Chapter Two

Campbell

IT WAS A given that Sofia would be surprised, but the wary edge to her expression is sharper than I planned for. Part of what she does is disguise my existence from everyone else, providing a commonplace mask so the government and law enforcement never catch on to the assassin in their midst. On tax and census forms, I’m just another American veteran who founded my own business after leaving the service, consulting on matters of security around the world.

But the flip side of that is avoiding real connections at any cost. Someone who gets to know me too well could strip the lacquer off my life and discover the violent rot underneath, putting the two of us in equal danger. Sofia is the best lawyer I know, but in the eyes of the law, covering my tracks is tantamount to putting a bullet in the back of someone’s head. The tradeoff is a 15 percent retainer on my contracts, and the life of the man I executed for her shortly after she and I met.

“I’m aware of the risks,” is what I decide to say out loud, “but this is important to Justine. And you can’t wipe her off the books like you do for me.”

Justine has history everywhere: her college degree from Barnard, the tangle of life-changing truths from her marriage, a home in the suburbs, and the art gallery owned and operated under her name. Each instance is another sticky thread, spiraling out into a web of information that makes Justine far easier to track in comparison. Of course, that’s not her fault, but the longer she and I spend together, the more bleeds over into the artifice of my life.

“Which is exactly why it’s dangerous,” Sofia replies. “But you know that, don’t you?”

Tension ripples through Justine’s fingers where they’re interlaced with mine. I roll my thumb along the tightest line of muscle in her palm, unraveling a knot of stress there. She knew this was bound to be a complicated conversation.

“I feel like being entirely alone for years on end brings suspicion on its own,” I say.

Irritation creases Sofia’s brow. “No one’s come knocking on my door over it.”

“Because you’re a successful woman running a law firm who looks like she eats men for breakfast.” Which she does, in the purest sense of feeding the ones who wrong her family into the American prison system. “I look rich, unattached, and capable. And my tastes come with a libido to match.”

“Your only conceivable flaw,” Sofia drawls.

“They told me no one’s to your taste,” Justine chimes in, the note of humor easing her hold on my hand.

That gets me a searing look from Sofia, but the fire doesn’t catch. “Well, I certainly tried. Dating men annoyed me. Dating women bored me. I never tried anyone like Campbell, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t make much difference.”

“Probably not,” I add with a chuckle. “But you also have a family to guard your reputation. Your mother. Cousins, uncles. That isn’t an option on my end.”

“But her family might be,” Sofia says after a long moment of contemplation. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? Another normal piece of the puzzle, blending right in. Especially since you have an apartment in New York.”

Technically, she has an apartment in New York, as I don’t live there. The space is rented out under the Cattaneo business umbrella in my name, sitting empty except for the necessities needed for appearances. I travel so many days a year for work it doesn’t make sense to keep going back. Since Justine and I started dating, most of my spare nights have been spent with her in Chicago.

“Exactly,” I say.

“And you’re okay with this?” Sofia directs her question to Justine. “Your parents can never know what Campbell does. Or even a hint of what the two of you did. No codes, no secret messages, no implications because you're sure Mommy and Daddy will understand. Trust me, the only way that sticks is if the whole family is in on the deal like mine.”

The Cattaneos swore allegiance to La Cosa Nostra after the Great Depression decades ago when made men were cutting bloody swathes through East Coast commerce. They’ve been full-blooded Mafia ever since, scheming under the aegis of the five head families. I don’t know the extent of Sofia’s racketeering and money laundering connections; those details aren’t a relevant factor in our friendship. She can’t swear in formally—they don’t accept women, even now—but with her father years dead, aggressive litigation is the only reason the Cattaneo line hasn’t been butchered and sold off for parts.

“Campbell mentioned your—” Justine searches for a word, tongue darting out to wet her lip. “—heritage. Is that the right way to put it?”

Sofia laughs softly. “Close enough. That’s what they really care about, when the cards crash down. And everything you’ve heard about what we’re like? Make it ten times worse. Then maybe you’ll be in the ballpark.”

A little dramatic, but not inaccurate, I suppose.

