I shake my head and turn, walking along Fifth to head towards Park Avenue. The library? She likes it there. Fuck knows why, but Torino sits outside that place for hours sometimes waiting for her to finish whatever she’s doing. She says reading, all kinds of shit apparently. It's true from what I know. It works, too. I’ve seen her dive into conversations with governors about law and justice, watched the way she uses that information to twist a conversation to my benefit, or deliberate some new cuisine the world’s only just heard of with their wives, inciting invites for us to come over and eat. Another benefit to me when I need it. Hope Winters, for whatever reason, lives and breathes for me. Not just because I make her either—she does it because she excels at it.
Perhaps she gives a damn more than I think she does.
Not that she expresses that with anything other than fucking and obedience, which is just what I asked her for in the beginning.
I cross over Madison and wait for the lights, eyes searching the streets for something to interest me as much as yesterday's carnage. Nothing does. It’s just a run of the same meager people in their everyday lives, most of them willing some lottery jackpot win so they can live like I do. A woman looks at me, a coy smile on her face as if I might be interested in fucking her, perhaps giving her some of the wealth I’ve amassed. I shove my hands in my pockets and ignore her, bored with the sight of her and wanting nothing more than someone I can engage with at my level.
Maybe that’s why the Cane boys interest me so much. I can be real with them. Dirty. The same as the streets I came from before all this posturing and manipulating borders started to get what I want.
My smile broadens at the thought, amused at myself. I thought I enjoyed not doing that these days, thought that was what all this was about. Sure, they all know not to cross me, and what happens if they do, but it’s not me who uses the weapons anymore. Hasn’t been for some time. I can’t be seen to get my hands dirty like that, can’t risk the lawyers getting involved and taking my power from me. It’s only when they look at Hope that I lose my shit enough to remember that past of mine, but I can still feel my grip on the piece under my jacket. Still feel it resonating and reminding me where this all began.
My feet eventually wander up the library steps, eyes looking at the lions reigning over the area. Interesting that they’re there really, given my little wild cat’s love for this place. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out she stares them down as she walks past, her own eyes like stone and ice as she does. I chuckle at the image and keep moving, bypassing the main lobby to head into the back quarters. The engine room is what I want, the conductor specifically.
“Good day, sir. How can I help?” the receptionist says.
I don’t answer. I walk on by, not waiting for the sound of her heels following me. I open the old door myself and stroll right on in, no care for any inconvenience it might cause. His head looks up at me, eyes wide as I turn up in front of his desk, hands still in my pockets.
“I need you to shut this place down early.” He looks behind me and stands, his hand waving at the receptionist who obviously thinks she should have stopped me. The door closes again. Good.
“Vico, I can’t just—”
“Yes, you can.” His hand goes to his forehead, pinching his brow.
“When will this stop, Vico?” It won’t. I stare, uninterested in any conversation other than him doing as he’s told and getting the public out of here. He fusses with his tie, loosening his collar and coming round to my side of the desk. “You can’t hold this over me for the rest of my life.”
I smirk. I can. “Embezzling public funds is against the law, Greg.”
I turn and walk out again; damn sure those words alone are enough to have him scurrying after me and doing exactly what I want. He does, a little less self-importance in his tone as he sidles up next to me.
“When?” he asks. Idiot.
“Now.”
He veers left away from me, a huff coming as a last shove at his annoyance with me. Fuck him. He shouldn’t have let his mouth loose when he was drinking three years ago. It’s been useful to me over the time I’ve known Hope. Not that she knows she’s being watched on occasion, but she is.
There’s a public address announcement within a few minutes; the words include an early closure due to heating issues. I wander through to the main space, calling through to order in from Tonletti’s Bistro on Lexington. Two steaks, both medium rare, and sides, to be here in—I check my watch—half an hour with all the trimmings for a meal.
I sit for that half an hour or so watching as the people file out, books and folders under their arms, and look around the main rooms wondering what she finds so enamoring about this place. It’s nothing but attractive architecture and a vault of knowledge, something I thought she just used for her advantage, or mine, but maybe it’s more than that. Maybe she likes the atmosphere here. It's quiet, even when people are about. Peaceful.
The guys eventually come in from Tonletti’s, a trolley coming with them and waiters in uniform doing their thing. I point them over to one of the tables, nodding for them to get on with it.
“Benjamin?” I look over my shoulder at the sound of her voice, eyes drifting from the floor up to get a good look at what she’s chosen for a date. Black heels on those perfect feet of hers, stockings leading me up to loose, black chiffon at her knees. I smirk, wondering if I should get that dress up while we’re in here, let her remember that when I’m not here with her. “What is this?” she asks, nerves in her voice. I carry on up her frame, my body rising with my eyes so I can take in every goddamn inch of her feeling unprepared for something. She flushes slightly at my gaze, her smile not entirely sitting as it usually does.
“A date.”
She fiddles with her bag, trying to hide her nerves. “I don’t understand,” she says, frowning a little. No, I guess she doesn’t. We’ve never had one before.
My hand reaches out for hers, clasping it tightly. It’s another thing she frowns at as I lead her across the space. “Not sure I do either.”
She snickers as I pull out a chair for her and wait for her to sit. I listen to it coming out of her mouth, unused to the sound of it. In fact, I can’t remember it happening at all since those early days.
“You think this is funny?”
“No. I just… Well, it’s not like you,” she says, looking at me and putting her bag on the table as I sit. “This isn’t us.”
“Maybe it should be.” She smiles at that and shakes her head a little, lips widening. I like it.It's warm, real perhaps. “Maybe I’m remembering what it should be.”
“You’ll have me thinking you’re going soft.” Unlikely. “This isn’t any Benjamin I know.”
