Page 36 of Heartfelt Pain
I never liked school. I didn’t feel smart enough. Until I owned my own business I never liked math. Now, I love going over a good spreadsheet.
Ben’s the smart one. No one blinked an eye when he not only went to law school but got a full ride. He could work at any law firm in New York. I truly believe that. But he started his own business and those first few years, after Cliff, he spent a lot of time holding my hand.
I needed help. And Bennie’s the one who got me through it.
“You need a refill?” I ask. He likes his coffee scalding and the moment it’s hot, but not burning, he stops drinking it.
There’s a light smile on his lips. He’s good-looking and many a lady have grown disappointed when they learn he’s gay. He runs a hand through his dark brown hair.
“I thought you had court this morning?” I ask over my shoulder. I pour myself a cup of coffee and bring the pot over to top his up.
“Thanks.” His voice is hoarse. Tired eyes and a pale face.
“What’s going on?”
He stares at me.
“Ben,” I prompt.
“You’re kidding right? Someone’s offing your boyfriends and then they show up at your apartment last night? And you’re asking me what’s going on?”
I clasp the hot mug in my hands, pulling warmth from it. “We don’t know if it’s connected.”
“Even if it’s not,” he reasons with a shake of his head. “Isolde told me Roman Zimin was there.”
I don’t know which is darker. The cup of coffee in my hands or the shadows exuding from my cousin. “Yeah, he stopped by to ask a question.”
“A question?”
Specifically, he wanted to know if he could come, but that’s not what I tell Ben. “You know the Russians. They act like their time is more valuable.”
Ben knows it’s not a lie and I rush to add to my point while simultaneously moving the conversation forward.
“You know Boris Akatov wants us to run an analysis on the Irish.”
Ben rubs his lower lip, before reaching for his coffee. An air of studiousness overtakes the worry. “How do you feel about that?”
I take another sip of coffee, savoring the strong flavor. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Ben lifts his brows. “This the same woman who’s fulfilled nearly every request from all her clients? You don’t turn down work, Ren. Ever.”
“I thought you’d agree with me.”
“Oh, I do.” He takes another drink. “If the Russians want to take on the Irish, that’s their business. It’s not for us to decide.”
I nod. “It sounds fun, being a god to the criminal lords, but like you said, it’s not for us to decide.”
It puts us at risk. Having information and sometimes giving it out is one thing. Confirming whether or not taking out someone in a rival criminal syndicate is completely different. Some opinions need to stay close to the chest.
“Ren,” Ben says. “What was Roma really doing at your place last night?”
The coffee hasn’t helped my weary bones. “He wanted to ask me a question.”
It’s not a lie, but Ben certainly looks at me strangely.
“I sent him away.” It’s another truth. “You don’t have to look so worried.”
Ben carefully sets his coffee cup down. There’s a spread of documents in front of him. “I came here because you asked me to. Because you called me in the middle of the night after you’d shot our long lost cousin in the head.”
