Devin

 

Devin had felt the nervous energy rolling off of Cara all morning. She’d slept in his bed with him—an unusual sensation since he’d been sleeping alone since Amber died—and her sleep had been restless. When he woke up, she was in the kitchen, the coffeepot already half-empty, and he noticed her taking what Amber would have called “yogic breaths.” A deep inhale through the nose followed by a long, slow exhale through the mouth.

 

It wasn’t until they were in the car, though, that her anxiety finally began to bubble over.

 

“We aren’t going to get whacked, right?” she asked, breaking the silence they’d been sitting in for several minutes.

 

“Whacked?” Devin asked, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Yeah, whacked,” she repeated. “You know? Knocked off. Silenced. Sent to sleep with the fishes.”

 

If Devin hadn’t been so nervous himself, he would have laughed. “No, we will not be whacked. That isn’t how the Morettis handle things. If we were going to be whacked, we’d never see it coming.”

 

Cara whimpered, and Devin realized he’d said the completely wrong thing.

 

“We aren’t going to get whacked though,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her knee reassuringly. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”

 

“Umm, I’ve murdered someone. Two someone’s, actually. And we lied to the capo about which of us killed the first someone. We’ve done a lot of wrong.”

 

Devin shook his head. “You aren’t making any sense, but I can tell you’re freaking out, and you shouldn’t be. Everything will be fine.”

 

“How can you be sure?” she asked, turning towards him, her eyes wide and innocent.

 

Devin thought she looked like a small child, and it made him want to turn the car around, drive straight to the airport, and flee the country. He wanted to get her away from the police and the Morettis and anyone who could ever hurt her. He couldn’t though. Not at the moment. He had to settle his debt with the Morettis, and then they could both be free.

 

Assuming, of course, Cara never found out the truth about the lies Devin had told her. Assuming she never learned how he coerced her into killing a man she didn’t need to kill. Suddenly, Devin felt nervous energy rising up in his own chest, threatening to squish his lungs. He pushed it down through sheer force of will, and looked at Cara, leveling his eyes with hers.

 

“Because I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

 

She smiled at him, her lips pulled to one corner of her mouth, but when she thought Devin wasn’t looking, she balled her hands up in her lap and kneaded them nervously. Normally, Devin would have continued reassuring her, talking her down and keeping her calm as they drove, but his mind was too preoccupied.

 

Somehow the Morettis had found out about Cara. That could mean Devin had been being tailed for days or weeks. If that were the case, what else did they know? What other dirt did they have on him? Did they know about Evan? Where he worked and who for? Having a family member working in law enforcement was a big no-no in the mafia world, and the Morettis could see Evan as a liability.

 

Even if they didn’t know about Evan, there was still a mountain of other things for Devin to be worried about. They could know that he didn’t kill Daniel. They could know that he’d nearly botched his first Bianchi hit and that Cara had done the second. They could punish him for not killing Cara, despite her being the loosest end of all time. And worse still, they could tell Cara everything.

 

They could tell her how Devin had lied to her, deceived her into staying with him. They could tell her that Devin had planned to kill her during his missions. They could, with a few words, ruin everything Devin and Cara had built together in the short time they’d known each other. They could ruin Devin’s second chance at happiness. And as much as he hadn’t wanted to give Cara’s fears any validity, the Morettis really could kill them both.

 

The gates opened as Devin pulled up the drive, and he parked in the alley behind the big house, the early morning sun shining against the white stone and making it look like marble.

 

“Pretty,” Cara said, craning her neck to look at the house, her lower lip tucked into her mouth.

 

Devin nodded. “I suppose. Though it is a bit ostentatious. It screams out, we’re a rich mafia family.”

 

Cara smiled but didn’t laugh. She didn’t seem capable of it. Her eyes were glassy, and she was squeezing her lips together tightly enough that Devin could tell she was holding in tears. As much as he hated seeing her that way, he loved that he recognized the signs.

 

“Everything will be fine,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time.

 

“The sex slavery thing is off the table now, right?” she asked. “And they don’t expect me to have the money to pay them back right now, do they?”

 

She was terrified. She was terrified because of the lies Devin had told her. He wished more than anything that he could come clean. Tell her that he’d made it all up. That in all the years he’d worked for the Morettis, never once had they sold anyone into sex slavery to pay for their husband’s debts. He couldn’t though. And it killed him.

