Page 35 of Silent Ties (Ruling Love #1)

Russet

I ’ve heard stories about Fujimori’s. It is to the criminal world what Abbey Road is to musicians. Or Old Trafford to Manchester United fans. An iconic place albeit to a very specific group of people.

Standing here, I realize it’s just a restaurant. The floors, made out of black and white tiles, are polished and clean. The booths are all dark red. Florescent lights flicker. Along the windows, a few green leafy plants create a cozy atmosphere.

A hostess stands behind a small station. She nods toward the back.

I walk between the booths. A few tables are full and straight ahead, along the back wall, I can see into the kitchen. A flame fans out and a younger guy yells at another worker.

I spot Ren Callahan before she looks up.

She’s tucked into a corner near the kitchen and looks at home in the booth, leaning back comfortably. She keeps a planner open in front of her, tapping a pencil to the paper.

A girl in a sweatsuit, with a blonde bun, sits on a chair pulled up. They murmur to each other, the blonde spotting me first.

I grew up on Aunt Macy stories, the old woman as much of an institution as this restaurant. A living legend. She existed long before Lev Zimin and Boris Akatov. She survived while others came and went.

A neutral party they always said. One had to respect her position because even in the world of criminals, some rules must be followed.

I know every job Nancy got came through Aunt Macy. Tyler didn’t talk about it, but I know he went to her for work as well at one point.

I never met the legend while she lived, but people talked when Ren, her niece, took over the business.

Ren Callahan gained the respect of the criminal underworld with one precisely lodged bullet. No one’s fucked with her since.

It helps that she fills an important position. Keeps the triggermen employed, and acts as an intermediary between parties. She runs a smooth operation from what I understand.

But for the life of me, I don’t understand why she called me.

Her head pops up and a warm smile takes over her face.

She’s pretty, with shiny brown hair and bangs I could never pull off.

Her blazer is polished but somehow not out of place in the more casual Fujimori’s.

Maybe that’s because Ren is so deeply ingrained, she herself has become a part of the place.

“Hi,” she greets, in that same confident but friendly voice from the phone.

The girl next to her nods in greeting, her face drawn but not angry.

Ren motions for me to take a seat. There’s a booth on her side of the table, attached to the wall. On my side, there are chairs which give the distinct impression I won’t be here long.

“Thanks for coming in.”

I’m further taken aback by Ren’s manners. When she calls you come. Everyone knows that. But I don’t know why she’s acting like I’m doing her a favor by appearing.

“This is Isolde,” she introduces, pointing to the girl beside her. She nods again but remains silent. “We were just talking about your ambush yesterday.”

Great.

“We’ve watched the footage on repeat.”

There’s footage?

“We hacked the feed,” Ren explains.

Right.

“You’re a good shot.” It takes me a moment to understand Isolde’s accent. I think she’s British.

“Amazing shot!” Ren speaks with her hands and there’s something endearing about it. About her.

I know she wields power but why did the Zimin’s react so strangely when she called?

“The way you walked in there,” Ren continues. “I mean cinematic.”

“Everyone’s talking about it,” Isolde says. “You’re definitely gonna have people wanking over it tonight.”

“Not to mention—”Ren flings a hand up—“shooting Davison’s dick off.”

Isolde nods, her face blank, but in a manner possibly considered enthusiastic. “Seriously, I’m a fan for life. Like the way you shot that cock off.”

I’m unsure of how to respond.

The young guy in the kitchen isn’t yelling anymore. He sticks his head out of the opening in the wall, separating the kitchen and dining area.

“What are we eating ladies?”

Ren looks at me. I stare back.

“Give us the special,” she replies over her shoulder.

“And a beer please, Abe.” A man drops into the booth beside Ren .

“Get the beer yourself,” Abe says to the regular before ducking away.

Isolde takes up the task, standing up and walking through the swinging kitchen door.

I knew Fujimori’s is a family restaurant, but I didn’t expect such a friendly environment. It’s like a fucked up version of Cheers .

The man beside Ren rakes a hand through floppy brown hair. He smiles good-naturedly but sighs tiredly before shrugging out of his leather jacket.

Ren jerks her head towards him. “This is Bennie.”

“Hi.” He holds up his hand.

I nod back.

“He’s a lawyer,” Ren says.

He runs a hand through his hair again. Sitting side by side I catalog their features, wondering if they’re related somehow.

“I’ll admit this is a new one for us.” She closes the planner in front of her, clasping her hands together on the table. She’s ready to talk business. “I’ve never done a will reading before.”

“Will?” I blurt.

“Bennie will do the talking.”

He sets a folder down and opens to some notes. “Right, so here we’ve got the last will and testament of Daisy Montgomery.”