“Well, my parents are nothing like that. They’ve never had so much as a parking citation, which is something considering my father has to show up at the New York Harbor every day.” Justine smiles. “There’s no reason the police or anyone else should care what Campbell and I do when we visit.”

“Were they born here?” Sofia asks.

“Chengdu, actually. First step was green cards, then ten years of burning cash at the altar of immigration enforcement until they decided my parents could call themselves citizens.” Bitterness, justified in its heat, cuts through Justine’s tone. “The kind of American Dream story that gets good press.”

“Fair enough.” Our food arrives, and Sofia waits to take a sip of her espresso before adding, “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Justine. But my experience is that lying to good people is a lot more difficult. Fucking with someone you hate is easy. There’s no guilt.”

She’s right, although it’s nice to hear Sofia express any sort of trust. The feeling never comes easy to her, but once it leaves a mark, she wears the connection like a brand. On the other hand, I’m very used to lying to good people and content to take the blame if Justine can’t risk subterfuge. Since we’ve gotten together, she’s asked me for so little; if seeing her parents makes her happy, saying no is out of the question.

“I won’t put Campbell in danger,” Justine insists, stirring the remnants of the dissolved nest in broth with a gentle golden tint before taking a small bite. “Oh, that’s good. I was sure they’d be faking it.”

“If they were faking it at a hundred dollars a bowl, I’d get a refund,” I say, then start to cut into my steak. “So what do you say, Sofia? Stay another night at the hotel here and fly out with us tomorrow.”

I watch her meticulously build an array of salmon on her toast, drizzling sauce to her satisfaction before taking a huge bite. After a contemplative swallow, the tightness around Sofia’s mouth fades, and she lets out a soft laugh. “Sure. I just had to figure out what about this was driving me crazy.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

“We never do anything outside our work together, Campbell. I’ve known you six damn years, and we don’t even celebrate each other’s birthdays.” Justine winces, but Sofia smiles and continues. “It’s nice, I guess. Knowing you’re capable of such a thing.”

I blink. “You never told me you wanted to celebrate your birthday.”

“You’re my only friend, you asshole. Who else would I spend the time with?” Sofia gestures with her cup to Justine. “Unless you want me to start running off with your girlfriend.”

“Justine can run off with whoever she wants, as long as she comes back to me,” I note.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she huffs, nudging me with her elbow. “The three of us can celebrate together—if both of your egos can fit in the same room.”

Sofia almost chokes on her salmon, and I take the greater part of valor by returning to my own meal. The sirloin is overpriced but delicious, although I can only focus so much on the taste when Justine guides my hand under the table to her thigh, where I can feel the band of a garter through the silken fabric of her dress. Being reminded of our plans brings a much darker hunger to the fore, but just as primal.

I’d devour her here right now if I could.

Except the wait is half the game, and I plan to play to the very last move. So I draw my nails up to the notch of Justine’s hip, watching her breath catch and release, then return to my food and talking with Sofia as if nothing happened. If I have to blank my expression while thinking about Justine begging and dripping wet with her body underneath mine, no one will be the wiser.

The fact is, she’s the one who consumes me. Killing for the woman I love is a simple equation, but giving Justine the life she deserves? It may as well be the only thing I think about. Not only to fill the grave Richard dug for her but to plant the seeds of something new, so her life blossoms exactly the way she wants it to. My beautiful artist with her clever hands and switchblade wit, surviving with a heart far more kind than my own.

“Do you need a ride to your hotel?” I ask Sofia once our plates are clear. “Or are you going to play tourist?”

“I might check in with a cousin or two,” she says. “The Chicago Outfit is still kicking around this city. And they need plenty of reminders that their brothers in New York are always keeping an eye on them.”

Organized crime sounds so desperately exhausting. I have no idea how she handles their mess on top of real court cases, much less minding my killing field. “Okay. Then I’ll go take care of the check. Send me the itinerary once you have a flight out tomorrow.”

As I’m walking away from the table, Justine comments, “I see they don’t let you pay for anything either.”

“And I have more money than God,” Sofia jokes. “But it’s one of the ways Campbell shows affection, so I won’t turn them down.”

What can I say? When you grow up hanging a single precarious inch over the spiked pit of poverty, the ability to provide for the people in your life takes on a certain weight. I was too late the first time it would have mattered.