 

“Just don’t mention any of that,” he said, turning to look at her, his hands on her shoulders. “Let me do the talking. Only speak when you are directly spoken to and don’t ask any questions.”

 

These instructions were to try and minimize the chance of Devin’s lies coming out in natural conversation, but also, it was serious advice.

 

The less Cara said in the meeting with the capo, the better they both would be. The Morettis didn’t take kindly to outsiders knowing anything about their hits or their business dealings, and Cara knew a good deal about both.

 

They walked through the back door, and Devin was surprised to find that no one was there waiting for them.

 

“Where do we go?” Cara whispered, looking up and down the hallway.

 

“Follow me,” Devin said. He was trying to look more confident than he felt, hoping the act could translate into reality, and he led Cara down the hallway and up the stairs to the second floor.

 

He’d always been shown up to Cristoff’s office, either by Cristoff or a guard—the Morettis liked to keep things formal—so Devin stared at each door as they passed, trying to remember which one was Cristoff’s. Then, as they neared the middle of the hallway, a muffled voice could be heard coming from one of the rooms. Devin recognized it instantly as Cristoff’s voice. His unusually high-pitched voice was hard to mistake.

 

Devin stopped in front of the door and squeezed Cara’s hand once before knocking on the thick wood. The voice on the other side silenced for a second, mumbled something quickly, and then the door opened. Cristoff smiled, his teeth white and straight, his eyes dark and cold.

 

“Devin. Cara,” he said, nodding to each of them. “Come on in.”

 

Last time Devin had been in Cristoff’s office, there had only been one chair in front of the desk, but now there were two. Devin helped Cara into one and then sat in the other, trying hard to look natural. He chanced a look at Cara, and her face was flat. She was so pale that even her lips looked white.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Cristoff said, tipping his head to Cara. “You’ve been the talk of the compound.”

 

Cara smiled at him, but just as Devin had told her, she said nothing.

 

“It’s not often a civilian helps out on one of our hits,” Cristoff said. Then, turning to Devin, “in fact, I think it’s almost entirely unprecedented. Don’t you think, Devin?”

 

Devin nodded. “Unusual for sure.”

 

“As you can imagine, Cara,” Cristoff said, leaning back and clasping his hands over his stomach, “we like things to stay nice and ordinary around here. It helps us maintain order. Helps us stay under the radar. But even your attendance at this meeting today is rather unprecedented. I can’t remember the last time a non-member walked these halls. It’s not safe for us, you know, in our line of business, to allow just anyone off the street to become familiar with the inner workings of our organization. Do you know the hierarchy of our organization? Has Devin informed you of his position in it?”

 

Cara shook her head, biting her lower lip, her foot tapping on the floor.

 

Cristoff smiled and leaned forward, using his hands to form a triangle in the air. “It works like a pyramid. At the top is the boss. Then, come the consiglieres. And then,” he said, chuckling and pointing to himself, “come the capos, like me. And each capo has a small group of people they manage. Devin is under my management. Do you know who is under Devin?”

 

Again, Cara shook her head.

 

Devin wasn’t sure where the conversation was headed, but he knew it wasn’t anywhere good. Cristoff looked pleased. Very pleased. And that usually meant something terrible was going to happen. Cristoff seemed to draw energy from the pain he could bring other people. It gave him a kind of thrill, and from where Devin sat, it looked like Cristoff was flying high.

 

“No one,” Cristoff said in a whisper, his hand over his mouth even though everyone in the room could hear him. “He doesn’t command anyone or have any power whatsoever. His job is to carry out the orders of those people higher up on the pyramid. So, recruiting you to do his dirty work was a direct violation of our rules. It went against everything we stand for, and if everyone on the bottom of the pyramid acted the way he did, the whole thing could collapse. You see the danger in that, right? In a total collapse of the structure?”

 

Cara nodded, but Cristoff was already talking again.

 

“It’s like a tree. A tree has many branches, but sometimes, for the sake of the tree, you have to snip one off every now and then. Otherwise, the tree will get heavy and weighed down, and then any old storm could roll through and destroy the whole thing. Uproot it. But, if you maintain the limbs, keep them from becoming overgrown, you save the whole tree. The compound is the tree, and Devin has become a rather overgrown branch.”

