Page 6 of The Fox

It didn’t help that he’d seen me at my lowest. Duncan had been in my life for almost as long as Parker. He’d been there the day I had been abused, cleaning me up while I shook from the adrenaline coursing through my veins, my body very much in fight or flight. And now, he’s my second. The son of a Capo, Duncan knows the inner workings of my organization nearly as intimately as I do.

“Parker mentioned that she was dropping off Chinese and then something about sour candies being picked up too?” He smirks, waiting for my response. We both knew that I would find a carry-out bag on my doorstep, filled with lo mein and spring rolls.

“Of course she did. She’s too good for me, Duncan.”

“She’s too good for the both of us.”

I meet his eyes and slouch in my chair. Distractions get you killed in this life and I need to know where the asshole I am currently hunting is.

“Medina?”

Duncan crosses the room before dipping into the green velvet chair in front of my desk. I pull one leg up to rest my foot on the seat of my chair and drape my arm on it, waiting for him to respond.

“Alonzo was last seen two weeks ago. There haven’t been any reports of him being within our territory, but I don’t trust it. A few others seem wary of him as well; there are increased inquiries into running trades with us instead of him.” He pauses, gauging my reaction. “I did hear a rumor of him meeting with Denaro but Denaro claims it was a one-sided conversation.”

I spin my knife between my fingers, contemplating what Duncan just said. The Mafia is a fickle thing, built much like a house of cards in a tornado. One single misstep and it all crumbles. Tossing the blade onto my desk, I rub my hand along my lips. I don’t have much of a move unless Medina strikes first; making the first move means declaring war and I’d much rather declare him finished instead.

“What does Seamus say?” I watch him. Seamus is Parker’s uncle and the head of the Irish Mob. There is a bit of bad blood there as Parker had renounced her claim to any ties with the O’Donnelly Family when she married Duncan. “Has Medina approached him?”

“No. Seamus has been quiet.”

“I will not deal in skin, Duncan.” My voice is lethal, a mere whisper. “It will not touch this city. I will wage war before that happens.”

The Families typically operate under one of three veins of income: skin, drugs, or weapons. Of the six, O’Donnelly and Sidorov are the other leaders who deal in weapons. All other Families are involved in the movement and selling of drugs or of skin. Denaro and Allegeri are drug runners, fueling epidemics in their territories. Medina is the only one involved in more sinister things.

“We’ll find him, Ames. He can’t hide forever.”

I stand, turning my back to Duncan, and run my fingers along the spines of the tomes sitting stoically. I stop at a picture of my dad and me in this very room. I couldn’t be more than nine, barely old enough to start understanding the darkness in my life. I’m wearing a dress I’m sure I hated and my father has his hand on my shoulder, a power move to remind me to behave. There is no joy reflected back to me, just duty. Obligation. A shiver runs down my spine as I feel the disappointment of my father sink in. Taking a deep breath, I straighten.

“No one crosses our border. I want every man questioned.” I turn slowly to face Duncan, who is now standing and waiting for the command.

“Find him.”

CHAPTER 6

Amelia---His Name is Rhodes, Not Asshole

I should have grabbed an umbrella. You’d think having lived here my whole life, I’d be used to the unpredictability of our weather. But here I am, running into The Morning Medusa in the hopes I don’t get completely drenched.

I hear the bell chime as the door opens, and I walk straight to my spot, thankful as ever Parker knows how much I hate talking to people. My hair is wet, I feel the slickness under my boots from the rain, and I am not amused.

I feelhiseyes on me, but I don’t have the patience today.

Parker was kind enough to inform me that his name is Rhodes, not “asshole’. Well Rhodes can keep his damn eyes on his coffee and off me.

CHAPTER 7

Rhodes---Gentle Goes the Way

She is breathtaking, even after being caught in the rain. I watch as she stomps her feet and shakes out her hair, smirking at her annoyance. She makes her way inside, muttering something I can’t quite hear under her breath. It is probably about me, given the look Parker is shooting my way.

I barely turn in my seat, tracking her as she weaves to her spot. Gods, she is gorgeous. There is a confidence about her, the way she carries herself like a shield against the world. She perches, her back to the wall, and pulls out a well worn and about half-read book. Her hair falls across her face as she tugs the sleeves of the maroon sweater from her leather jacket, her boots finding their spot on the chair crossbar. At some point in the next two hours, she’ll retrieve the licorice bites from her bag and she’ll cover her hands with her sleeves while picking at the cuticles, occasionally biting at one. She never gets up from the table, never deviates from routine, and not a single person will approach her. Her orbit is impenetrable, which only makes me want to shake her loose—to play this game with her.

I return to my crossword, occasionally looking around at the patrons passing me. As I finish the last clue, I glance at the clock, noting that she’s about to start packing up. I drain the last bit of coffee, now cold from sitting, and wait. I hear her approach, murmuring to herself about how she is finally warm and that she doesn’t want to go back out in the rain.

I move the same time she does, loving the way her eyes widen and her chest expands with a deep breath. I make her nervous, skittish almost. We meet near the front, my hand brushing against the soft leather of her jacket as I reach to hold the door open. The distrust is evident on her face, as I note her hand clenching and then relaxing again only for her index finger to run itself along her thumbnail. Her nails are the deepest green today and I spy the end of ink on her wrist, trailing up into the sleeve of her jacket. I immediately want to trace the line, exploring her as I memorize every stroke of her beauty. As I appreciate the masterpiece of curves and softness in a harsh world.

“Here. Let me walk you to your car.” I wrap my hand around the handle, pulling it toward us. She stops, her spine going straight. It is as if being this close to me is uncomfortable for her. I take a half step back, giving her room as her eyes scan the skies and sighing as she wets her lips.

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