Page 97 of Gilded Saint

It’s a soft blur, a nightmarish out-of-body experience where I watch as he gathers three burner phones from the box, places them in an outer coat pocket, lifts a handgun from his desk, and loads the chamber with a steely, unreadable expression. He’s quiet and avoids looking at me, as if by evading me, all issues resolve.

The man who moments earlier tearfully declared his love for me has morphed into a cold, determined stranger.

It was always an arrangement. He’s never lied to me. Yet he’s working for someone in an undercover role. That much is clear. What does it mean? Will he disappear, only to reappear in court to testify against syndicate members? Will he testify against Nick? Or other groups who purchased weapons illegally through him? Did our arrangement aid his efforts to entrap the syndicate? Will my father face charges for shipping illegal cargo, or will those charges be placed against the corporate entity? It’s not like my father loaded the cargo himself.

In a haze, I lean against the balcony, watching Leo descend the stairs to the elevator. When he reaches the floor, he calls, “Collapse the stairs.”

Why? Who does he believe is coming after me? I press the button beneath the railing, and the elevator doors close. The floor vibrates from the shifting of the stairs. Like an earthquake, the vibrations seize on cracks and fracture my chest. It hurts to breathe.

He’s leaving. Maybe not today, but soon he’ll be gone. And once the truth comes out, he’ll be my family’s enemy.

I stumble back to our bedroom, lift my mobile, enter the bathroom, move to run the shower, but stop because background noise won’t make this call safe. It doesn’t matter if I must watch my words. I need to hear Scarlet’s voice.

She picks up on the first ring. We speak about nothing. I can’t open up to her or the dam will break and I’ll tell her everything, and I can’t do that. Not if someone might be listening on her end or monitoring my call. Both scenarios are realistic if thefamigliaor the syndicate suspects Leo is the mole. And based on our premature departure and my observations today, he believes someone suspects him.

He saved me. I’ll die before I do anything to risk his life.

When I’m on the phone with Scarlet, my brother passes her, and she hands me off to him. He sounds happy enough, but we discuss nothing of importance. Our father is away on business, and our mother is somewhere in the house, and somehow that little update transports me to our family home, and I smell the sweet gardenias and feel the salt breeze across my brow.

After the call ends, I curl into a ball in the middle of Leo’s bed. Hours pass, and I eventually move into the den. Perched on an armchair, vibrations filter through the fabric and the stairs slowly expand.

It has to be Leo. He can control the stairs with his phone. But it might not be him. The eerie calmness blanketing me is cognitively unsettling. As the vibrations rumble, I slowly awaken and self-preservation kicks in.

If it’s not him, I’ll run for the panic room. The lift door slides open.

Leo steps out into the foyer. His stern, blank expression tells me which Leo has returned. He climbs the stairs and wordlessly traverses the flat to his office. I follow, and he must sense my presence, because, without a backward glance, he says, “Look at these. Two potential flats. Let me know which you prefer.”

He’s behind his desk, fussing with the keyboard and mouse, and he rotates his monitor.

“That’s where you were? House hunting?”

“Needed to be done. You can’t stay here.”

“Why?”

“It’s not safe.”

“What about my studio?”

“We’ll find you another one.”

“I have an agent. Anyone who wants to find me can find me through my agent.”

He closes his eyes, and his jaw flexes. When his eyelids flicker open, he astutely avoids looking at me. “Your new security detail starts tomorrow. Check out these properties. You don’t like this flat.”

“Who says?”

“Willow.” Exhaustion pierces my name. “You close the blinds in the bedrooms and always stay away from the edge. You don’t like heights.”

True. I dutifully bend to view the photographs on the monitor, although it’s difficult to take in what I’m seeing. If I have to say goodbye to him, I’d prefer to stay in a place that holds memories.

“I can come with you,” I say as I press an arrow for the next photograph. I don’t know why I say it. The words feel pointless, as I inherently understand he will not change his mind.

“No. You can’t.” He steps away from the desk and fiddles with something on a shelf on one wall. Three shelves shift forward, contents firmly planted as if glued to the protruding shelves, to reveal a storage space. He removes a black duffel and drops it on the sofa.

He leaves his office, and I stand there, frozen, inspecting the gap in the wall. Guns hang on the side. Three handguns and two assault rifles.

Leo re-enters with an empty black duffel that is a replica of the stuffed one on the sofa. He unzips the full one and lifts a zipped leather bag.

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