 

Devin wanted to defend himself, offer up an explanation for his actions, but he knew it would only look like more insubordination. One thing the Morettis valued above everything else was complete and total obedience. Devin had been disobedient enough for a lifetime, so cutting into Cristoff’s clearly planned speech would only make things worse. As hard as it was, he held his tongue and hoped he’d have a chance to speak before Cristoff called someone in to “whack” him.

 

“He didn’t recruit me,” Cara said, her voice soft and nervous.

 

Devin’s head snapped towards her, his eyes wide. She wasn’t supposed to speak. He’d told her not to speak unless directly required. What was she doing?

 

“Pardon?” Cristoff said, putting a hand to his ear and cocking his head towards her.

 

Cara cleared her throat. “Devin didn’t recruit me to do the second hit. I did it on my own.”

 

Cristoff’s eyes narrowed, and his fingers came together in front of his face, forming a point. “And how did you manage that?”

 

Cara looked at Devin, who was practically paralyzed with shock, his face colored with confusion. “I don’t understand…”

 

For the first time, Cristoff looked annoyed. Until this point, he had maintained a threateningly chipper attitude. Now, though, that façade was fading.

 

He sighed. “How did you know about the hit if Devin didn’t recruit you?”

 

Devin looked down at the floor. He couldn’t look at Cara or Cristoff anymore. He could feel it. Everything was moments away from unraveling, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

“I don’t understand,” Cara said. “You recruited me to help with the hit. I knew about it because Devin showed me the file. And the only reason Devin didn’t do the second hit himself was because he nearly died doing the first one. But you have to already know all of this. It was your plan.”

 

Devin looked up at Cristoff only briefly, just long enough to see the smile return to his skinny, angular face.

 

“I recruited you?” Cristoff said, laughing. “Why would I do something like that?”

 

“Because I owe you money,” Cara explained.

 

“You owe me money?”

 

“Well, you or whoever my husband’s gambling debts go to,” Cara said.

 

Cristoff shifted in his seat, his mouth open in a surprised smile. Devin could tell he was enjoying himself now. “You think you have to pay off your husband’s debts? If that were the case, we would never have killed him. We would have just broken his legs until he finally coughed up. No, your husband’s debts were settled with his life, my dear. Where did you get this absurd idea of yours?”

 

Slowly, both Cristoff and Cara turned towards Devin. He could feel their eyes on him but didn’t have the strength to meet them. He didn’t have the strength to look Cara in the face and admit he’d lied. He knew it was cowardly. He knew he should say something. But still, he stayed silent. He clamped his mouth closed and refused to speak, waiting for Cara to turn back to Cristoff, for the two of them to talk themselves through the deception.

 

“There are no debts?” Cara asked.

 

Cristoff shook his head. “None. You owe us nothing.”

 

“You didn’t want me to help with the Bianchi hit?”

 

Cristoff laughed. “No. We don’t ask non-professionals to take anyone out. It’s too much of a risk.”

 

Cara turned to Devin. “Why did you lie to me?”

 

Her voice sounded broken, and Devin wanted to fix it. Wanted to say something nice and patch it up, fill in the cracks. He couldn’t, though. And he knew he would never be able to. There was no way to easily explain his actions.

 

There was no way to explain to Cara how broken he’d felt before meeting her. How resistant to love and change he was. He would never be able to adequately explain how much her presence had changed him. Even though it had only been a little over a week, she had altered him so completely.

 

He was no longer the same person who had made that initial plan. Looking back, Devin couldn’t even remember the man who planned to kill Cara. He found himself angry at his past self, as if he had been an entirely separate person. How could I have ever planned to kill her? he thought.

 

Instead of saying any of that, he sunk down into his seat and shook his head.

 

# # #

 

Cara

 

Cara was raw. It felt like someone had scraped out her insides. Like when she was a kid, and her mom would help her carve a pumpkin. They’d take a grapefruit spoon with serrated edges and gut the insides, pulling out the strings and the seeds. Cara felt like a pumpkin.

