Page 4 of Blood Queen
“That sucks. I mean, school isn’t exactly fun but if I were stuck at home with my parents twenty-four-seven, I’d kill myself.”
I keep walking. He lopes along behind me. He’s obviously prone to dramatics.
“Hey, slow down, will ya?” he says. I pause for a moment to let him catch up.
“What?” I ask, exasperated.
“I’m just trying to be friendly,” he says.
I study him, curiosity swelling inside me. His tan skin, easy smile and strong muscles suit him. I could be friends with him. I could ask him questions. We could hang out. Maybe jump off the bridge together and then get a hamburger or fries. I could understand what it’s like to be a normal teenager. He raises an eyebrow at me and smirks. The sun catches his eyes and makes the green in them brighter.
I flush, realizing all that is a fantasy.
Papa would never let it happen.
“I have to go,” I say.
As I stomp my way back to the truck, I hear him holler: “Name’s Truman, by the way.”
The whole way home I roll his name over in my mouth , silently testing out the feel of it.
3
Present
Iwatch as he swings aside a painting that hides a safe. He presses his thumb against the bio-metric pad and retrieves a wad of cash from it. He slides the money into an envelope and hands it to me.
“Thanks,” I say and tuck it in my purse. He stares a moment too long in my direction. The scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, so I turn away and head onto the balcony. Each step I take, my heels make a harsh metallic noise, like little hammers on marble.
Standing on the balcony, my back to him, staring out at the ocean and sandy beach, I let myself falter in my capabilities. I wasn’t sure I could pull this off. What did I understand about this world I’d thrust myself into? What difference could one person make? Orange and gold smeared the sky with late setting sun.
Two rows of palms line the driveway to the East. The balconies line all back windows of the enormous andostentatious house. I suck in a breath and nearly choke on the thick humid air. From the corner of my eye, Leonardo wipes his neck with a soda can. He’s so crass. Always fighting to fit into this life. Everything about him is repulsive.
“The heat is atrocious today,” he says. I nod. His dark, freshly pressed suit masks the obvious realities of his line of work. A dangerous buzz hovers around him and it does nothing to ease my stomach. I had been dragged out with some girls last night on a tour of the clubs, so I felt like trash when I was suddenly woken by my phone on my nightstand. Exhaustion is a serious condition and doesn’t play well with duty.
And duty had called bright and early.
Leonardo closes the short distance between us. I’ve waited patiently for years now and I’m so close, but that also means I’m vulnerable. One wrong move and I could be six feet under.
“As a Testa, you’ve got a moral duty, and you did good today, Evany. You’ve got that mercilessness gene in your DNA.” I roll my shoulders back, tits up, trying to convey pride at his words though I feel none. Leonardo Testa has probably been underestimated all his life. I won’t make that mistake. “I’m going to make you a one-time offer. There’ll be no questions, no discussion, and no negotiation. When I’m done talking, I only want to hear one of two words out of you; yes or no. Just one of those words.”
This is how professionals work. In demands. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“I have a job for you.”
“I already have a job,” I say.
Leonardo grabs my wrist. “I told you to keep quiet. I told you to not speak until I finished.”
“Yes, Uncle,” I say.
In this world, you don’t get to become what you want, you become what they want. Defense is key. If you can’t defendyourself, no one will do it for you, and as a woman in this world, a princess, amobprincess, I know better than to open my mouth out of turn unless it’s to eat. Women in this family cannot afford to look weak. Leonardo’s on a tirade now, rambling on about love, ambition and loyalty. The same words he always jams down my throat. It doesn’t bother me anymore.
I understand my uncle.
“So what have you got for me to do?” I ask, donning a saccharine smile. I watch as condensation stipples the sides of the soda can he holds and notice for the umpteenth time the nub on his left hand where his ring finger used to be.
“We deal in swift, lethal justice. We are the judge and jury. Three bullets to the back so he can still have an open casket. No one escapes this. No one gets away.”I can and I will,I think. “Danza’s, Wednesday at nine. Roberto Leonetti.”
