Page 23 of Sapphires and Snakes
And I vow this will be the last.
“This is the angle, huh?” I snort. Tamayo’s hand is close to cutting off circulation with how tight it is around mine. I ignore her caution. “A good man taming the shrew, protecting me from myself. You forgot one thing, Marcus.”
His face is covered in pity. “It’s not an angle, Zarina. It’s the truth.”
“You’re not a good man, Marcus.” I shove off Tamayo’s grip, which moves to my thigh, and hold out my hand. Pat sets a folder in it, and I toss the photos inside onto the table. They land splattered across the wood like bits of brain from a shotgun blast. Dead women, beaten and bloody and discarded, litter the tabletop. “Each of these women was last seen with you before they died. Each of them has bruises on their necks like mine. Each of them was labeled a cold case under the district attorney’s direction.”
Marcus doesn’t even glance at the photos. I didn’t think he would.
Alonso rolls his eyes. “Your point?”
I drop the folder onto the table and cross my one leg over the other. “Marcus Accardi’s reputation precedes him. I’m not a sex worker or a spring breaker or his own mother.”
Marcus’s jaw clenches at that—a crack.Finally.
“I’m Zarina Gallo.” My voice is as imperious as my mother’s. “And I don’t wait for snakes to strike first before I cut off their heads.”
“Again, I don’t see how this relates,” Alonso grumbles.
“You wouldn’t.” I allow myself the low blow, because I’m so fucking angry. “Reputation matters, Mr. Accardi. Especially for us. How could I know I wouldn’t be the next photograph of a dead woman on this table?”
“And what about your reputation, Miss Gallo?” he asks. He hasn’t looked at the buffet of dead women laid out before him, either. Like father, like son. “I know half a dozen men you’ve seduced into a deal or flirted into disclosure. Are you even gay? Or is this a ruse to avoid your duty and ruin your family and mine?”
My rage finally erupts. Lava washing my world in molten reds and yellows and heating up my body from the inside out. Tamayo’s grip on my thigh barely registers as I stand so fast, my chair topples with a clatter. I snatch up the crystal tumbler filled with water I haven’t touched and wind up, aiming the heavy glass at Alonso’s head.
But Darius grabs me by my throwing arm.
The crystal topples out of my hand and lands on the table, spilling water over the photos. The wet spots darken like bloodstains on skin.
“She’s clearly emotional, prone to violence.” Marcus shakes his head, still playing the good man who wants to protect and serve. But I see the smirk at the edge of his lips. I see the mask fraying. “I mean, she even tried to seduce me in the hall—just so she could get close enough to stab me.”
I try to lunge at Marcus. Smashing the crystal tumbler and using the shards to carve his face into ribbons sounds like a good plan. But Darius holds me tight, and I don’t really want to dislocate my shoulder.
“I would sooner stab myself than seduce you,” I spit through clenched teeth.
Marcus leans back in his chair, finally allowing the smirk to stretch his lips as he leers. “That’s not what the video shows.”
I smile so dangerously, I feel deranged. “Let me prove it. Right now.”
Jimmy stands from his chair with a clap of his hands. “I think that’s enough for today.”
TAMAYO
When Pat told me that Zarina was in the training room, I almost didn’t believe them. The Gallo princess working it out in a gym smelling of sweat and rubber? I had to see it. But after watching her pummel the boxing bag with the feral viciousness of a cornered cat, I can’t imagine her not shaping her body into a weapon.
I push off the doorjamb and roll up my sleeves. I’m still in my suit, my jacket thrown over a chair in the kitchen before I walked over here. Zarina doesn’t stop attacking the bag as I slip boxing pads on, pulling the straps tight with my teeth. She finally notices me when I saunter over, bouncing on my toes, and scowls in my direction. Like I’m one of the people she’s imagining as the bag. She bites the Velcro strap of one of her gloves to tug it loose and yank her hand free.
She pulls out her earbuds. “What do you want?”
I hold up both hands, ready to surrender. “Let’s do some combos.”
She blows hair out of her face, pieces plastered to her temple shining with sweat. “Fine.” She tucks her earbuds into the pocket of her joggers and shoves her hand back into the glove bracedbetween her arm and side. “But if I accidentally punch you in the face, that’s your fault.”
I snort. “Deal.”
She yanks the strap tight around her wrist and pats it down with her chin. The bruises on her neck are brighter somehow, like the pump of her blood has fed them. And it only serves to remind me why Zarina is in the training room, punching a bag like it personally wronged her.
This morning’s meeting would be funny if it were a joke. Unfortunately, the only person laughing was Marcus.