 

Devin had lied to her. Had been lying to her. It could have been different if he’d lied to her once, but he’d lied to her a thousand times. Every second they had spent together was a fabrication. Cara could have left the moment Devin untied her. No one wanted money from her. No one was chasing after her. She could have been in another country by now, far away from the police and suspicion.

 

Instead, she was being investigated for her husband’s murder, and she had murdered someone else, too. That thought nearly made her sick. Bile rose up in her throat, and she had to fight to swallow it back down. She’d killed someone. A man she had never met. She’d pressed a gun to his head because of Devin. Because of his lies and deceit. She didn’t know whether to scream or cry.

 

While she spiraled, bits and pieces of a conversation broke through her foggy mind.

 

“—it was inexcusable. You knew the rules and yet—”

 

“—I tried to do what I thought was best. I never intended for things to become so messy—”

 

“—clearly you are a liability, and we can no longer trust you to act in accordance with our wishes and in the best interest of the family—”

 

The words floated in Cara’s brain like chunks of potato in a stew. Occasionally one would rise to the surface and make itself known, but then it would dip back into the broth. She couldn’t differentiate between who was speaking or understand what was being said. She simply sat in her chair in a stunned silence as wave after wave of disbelief and anger and betrayal washed over her.

 

Then, the noise in the room reached a fever pitch, and Cara felt like she’d been awoken from a dream.

 

“You can’t be serious!” Devin shouted, rising from his chair.

 

“This is what you wanted,” Cristoff said, leaning back, trying to look casual, but Cara could see the tension in his shoulders. “You were ready to retire before this job, and now you can. You’re done.”

 

“Let her go, too,” Devin said, pointing to Cara, but not looking at her.

 

“No one is holding her hostage.” Cristoff offered a cool smile to Devin and winked at Cara. She didn’t know why, but a chill ran down her spine.

 

Devin turned to her, his eyes pleading. “Come with me.”

 

Cara looked away from him, staring instead at the wood-paneled walls of Cristoff’s office. She didn’t want to stay in this small room with a man who seemed to take so much pleasure in other’s pain. But she also couldn’t leave with Devin. She couldn’t let him think for even a second that what he had done to her was okay.

 

If the detectives managed to pin Danny’s murder on her, her life was over. That was Devin’s fault. And for all Cara knew, the Morettis considered her a loose end in the Bianchi case, and one of their other hit men was currently being handed a folder with her picture inside. Her life was drastically more complicated, and it was all because of Devin’s lies.

 

He crouched down in front of her, making her look into his face, and placed his hands on her knees. “Please, Cara. Come with me.”

 

She turned away from him. “No.”

 

He leaned in, his voice lowered, though Cara suspected Cristoff could still hear him. “You don’t know what these people are capable of, Cara. If you stay, I can’t guarantee your safety.”

 

“Even if you could guarantee my safety, how could I trust that you meant it?” Cara asked. “I’d rather stay here and take my chances.”

 

His face fell. “Cara, come on—”

 

Cristoff picked up a phone on his desk and pressed a button. “Could you send someone to escort Mr. Caputo out?”

 

Devin looked at Cristoff, his eyes throwing daggers, and then back to Cara. He knew his time was running out, and he was frantic.

 

“Please don’t agree to anything. Don’t make a deal with him.”

 

One loud, quick knock sounded at the door before it opened to reveal a huge man, twice the size of Devin and three times the size of Cristoff. Immediately he turned to Devin, his muscled chest puffed out like he was in a Mr. Universe contest.

 

“You can’t trust any of them,” Devin whispered as he stood up, clearly unwilling to challenge the behemoth standing in the doorway.

 

Cara looked Devin straight in the eyes, unflinching, and said, “I can’t trust you.”

 

Then, the large man grabbed Devin by the elbow and began moving him out the door. Devin ripped his arm away and, without looking back, surged ahead of the guard and through the door.

 

Rather than the room feeling larger now that it was empty, Cara noticed the opposite effect. Alone with Cristoff in the space, it suddenly felt like there was less air.

 

She took a shaky breath and tried to steady herself. As much as she’d wanted Devin gone, out of the room and out of her sight, she felt lost without him. This was his world, not hers. She didn’t know how to talk to these people. She didn’t know what to say or how to act.

