going to say.”
“Let’s hear it then. Since you know me so well.”
Making a face that I supposed was me, she deepened her voice and said, “That picture is bad. That sculpture is bad. This art is all bad.”
I laughed, despite myself. “And I’ll love it all because you love it.”
Her eyes softened, like melty chocolate. “Really?”
“Six, as long as you love walking around those uppity galleries and staring at overpriced finger paintings, I’ll walk through them with you. I’ll critique them with you. I’ll buy you as many finger paintings as you want.”
Something changed in her gaze, shifted, deepened, became the most serious version of her. “You’re a good man, Sayer Wesley.”
The words hit me harder than I could have ever anticipated. They washed over me like a tsunami, a violent rush of waves and rock and sand. One minute I was standing tall and then the next I was being tossed in the rocky, unpredictable current, pulled under by forces greater and more dangerous than I could ever be. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. I was lost to the undertow of this woman that held my reason for living in the palm of her hand.
Nobody had ever said that to me. Probably because it wasn’t true. I wasn’t a good man. I was the opposite. I had been born and bred a criminal. I lived my life doing dark deeds and chasing reckless pursuits, with men more sinful than even me. Caro was my one redeeming quality, the one pure and lovely thing I’d spent nearly my whole life trying to tie to me, not only so I wasn’t worthless, but so that my soul wasn’t only tainted and poisoned.
And she thought I was good? It didn’t seem possible.
“I love you,” I told her, unable to think or say anything else.
Her smile was sweet, adoring, utterly perfect. “I love you too.”
An ache spread across my chest, crushing my heart with the intensity of it. I sucked in a breath and forced my lungs to accept the air. “It’s settled then. You go home, get ready and decide where you want to go. I’ll do the thing that I’ve got to do and pick you up at seven.”
She nodded, not bothering to ask me what I needed to do this afternoon. I appreciated her discretion, the way she never pushed me to tell her things I couldn’t reveal. She would make the perfect wife for our kind of business.
She stopped by the chair where I sat to kiss me goodbye. I tugged her against me, tasting salty sweat on her lips. Her hands gripped my shoulders and I loved the way she always clung to me, like she was incapable of staying upright when we kissed, like our intimacy totally upended her.
After she left, I dug for the ring in the back of my closet. It took a few minutes to find it—I had convinced myself some stupid asshole with a death wish had stolen it when I finally opened the right shoe box. I belatedly remembered that I had put it in that box, in that shoe, in that spot… so I wouldn’t forget it.
I checked myself in the mirror before I left my apartment, approving of what reflected back at me, and then headed down to street level.
The bosses wanted me to check in on their lower level management. Boris and Rocco, the two spies, weren’t nearly as effective as they used to be. They were getting old, decomposing in front of our very eyes. The pakhan wanted Atticus and me to be ready to step into their place when the time was right.
I hadn’t been surprised when they’d approached me. It was the most logical step for them. Atticus and I had been priming for the position since we were kids. With Gus readying to step into his dad’s shoes as bookkeeper, we’d be positioned perfectly for a long, happy future as Russian mafia.
Only it would never be enough for me. I didn’t want to be second in command. I wanted the whole fucking operation. There was a lot of work to do before that happened. An entire road of trouble accompanied by turmoil and careful plotting. It would be tricky as hell, but I had full confidence I could do it, that I wouldn’t stop until it was mine.
More reason to make Caro my wife. When we were legally bound and living in the same house, I could finally share all my goals, the plans I’d been piecing together for ten years. She would be the queen of my kingdom, the wise right hand. We would rule together, and she would finally settle into this life, into our life. She would finally see what we could do with it when we were at the top.
Until then, I had to learn this level of the business. That was the thing about knowing where you wanted to go from a young age. I never looked at anything like a pointless job or obnoxious responsibility. Every single day was an opportunity to learn more of the business, more of how the empire ran. Every day I studied the task I’d been given to an obsessive degree, then I filed it away for later use.
I didn’t have a college degree. Hell, I’d barely survived high school. But I had this, a lifetime of school on the streets. And I planned to use every ounce of my knowledge to my advantage.
I shifted my shoulders, trying to get used to the feel of this new skin, the responsibility and heaviness of it, the press of the fucking world on my shoulders. It felt good. I needed to bear the weight evenly. Knowing it would take a minute to adjust to the new responsibility, I also knew I could take on more. I knew I wouldn’t break under the pressure or give into the corruption.
A blue sedan swerved out of traffic and halted against the curb in a dramatic fashion. I let out a slow breath and clenched my hands at my side. They had the worst fucking timing.