Justine is waiting for me by the time I return to the table, excitement shining in dark eyes. I offer my arm, and hers slips in, shoulder pressing close to mine. She’s styled like a mourning widow, but the color comes to Justine by nature, the long black curtain of her hair draped around the tight collar of her dress. I want to tug the buttons open, bare the echo and imprint of my teeth from the night before, but the chance will come soon enough.

“Have fun, lovebirds.” Sofia plucks a cigarette out of her purse and lights it, casting fine Tuscan tobacco into the air. “Try not to make a crime scene in the next twenty-four hours.”

Actually, I’m going back to one of my old ones. “I’ll be good.”

“No, you won’t,” Justine says under her breath as we step into the elevator. “Every look you gave me over breakfast veered on obscene.”

I hoped she would notice. “If there wasn’t a camera right above the doors in here, I’d show you just how obscene I plan to be.”

She bites her lip, pupils flaring wide, and only the thinnest veneer of propriety keeps me from teasing further. Reluctance radiates from Justine’s entire body as she lets go of my arm to get in the car, only to reclaim my hand the moment I start the engine.

“Where’s your paperwork from this morning?” I ask.

“Down under the seat. It’s going in the lockbox as soon as we’re home.” She purses her lips, curious. “Why?”

I meet her gaze in the rearview mirror, letting a slice of my own hunger show. “Just didn’t want to ruin anything important.”

Her nails bite into my palm, but I don’t mind. We can leave any marks we want on each other now, and it would be hypocritical of me to tease her for doing what I revel in on a nightly basis. That flicker of pain proves that Justine is going to soak through her panties by the time I really get my hands on her.

Thankfully, the drive out of the city is short. Justine’s house resembles the rest on the block: designed for property value over aesthetic, hemmed in by HOA bylaws to ensure nothing threatens their clean white veneer. She loathes it as much as I do and started planting a near-wild garden a few weeks ago in flagrant violation of their rules. I’d like to see them come after her for it, especially if they’re expecting a demure housewife.

I park in the driveway and get out to open her door, becoming Justine’s shadow as she recovers a set of keys from the bottom of her purse. She opens up the front the same way she does every day, but the moment we’re across the threshold, I close the door and set both locks: knob and deadbolt. Two little clicks between her and freedom.

“You should put down what you’re holding,” I whisper, pressing up against Justine’s back as she slips off her shoes. “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

The manila folder hits tile with a soft slap. Her keys follow, clatter quieted by the leather weight of Justine’s purse tumbling after. She takes custody of my wrist, and I let her move me, fingertips drawn up the inside of one stocking-clad thigh and underneath the hem of her dress. I’m guided to one taut band of the garter belt, where a folded length of velvet is trapped against Justine’s skin. My prize has been hidden for hours, a constant reminder of what would happen the second she came home.

“Make me forget,” Justine says, breathless. “Take everything away.”

I offer one last gentle touch, kissing the top of her hair. “You know what to say if you need this to stop?”

“Yes.” Her hand slips off mine, surrendering control over what comes next. “I’m pretty good with colors.”

Tease. “I know you are. And it’s the only thing that will save you. Because I’m not stopping for anything else.”

One harsh tug yanks the velvet free, and I seize an end in each hand to drag the fabric up along the top of Justine’s thighs, the soft plane of her stomach, over the fine arc of both breasts. When it hooks around her throat like a garrote, she gasps, and I pull tighter, trapping her pulse against the sleek restraint. Her life in my hands, her love in my heart. I pull until her body is arched against mine, limbs slack in surrender, breath stoppered despite her every base instinct pleading for me to let go.

Every instinct but one. Ten seconds feels like hours when death is an inch away.

When I relax my grip, Justine staggers, every inhale raked out of her lungs. Another shiver pushes her hips against mine, but I resist the urge to grind back. She’ll have to earn that, and we’ve just gotten started. I rub the loop of velvet along Justine’s trembling throat, then over her chin, sliding it up and wide across both eyes. Tying the blindfold is simple work, but I take my time with an implacable knot, ensuring not even a sliver of light can slip in.

Once she’s properly bound, I give an order, the first of many to come: “Walk.”