Saint Haley would have been the sweetest, filthiest one in history.
I go over to the fire and watch the remains of the contract burn. The corners curl in first, toasting into a pleasant brown before black ash spreads from the center and devours them.
Haley’s gone.
I sent her home.
The house feels like a series of shallow breaths. I don’t keep a large staff. Mrs. Page and Gerard each supervise their own small teams. Hers include the kitchen and housekeeping, and his include security and grounds management. There are rarely more than twelve people, including myself, on the property at any given time. It’s quiet here because that’s how I made it.
In Haley’s absence, it’s more than quiet. It’s hollow. Gutted. The fact that she’s not in her room or my room or in my den with a book feels like an amputation. Another impossible thing, to lose what I never had in the first place. I’m losing the illusion of having her. The illusion of any kind of grace. I put a hand on the mantel and watch the final shreds of paper combust. It doesn’t feel like a fucking illusion. It feels like a metal-tipped whip on already damaged skin.
There’s nothing for it.
I go back to the courtyard windows and send a series of mindless emails to the staff in my office. None of their questions make any impression at all. Real estate is a game, and not a particularly interesting one. Its usefulness is mainly in how easy it is to launder money from less savory businesses through shell companies and property purchases. Dirty money in, clean money out. Filter it through a hundred smaller sales that quadruple their money. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.
The Constantines think they own New York City. I own more of the Constantines than they’ll ever realize.
It doesn't matter.
The phone rings in my hand. Not Trenton Alto this time. Another contact. This one is far closer to the Constantines. He looks like one of them. They trust him for it.
"Rick. Good news or bad news?”
The birds have come back to the tree. If Haley was here right now, I might tell her how they are in the early mornings. If you wait on the bench long enough, they’ll flutter down and rest in your open palm.
Rick Joseph Jr. clears his throat. “Caroline’s ordered a hit.”
The smaller robin flies up to the windowsill and lands on the outer ledge. I put a finger to the glass. It pecks playfully at the window. “Really? On who?”
“You.” A long silence. Rick is undoubtedly uncomfortable with it, but I’m not. You have to have feelings to be uncomfortable, and I don’t have any at all right now. Only a hollow spot where all my emotions have been whipped away. “Should I...” He’s at a loss. Rick isn’t the kind of man who takes initiative. He takes opportunities. He takes orders. That’s all. “What should I do?”
“Nothing. Do you know who she’s sending?”
“The bulldog.”
Ronan.
“Fine.” I hang up on him. There’s nothing more to say.
The motivation to save myself is curiously absent. No point in dragging this out. Ronan will come here, or he’ll have to spend the next several days hunting me through the city. All of it would only be a distraction from the fact that I’m dead inside already. Moving the various chess pieces to protect myself would take too much effort to be worth it. I can’t even summon the desire to text Lucian, who would at least make things more complicated for Ronan. No. None of my siblings. Save them the angst over the inevitable. Eva can be pissed at me at the graveside.
I put my phone in my pocket and lean both hands on the windowsill. The robin flutters outside. A flare of pain sparks at the base of my spine. The beginning of the loop. Depending on how fast Ronan works, it could be the final one. It makes me feel almost nostalgic for the misery that’s coming. If I’m going to die, let the pain do its worst. Death will be a sweet relief.
Forehead against the cool glass, I let it work its way up my spine and across my shoulder blades.
A fine time to have a drink.
I’m in the middle of pouring whiskey into a glass on my desk when Gerard comes into the room.
“Someone will be along to kill me shortly,” I tell him. “One of the Constantines’ people. If I were you, I’d leave while there’s time.”
His mouth opens, then closes, the color gone from his skin. “You don’t mean that.”
“Tell Mrs. Page to pack a bag. She’ll need a ride to her sister’s. Kitchen and housekeeping, too. No one will have to worry about salary or benefits for a year. They’ll be paid out automatically from a trust. Any questions, you can ask Eva.”
Gerard shakes his head, speechless.
“I order you to leave, then. I order you to personally clear the staff out of the house and take Mrs. Page to her sister’s. Help her pack her suitcase.”
“This isn’t right.”
“Does dying sound right to you?” The first sip of whiskey burns going down. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Gerard.”
“How is it less stupid for you to die?”
I meet Gerard’s eyes and let the silence grow and grow and grow until it’s infested every breath of air. “Go now, and don’t come back.”
Two red splotches have grown on his cheeks. Gerard’s not a man who cries. He’s unemotional and steady. Even the comings and goings of my sisters don’t bother him. But now his eyes have a sheen.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. On balance, the world will be less evil without me in it. Stop pretending otherwise and go.”
He nods once, then twice, obviously searching for something to say. Gerard never finds anything. He goes out without another word.
“Gerard,” I call.
He pokes his head back in the door.
“Leave the front door unlocked. Every member of the security team goes with you.”
He lets out a sharp breath, like I’ve hit him. Then he really leaves. At first, his footsteps recede at the measured pace he always moves through the house yet. He’s still in earshot when he breaks into a run.
My armchair waits for me by the fire. I sit down with the whiskey and watch the flames tangle around each other. A small tapping from the window draws my attention. The robin watches me with black, shining eyes.
“You should leave, too,” I say. “It won’t be a pretty sight.”
The little bird cocks its head to the side. It doesn’t believe me, clearly. It waits for a few beats longer and takes to the air on reluctant wings.
I stay where I am and wait to die.
24
Haley
We’re sitting on the couch in the living room when Ronan takes a call.
I got my dad to eat and sleep last night. I showered. Changed my clothes. Tossed and turned. Couldn’t sleep. The morning crawled by. The phone call is the only thing to break up the late afternoon.
My dad stares at the floor, not seeming to notice, but Cash picks up his head from where he’s been staring into the fire. We both watch Ronan step toward the front door. “I’m on my way,” he says, and then he comes back into the living room at a brisk pace. “No one leaves this house.” He points specifically at me. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Anyone’s gone, and there will be hell to pay.”