Two officers rushed out of the car, flashing badges and handcuffs. “Sayer Wesley,” the younger agent announced loud enough that all of DC could hear, “You’re under arrest.”
The officer seemed familiar. I knew him from somewhere, but it wasn’t local PD. I had most of those guys on our payroll. “On what charges?”
“Prostitution,” he answered, even louder than before.
This asshole was playing a dangerous game. Sure, I knew plenty of working girls, but I never used any of them. Caro would remove my balls and wear them around her neck as a trophy if I even so much as looked at another woman.
Not that I was interested in other women anyway.
“I’ve never paid for sex in my life,” I argued, proud of myself for sounding calm. Unable to stop myself from grinning, I added, “I haven’t needed to.”
“We’re picking you up for soliciting yourself for prostitution,” the officer clarified.
Now I knew something was up. They already had my hands behind my back, clasping them too tightly. The metal cut against my wrists and made it impossible for me to stand comfortably. “This is a fucking joke.”
The officer behind me pushed on the top of my head and I reluctantly ducked into the back of the car. Panic flared to life in my chest.
“You have the right to remain silent,” he told me. “Although I highly suggest you waive that right. You have the right to an attorney. Although I wouldn’t suggest that either.”
This wasn’t right. These guys were not cops. Fuck.
Irish? No, Conlan would have known about it and given me the head’s up. Same for Italians. Luca wouldn’t allow this. Ry might not have cared, but Yakuza only used Yakuza. And these guys were not Yakuza.
I slumped forward to make room for my hands behind me while the pretend officers got in the car. “Who are you?” I asked immediately. “You’re not cops.”
“We’re close enough,” the older partner huffed.
The first officer tossed his hat on the seat beside me and grinned. I knew him now. He’d kept his head down and his face shielded, but now it was painfully clear who he was.
“FBI.” And not just any FBI, Mason fucking Payne.
“Ding, ding, ding!” He turned back around and pulled away from the curb, merging into the heavy DC traffic. “Maybe he’s not such an idiot after all,” Mason told his partner.
His partner gave him a look. “It’s not how smart the kid is. Your pretty face gave you away. It’s why you got pulled from undercover.”
Mason grunted in response. “Well, we can’t all be as ugly as you, Jones.”
Jones laughed at the joke but didn’t add more to the conversation. We drove the rest of the way in silence.
Eventually I found a tolerable enough position to make the ride bearable, but I had to resist the urge to smash my head against the window until it broke.
Nobody said anything as we drove outside of DC proper to an abandoned airstrip in the middle of nowhere. They weren’t going to arrest me.
Their interrogation techniques were more than a little suspect though. It made me curious to see what they’re endgame was.
Mason pulled to a stop at the back of the building and shut the car off. He turned around and glared at me. His partner, Jones, did the same thing.
“I’m not really a prostitute,” I told them. “You can arrest me all you want, but I’m not going to have sex with you.”
Mason’s hard expression turned to a furious scowl. “You think you’re funny?”
I grinned at him. “Fine, I want a cool thousand and I mean it when I say, no kissing.” I turned to Jones. “It’s my one rule. I have to protect myself, you know?”
Jones turned to Mason. “Yeah, he thinks he’s really fucking funny.”
Mason didn’t take his eyes off me. “We’ll see how funny he thinks it is when we arrest his girlfriend.”
My smile disappeared along with whatever patience I had left. I leaned forward, my voice pitched low, threatening. “You don’t have anything on her.”
Mason’s expression turned arrogant and he looked to his partner. “Shit, Jones, we don’t have anything on Caroline Valero. We better call off the investigation.”
“Damn.” Jones whistled. “That sucks.”
Their pathetic act was enough to plant the seed of doubt deep in my chest, spreading it like poison through my blood. “Go on. List out your demands.”
Jones sat back, his hand landing on his chest innocently. “Demands? You’re misreading this entire situation.”
Yeah, that’s why I was handcuffed in the backseat of this junker. “I have shit to do today, gentleman. If you’d kindly get to the point of this little meeting, I would appreciate it.” Most importantly, I had somewhere to be tonight. The engagement ring box burned a hole in my pocket, screaming its existence.
I shifted, hiding it more from their view. I didn’t like the idea of these assholes knowing about it or knowing what I had planned. I didn’t want them anywhere near my life.
“We’re closing in on the syndicate,” Mason said bluntly. “We’re giving you a chance to save yourself when things go down.”
“And your woman,” Jones added before I could say anything.
