Chapter 19

Michael

I’d spent the rest of last night consoling Jane, and I wouldn’t have traded a single damn second. But after having breakfast in the nook with her and sending her off to work, the anger was still pumping through my veins.

I wanted to take that man’s life for hurting her like he did. The strength that it took for her to bloom into the woman that I see her, well, that was something special. Even if she hadn’t overcome all of those tragedies, she came out like a burning star that I couldn’t pull myself from.

After letting Joshua go back to sleep for a few hours, knowing that he’s prone to staying up late into the wee hours, I cleaned up my mess and checked outside for mail.

Tied in green and red gift wrap, with bow-ties and duct tape strapped over their respective mouths, were Romero and Felix. My pulse quickened at the sight of the bruises on their body.

Ligotti wasn’t making this shit easy on me.

***

After hearing how some, apparently Irish, mafioso single handedly disarmed and beat down my men, I had to go and see Rebbecca.

With my father going behind me back like that, I couldn’t forgive him. He was taking this all too far, and he was clearly a fucking sociopath.

Jane was helping me realize that.

The thought of her was like a cool breeze on my heated mind. She brought me this unreal serenity, this vivacious fire.

Parking just outside the Wahlberg Projects on Wahlberg street, I stepped out of my black Lincoln town car, the one that I used to go to rougher parts of the neighborhood. The bustle of Chaos couldn’t be evaded, especially so in the proverbial hood. The two brick project towers were well over 100ft tall, jutting out from the ground in a rust color. They were cracked in places, tagged by local punks looking to make something crude; more complicated graffiti murals were done by local gangs.

Rebbecca lived in the equivalent of a raging dumpster fire, honestly. I walked through the parched, yellow grass that made up the fields on the way to her place. The place was haphazardly cut, only occasionally maintained by the city. Now and again, my foot would find dirt, or ant hills. Worse so was the used condoms and needles and cracked little soldiers of glass, having once contained crack and the likes of that poisonous shit.

Still, I made my way through the filth ridden slums of Wahlberg, witnessing residents far above me hanging laundry out of the window. AC’s ran furiously at all times, humming along to their own various tunes. Coming from around the corner of the neighboring tower, a gaggle of black kids, young and old, made their way through the field moving opposite of me. They chewed on gum; some sipped on what had to be 40’s hidden in a brown bottle. Two of the older ones with longer hair, dressed up in white shirts and baggy black pants, they looked over the shoulder of one of the guy’s hanging out towards the back of the group.

Seems like they were crowding him to get a look at his Kindle Paperwhite E-Reader. I smiled privately at that, knowing that Jane would probably like to own one of those if she didn’t have one.

Striding over to the main door of the tower, I moved inside, catching looks from two white thugs. Couldn’t be a day older than eighteen. Probably slinging crack and keeping track of who was coming and going from the Towers.

Hustling my way up the stairs, my black leather shoes thudded against each creaky, worn step. Sunlight poured in from the grimy, stained windows. Cigarette butts littered the floors as couples and baby mamas got into shouting matches; now and again the pump of rap or hip-hop, or the scream of death metal would bleed through the rooms. How anyone could go about living through their day here was simply beyond me.

Wouldn’t wish this shit on my worst enemies. Of which, I seemed to have a lot lately.

When I got to room two twenty six, I adjusted my suit, brushing back my hair and the sheen of sweat on my head. I pounded on the soil colored door to be sure that she heard me. The face of it had long since been scratched and beaten up, chips of paint scraped off probably a decade ago that nobody wanted to fix. Not a second later and I heard the numerous chain locks being undone just behind it.

Out came Rebbecca in a blue plaid Belle Sleeve top, dressed in form-fitting white ankle pants. Her auburn hair was down, looking messy as it rested past her shoulders.“Michael,” she said my name like I’d just knocked her up and kicked her out on the streets. “I don’t know what you’re doing here--”

“I’m here to make amends,” I interrupted. “For what Jonathan did to you. He went behind my back--”

“No, no I don’t want to hear that,” she had a look of barely contained fury, one that was ready to snap at the slightest moments notice. “If you think you can make this right with money, you can shove it up your remarkably tight ass.”

I straightened out my chest and took in a breath, opting not to make a comment about any of that. I guess a compliment is a compliment, at the end of the day.

Rebbecca put her hand on the silver handle of her door, getting ready to swing it shut in my face. “I’m tired of being shit on by your family, Michael.”

“Listen,” I wanted to rub my temples in that moment. “I know you don’t want it,” I felt my throat tighten up, “but you were the best I’d ever had. Let me pay for your tuition. Please.” She had to know that I was being serious, I was never one to say please. Never one to beg.

Aside from Jane.

Christ, just what witch craft had that girl put on me?

She shook her head at me and twisted her lip into a frown. “I can’t deal with your father,” she told me flatly, “and I can’t deal with this anymore. Put it to charity.”

She slammed the door on me like I’d predicted.

Even with all of her ups and downs, I just lost the hardest worker I’d ever had.

Fuck.

***

The next morning I met Jane for a coffee before we both had to go to work. She grabbed a latte with skim milk, were I ordered an espresso. We each took a seat outside of the local Starbucks, a number of people surrounding us.

I knew that it wouldn’t take long for the press and paparazzi to show up. They were always swarming to put something new in the press, no matter how trashy, true, or untrue.

Jane sipped on her latte and pressed her foot teasingly against my leg. “You don’t normally do this,” she observed.

“Normally no,” I replied, grabbing her foot underneath the table. She tugged and pulled, trying to free herself from my grip. “Better that the public sees me with you, though,” I told her smirking. “Looks like someone wants their foot back.”

She tugged again, laughing a little. “Let go.” I sipped on my espresso casually, grabbing her tighter the more she tried to resist me. “If you break my foot,” she warned.

“Never,” I let go suddenly, having her fumble and knock her knee against the table, nearly spilling her coffee. “Don’t spill your coffee now,” I teased.

She stared daggers at me with those mischievous purple eyes. “Considering spilling it on that highly expensive suit that you’re wearing.”

“This is hand-stitched Italian,” I fired back derisively. Italy would weep if they’d overheard that threat.

Jane gave me the ghost of a smile, and I could sense that she was thinking about our intimate time last night. Just knowing that stirred me between my legs, made my balls ache with the need to fill her again. “So when exactly am I going to meet your father?”

Even with her training and creating a suitable background for her, I wasn’t certain that things would go over well enough. “Not sure,” I told Jane, “sometime after the Bai’Kong Charity Dinner. Regardless, don’t get your hopes up with impressing him.” Some people passed us by on the street, billows of smoke gushing up from the sewer lids; an angered cab driver honked his horn at the blue Pontiac Aztek in front of him, sitting and texting at the green light. “He’s not a people person,” I explained. Even less so when it comes to the women that I date.

“And you are?”

“When it’s the right people,” I countered.

“You’re probably more like him than you even know,” she teased.

“If you’re trying to ruin my espresso you’re doing a fine job of that.”

“Ruining things is what I’m good at,” I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not.

I reached an arm out and grabbed her delicately by the chin, pulling her in firmly for a kiss, noticing someone out on the other side of the street snapping a photo. Her lips tasted exquisite on mine, filling me with a fine fire. “My cock is going to ruin that beautiful pussy of your’s later tonight,” I growled in her ear.

“Michael...” she breathed in a husky, lust laced voice.

The good times were rolling, and for once, things were starting to look up.