 

Suddenly, she worried she’d say all the wrong things. She’d reveal something and end up as fish food. That’s what happened to people who crossed the mafia, right? They were taken out. Like Daniel would have been had she not done it first.

 

“Sorry you had to see that awkward business. But being a leader can sometimes be a little messy. People have to be let go,” Cristoff said.

 

A thought occurred to Cara. “And when you say, ‘let go,’ you mean…?”

 

Cristoff laughed. “Fired. And no, not like a firing squad. Devin is alive and well, believe me. The Morettis will simply no longer require his services.”

 

This was welcome news. Cara had few plans to ever speak to Devin again, but the thought of him being gone felt too permanent. It was like cleaning out her closet. There were some clothes she knew she’d never wear again, and those were easy to get rid of. However, there were other items she hadn’t worn in years, but the idea of not having them in her closet gave her anxiety.

 

What if she needed it one day for an event or a function? What if it suddenly came back in fashion? Those items were relocated to the back of her closet for reevaluation the next time she was motivated enough to declutter her wardrobe. Devin was at the back of the closet right now because she definitely wasn’t emotionally ready to have him permanently removed.

 

“So,” Cristoff said, leaning back in his chair. He did this a lot—leaning back, his hands crossed coolly over him—and Cara thought it was probably some kind of power move. He tried to look as casual as possible, like nothing in the world could bother him. If it looked like he couldn’t be shaken, it looked like he had all the power. “It appears our business together is done.”

 

Could it really be that easy? Cara had assumed there would be a catch or a threat. Surely, she couldn’t just leave. Devin had apparently thought as much, as well, because he’d warned her not to make any deals with Cristoff.

 

“I suppose so,” Cara said, her eyes narrowed. “It was nice meeting y—”

 

“Unless of course, you’d like help with your little problem with the police?”

 

“My little problem?” Cara repeated dumbly.

 

She knew what her problem was with the police. They were investigating her for her husband’s murder. What she didn’t know, however, was whether or not Cristoff knew that. He hadn’t mentioned it in the meeting, and Devin had been sure he’d covered his tracks well enough that the Morettis would never expect she’d killed her own husband. So, remembering Devin’s advice, she decided to say as little as possible.

 

“The investigation. A potential life sentence. They may not have enough evidence to convict you of first-degree murder, but a second-degree murder charge is very likely, and that alone holds a weighty sentence. And you could have gotten off a little easier with a jury considering your history of abuse, but then you went and lied to the police and shacked up with a hit man. Juries have very little sympathy for mafia members.”

 

“But I’m not a mafia member,” Cara said.

 

“Correct,” Cristoff said, a faint smile still playing on his lips. “But Devin is, and now that the police know you two are involved, he will be questioned, and it wouldn’t take much for them to start connecting the dots. We make it a habit to protect those within our ranks, but Devin is no longer in our ranks, as you just witnessed.”

 

There it was. The threat she’d been expecting. Devin was Cara’s alibi, and Cristoff was prepared to throw him under the bus, thereby destroying his credibility and drastically increasing the likelihood of Cara being locked up for life.

 

Not to mention Devin. He’d get the electric chair, or whatever chemical concoction was still legally allowed to be injected into people’s veins. He’d get a death sentence, and although he was a professional hit man, his arrest and capture would be almost exclusively Cara’s fault. Could she live with that?

 

“You said you could help?” Cara asked. She hated saying the words. Hated relying on the slimy man in front of her for assistance. Though she’d only just met him, she knew who he was. His thinly veiled threats and permasmile. He was an abuser. A high-functioning version of Danny.

 

Cristoff was willing to threaten and abuse Cara in whatever way was necessary to get her to do what he wanted, and she was powerless to stop him. Unlike with Danny, she couldn’t just kill Cristoff. As he had explained earlier, there was a hierarchy to the mafia—a family tree of abusers who loved seeking revenge.

 

Even if she could grab the silver metal opener on his desk and plunge it into his carotid artery, she’d never make it out of the building alive. She’d probably never make it out of the room alive. No, her only chance of survival and a life outside of prison was to play his game.

 

Cristoff smiled, his straight, shiny teeth suddenly menacing. “I can. It’s so easy. You help me, and then I help you.”

 

“How?” she asked without missing a beat.

