Game(11)

Instant leverage when I talked to Fiore.

I reached down and brushed a piece of her dark hair from her face. What was it about women sleeping that made them look even prettier? Like their entire bodies were finally relaxed, no make up and fluff stuff going on, their bodies able to just be there in their natural beauty.

Except Shayna was beyond natural beauty. She was too beautiful for her own good. For my own good. And that was a problem.

My thumb grazed her cheek and I put my other hand to her pillow. As I leaned down, the smell of warm sleep started to pull at me, daring me to catch some more z’s, only this time I’d be next to Shayna. I knew damn well that if I really got into bed with her, we wouldn’t be sleeping. I had to keep that line uncrossed. I had to stay a mile away from that line.

So I stood up and put my foot on the bed. I gave it a kick a few times until Shayna started to stir. She rolled to her back and the covers moved down her body a little. She was wearing a shirt, but it was pretty obvious she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her nipples pressed through the shirt.

Jesus Christ… I better make it two miles away from that line.



~



“Are you good?” I asked. “Full? You need coffee?”

“No,” she said. “I’m fine. Thanks for…”

“This isn’t a please and thank you thing. I’m putting you in front of Fiore. Do you understand that?”

Shayna nodded. She ran a hand through her hair. She looked really good. It was amazing how beautiful she could be right now considering she was wearing some of my old clothes. She had no make up on and managed to fix her bedhead with some water. She had an old pair of my sunglasses on that she had found in the living room somewhere.

“I got it,” she said.

“This guy is a big deal. He’s connected to family. He has connections…”

“So does Zander,” Shayna said. “If you’re trying to tell me in a round about way that he’s in the mob, I get it. That’s who Zander is. I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen people caught, tortured, and killed. I’ve seen fights. It hasn’t been pleasant.”

“Then why?” I asked. “Why even be there?”

“Because.”

That was that.

I let it go for now.

I drove from the highway to the streets to the upscale neighborhood. The houses got bigger by the minute. And Fiore had the biggest house built up on a ridge. He owned half the town, probably more than that of the state, not to mention his blood ran through Nevada and across the rest of the country all the way to New York City. And then it went international.

Fiore was that important. He would know Zander. He would see the value in having Shayna around. Or so I hoped.

“So he’s going to ask you things,” I said. “You have to answer truthfully.”

“Finn, I get it.”

I pulled my truck over. Guilt had officially settled in and gotten the best of me. I put it in park and turned to Shayna. I touched her shoulder. “Listen to me. I’m in a bad spot here. And I’m not asking you to bail me out. But if you want to get away from that guy, this is a chance to do it. If you think you need to go back, tell me right now.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Shayna said.

“You always have a choice.”

“Zander will kill me.”

“Fiore might kill you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

The guilt lifted - a little - and I started to drive again.

I wasn’t just bringing Shayna to talk to Fiore.

I was going to offer her to him… to do whatever the hell he wanted.



~



Fiore took the cigar from his mouth and made circles of smoke. He put it down on the edge of the desk and stood up. He had a putting green next to his desk. It was set up for a shot. He took his club and lined up the shot. Gently, he pulled his arms to the side and then released the shot. The golfball rolled with a soft precision.

If it goes in, he’s not going to kill me…

It hit the edge of the hole, looked like it was going to fall in, but then jumped the edge and stopped.

Fuck.

“Eh,” Fiore said. “My hands are too shaky anymore. Too much stress, Finn.” Fiore dropped the club and looked at me. “Too much goddamn stress.”

I nodded. I knew when not to speak around Fiore. This had nothing to do with missing a putt or being stressed. It was what I did.

“You don’t want to talk?”

“I’m waiting for you,” I said.

“Your face looks wrong.” He walked along the desk and then leaned against it, in front of me. “What happened?”

“Thought about telling you a lie, Fiore. But then I figured… f*ck it.”

“Fuck it,” Fiore said. “I’ve got a few billion dollars to look after. So I say f*ck it. I have a family to care for. A grieving daughter. An empire to look after with nobody to give it to when I die. So I say f*ck it.”

“What I mean,” I said, “was that I’m not here to lie to you. I f*cked up. Okay? I went for a few drinks and ended up somewhere bad.”

Fiore laughed. A deep, hearty laugh. The kind of laugh he used to have when he was with his wife, daughter, son-in-law, and only grandson. Only half those people were alive right now. That’s the stress Fiore carried, which was simply his need to grieve but his fight to hide it to make sure he looked strong.