Letting out an exasperated sigh, I focused on the droopy ceiling. “Listen, I know what you’re doing here. Hell, I even respect you for it. You’re trying to be the best at your job that you know how to be. That’s noble. But, I have nothing to tell you. Caro has nothing to tell you. There’s no reason to mix us up in your blood feud when we can’t give you anything.”
“Are you trying to be dumb?” Mason snarled. “Or does it just come naturally.”
“You know who his dad was, don’t you?” Jones asked darkly.
Mason grunted a laugh. “A lowlife piece of shit.”
Jones turned his attention back to me. “Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
It took everything inside me not to lift my legs and kick these bastards in the face. Fuck them. This apple had fallen so far from the tree, I’d landed on the other side of town poised to take over the whole fucking world.
My body hummed with the need to lash out, to hurt these motherfuckers until they bled. Instead, I held myself perfectly still and raised a bored eyebrow. “You’ve threatened my girl and insulted my family. Are we done now? Or did you want to go after my religion too? “
Mason’s top lip curled back, revealing teeth. “We’re doing you a favor, kid.”
I jerked my shoulders, gesturing at the handcuffs. “It feels like you’re doing me a favor. Thank you.”
He leaned forward, bringing our faces within inches of each other. “Listen, punk, you got messed up with the wrong crowd. We get it. With a dad like yours, we don’t even blame you. Recognize this for what it is—your one and only chance to get your girl out of this mess before it explodes. You love her?” He waited for my response, but I didn’t give him one. “Then do her a fucking favor and give her a chance at a better life.”
Goddamn, his words cut in a way they shouldn’t have. Wasn’t that all that Caro wanted? A better life? I’d been planning to give her one since I met her. I would make it to the top, then she could have the best life she could imagine.
If I was the pakhan, she’d have nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. We’d rule the empire together, side by side. And she would have it all.
Yet, some secret doubt niggled inside me, wrapping cold fingers around my throat in a punishing grip. “And I suppose all you want in return for your kindness is… my life?”
“Your testimony,” Mason amended. “Tell the truth and nothing but the truth on the stand and get the trash you work for off the streets. Clean up DC and give your girl a way out at the same time.”
That wasn’t going to happen. What was their idea of a way out anyway? WITSEC? No fucking thank you.
I’d rather chop my own hands off right now.
No, these buffoons had no idea how to protect anybody from the shit storm they were about to bring down on DC. Did they have any clue what a ripple effect that would have on the rest of the city?
If the Russians were put away, a giant power struggle vortex would open up. The Irish would kill everyone. The Italians would get all their politicians back on their payroll. Yakuza would run rampant. Drugs. Trafficking. Guns… It would be a bloody free for all, and nobody in their right mind would be willing to sit back for fear of the FBI. Every family in the goddamn city would go to war.
They should know this, but they didn’t see themselves clearly enough. They were the good guys. When they did good deeds, good things happened.
Wrong.
So fucking wrong.
Maybe they were good guys, but we lived in a bad, bad world. People acted accordingly.
Instead of saying all that to the idiots though, I shrugged. “How much time do I have to think about it?” It was important to establish a timeline with assholes like these. That way I knew how much time I had to put my plan in place.
“You need to think about this?” Jones laughed. “You think we’re stupid?”
“You’re the ones that picked me up. I didn’t ask for this meeting.”
Mason shrugged. “We’re moving with or without you, Wesley. This offer ends today.”
Trying to pressure me to spill my guts today? They didn’t have shit. And they didn’t have anything on Caro, or they’d have arrested her by now.
And if they had picked her up before she would have told me.
She would have needed to for the sake of protection. We both knew what happened when someone snitched to the feds. We’d seen it happen too many times.
I winked at Mason. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They peppered me with more meaningless questions until they finally gave up and dropped me off in NoMa, the Irish section of town. They probably thought they were insulting me, but that’s because they were stupid.
Grabbing a cab, I went straight to Caro’s apartment. My wrists were sore and I was afraid I smelled like cheap FBI suits, but my entire day had been wasted and I didn’t have time to freshen up.
Caro came down in a tight black dress and sexy heels and I stopped worrying so much about the feds and their baseless claims.
We spent the night in the galleries she loved so much, drinking and laughing. It would have been the perfect night to propose to her. There was even a moment at the end of the night where we had a big room all to ourselves. She was lost in a painting, her hand wrapped around a champagne flute, her eyes drinking in the swirls of paint and secret meaning I couldn’t hope to understand.
The ring sat like a rock in my pocket. All I had to do was turn to her and drop to one knee, but fucking Payne and Jones had planted the doubt that would eventually be my downfall.
I didn’t propose to her.
And two weeks later I was arrested. That night was the beginning of the end.