Page 125 of Silent Schemes

I sit in my father’s old leather chair—worn to the shape of a bigger man, still stinks of his cologne and the cheap disinfectant they used to scrub the bloodstain out of the armrest.

On the table: a tumbler of whiskey, warm, and a Polaroid that’s so faded it could be a forgery.

It’s the only picture I kept.

Sienna, sitting on a dock in deep summer, big belly, hair wet and wild, mouth open on a laugh so real it breaks the bones of memory.

Someone else took the picture.

She didn’t know I was always watching.

She wasn’t wearing the mask.

Not yet.

I flip it back and forth, thumb worrying the edge until it starts to fray.

I stare at her face and feel absolutely nothing.

That’s the lie I tell myself every night.

Outside, the city sounds like a dying animal: sirens, tires, distant gunfire echoing off the water.

I drink slowly, letting the burn remind me I’m not dead yet.

When the phone rings, I let it buzz three times before picking up.

I don’t bother with hello. “Talk.”

A voice like gravel, thick with old country: “Varrick. It’s Lombardi. I need a minute of your time.”

I set the glass down. “Your brother’s debt was due last week. Why are you still breathing?”

He laughs, but it’s a death rattle. “Salvatore’s a fuck-up. I know this. But family is family, eh?”

“Five million is a lot of family, Enzo. Where’s my money?”

There’s a pause, the sound of a cigarette flicked against tile. “We can settle this. You want something, I want something. Maybe we talk face to face.”

I glance at the Polaroid, then the fire burning in the grate.

The wood snaps and pops, a chorus of little deaths.

“Tomorrow. My office, eight sharp. Bring your answer, or bring a coffin.”

He hangs up. He knows not to try and negotiate.

I set the phone down, then stare at the photo for a long time.

The urge to tear it sharpens, but that’s not enough.

I want it gone, atomized, stripped from the world the way she stripped me.

I toss it into the fire.

Watch the white edges curl, the center blister.

Sienna’s face warps, cracks, turns into a smear of black on orange.