 

She didn’t want to play word games. She didn’t want to hear another of Cristoff’s speeches. She wanted him to get to the point so she could accept whatever offer he made her—because she had no other option—and get out of his stifling office. Though she could feel the air vent blowing at the back of her neck, the room felt hot and stuffy. She wanted out.

 

“Finish the Bianchi job. You already took out one of the targets and Devin took out the other. Now, there is one left, and I hate leaving a job unfinished. You’ve seen the files, and I’d like you to do it. You do that for me, and I will send you wherever you want to go.”

 

“Wherever I want to go?”

 

Cristoff nodded. “Fake IDs and passports are child’s play. You take out the Bianchi’s oldest son, and you will earn yourself an entirely new identity. I’ll even let you choose your new name.”

 

A new identity. A new start. Cara hated how appealing that sounded. There was almost no chance she’d be able to elude the police at this point. They made it clear she wasn’t supposed to leave town, and if she used her own passport, they could track her.

 

They could extradite her back to the US, convict her of murder, lock her up, and throw away the key. Her life would be over. But with a new identity, she could start fresh. As long as she kept a low profile, she could live out her days on an island somewhere.

 

“I kill one person, and you’ll do all that for me? It’s that easy?”

 

“It’s that easy,” Cristoff repeated. “Of course, you have to kill one specific person, but otherwise, yes. We will even pay you handsomely. Give you enough money to get started somewhere new—buy a house, a car, a dog, if you want it. It’s a good deal. I highly suggest you take it.”

 

Cara had never had anything of her own. She’d married Danny when she was young, and he had never allowed her to work. Everything they’d owned was his, and he made sure she knew that. But now, she was being offered the chance to make something of herself. To take back control of her life. One hit, one more life on her hands, and she’d be free.

 

“What if I don’t?” she asked. Cara didn’t know what made her ask the question. As much as she didn’t want to take another life, the life she would be taking was a criminal, a murderer, so the moral repercussions felt minimal. However, she also wanted to feel like it was her decision. Like she was making the choice to enter into this deal with Cristoff purely because she wanted to, not because she had to.

 

Cristoff’s smile waned, his lips pulled to the right, his eyes darkened. “We have an order to things around here. As I explained earlier, the hierarchy is put into place for everyone’s protection. Part of that hierarchy, that system, involves keeping sensitive knowledge in as few hands as necessary. You’ve seen the folder with the hit. You know who we plan to take out and when. If you don’t take this deal and you get arrested, as I suspect is a very likely scenario, you could use this knowledge to earn a plea deal.”

 

“But I wouldn’t—”

 

“It’s not a judgment on your character, dear, but merely an observation of the human condition. We all want to save our own skin, and from what I’ve observed, you are willing to go to great lengths to do just that. And you wouldn’t be the first to rat us out in exchange for a lesser sentence. We’ve lost good men that way. But those experiences have made us cautious. Once you see the folder, you do the job. It’s an unwritten agreement.”

 

“But I didn’t know about—”

 

“I wish that mattered, but it doesn’t,” Cristoff said, his words sharp and final.

 

His meaning was difficult to misinterpret. If she didn’t do the hit, she’d be killed. Bottom line. Suddenly, Cara regretted asking the question. Before, she’d planned to accept the deal, thinking it was a good option. But now, she realized it was her only option. She either killed a man and fled the country or she died. Or, more accurately, she would be murdered.

 

Slowly, she nodded. “Okay. I accept. I’ll do the hit.”

 

Cristoff smiled and clapped his hands together once. “How exciting.”

 

Cara offered him her best smile, but it felt as if her skin were being stretched abnormally thin, as though her face would break apart from the fakeness of it all.

 

How had her life led to this? She tried to remember what it had been like to be afraid of Danny. To live in his house and take his abuse. She tried to remember what it felt like for his car pulling into the driveway to be the scariest thing in the world. But she couldn’t. That felt like another lifetime, another person.

 

Now, everything felt terrifying. Every day there was something new. A new threat, a new fear, a new challenge she had to face. In one short week, her life had been burnt to the ground, and just when she thought it was over, when she was confident the fire had been put out, another match dropped.

 

It was only a matter of time before it consumed her. Before there was nothing left of her but ash.

 

“Yes,” she said. “Very exciting.”