Ren peeks over his shoulder, reading.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting in my chair reeling. “W-what are you talking about?”

Bennie peers up. “Last will and testament of Daisy Montgomery.”

“What is that?” I scoot it forward, not caring that it’s in his hands.

Holy fuck.

The paper is thin and lined. Its edges are crinkled like it’s been ripped from a spiral notebook .

And sure enough, it’s Daisy’s handwriting.

All day I’ve operated on bleak emptiness but now tears threaten again.

“How is this possible?”

I look to them for answers. How did they get this?

Bennie and Ren share a look.

Ren clears her throat. “One of the girls had it. Got it to the Ghost and. . .”

She’s not interested in telling me more about her interaction with the mysterious hitman. That’s fine because I’m struggling enough as it is.

I run a thumb over the paper Daisy once touched.

“It’s valid,” Ben explains. He points to Daisy’s signature and then to two others. “Signed and witnessed.”

It hardly looks official to me, but I take the lawyer’s word for it as I study Daisy’s loopy handwriting. It’s only a page and hardly that.

“I have fuck all,” I read aloud, a painful laugh tightening my chest. Yeah, that sounds like Daisy.

Ren gently points out, “She wanted you to be the one to take care of her daughter if she wasn’t able to.”

I hold the paper away from me, afraid the few tears running down my cheeks will drip on it.

“Are you willing to take custody?” Bennie asks.

I nod and wipe my nose with a balled-up sleeve.

I think of that tiny baby. The Zimins took Daisy to a private hospital. One on their payroll. Daisy. . . It still hurts to think about that lifeless person on the ground. Marissa didn’t just pimp her out. She was brutalized and left for dead.

Yet somehow the baby survived.

She’s mine.

Even when Lev ran his mouth about social services, I knew what I wanted .

“Obviously there’s paperwork’s galore.” Bennie rambles on and I try to keep up.

Ren sits silent, letting him explain. She eyes me the whole time, her green eyes warm yet calculating.

She takes out a cigarette as Bennie finishes up his legal talk.

“Do you want out?”

“What?”

She exhales a breath of smoke. “Do you want out?”

I continue to stare dumbly at her so slowly, she spells it out.

“Do. You. Want. Out. Of. The. Zimin’s?” she asks, taking another drag of tobacco.

Bennie stares down at the table, but I catch the seriousness on his face. He’s biting his words back.

She waits for my response, but I’m silent.

“You didn’t want to marry him right?”

It wasn’t in my immediate life plans, no.

“Marissa’s dead,” she points out. “So what’s keeping you there?”

Max.

I shake my head slightly, not sure how to answer. She does know the Zimins, right?

“Do you want to stay married to him?” she asks. “Because you don’t have to.”

Death over divorce.

Ren shakes her head, smiling lightly as she reads my thoughts. “Fucking Lev Zimin.”

I want to know more about her rivalry with the man.

“Divorce is an option these days.” She toys with a silver lighter. “If you want out I can get you out.”

Of all the things she said, I never expected that one.

Run, a part of me screams. You never had any business getting involved with a mafia prince.

But he’s my prince, the other half says .

Except now I’ve got Daisy’s daughter to think about.

What kind of life do I want for her?

Monsters in the dark already took her mother.

We all live in the gray, sweetheart.

I shiver at Max’s voice.

“What do you mean?” I tentatively ask.

She places her elbows on the table. “Divorces are pretty standard work for lawyers, right?”

Bennie’s face remains blank, but he nods. “If that’s what you want?” he questions me.

Is it?

“They won’t give me one.”

I’m ashamed to read it on Ren’s face. They . Because I’m not just married to Max, but to his entire family.

“I would have nowhere to go.”

Ren shrugs. “Easy enough to sort out.”

“But the baby?” I ask. She’s still at the hospital and knowing Lev, there’s an abundance of bodyguards.

“Legally, they cannot take that baby,” Bennie assures me.

“Legally, Lev doesn’t strike me as giving a fuck,” I retort.

Ren snorts, but her green eyes are serious. “You want out, we’ll get you out.”

“Why do you care?” Is this some kind of play?

“I got fucked over by Lev,” she says. “Everyone knows that. But if you’re worried this is a plot to get back at the family, fuck that. I’m here to help you. You didn’t get to make a choice, but I’m giving you one now.

But I did make a decision. I decided to help Daisy out.

Ren cocks her head to the side. “I’ll help you, if you want.”

It’s no longer about what I want. It’s about what’s best for Daisy’s daughter.

Bennie and Ren are talking, but I slowly stand up. They must notice because I hear movement behind me. The hostess peers at me with concern as I pass her. I’m dimly aware of the bell above the door.

At Marissa’s my senses were crisp. I saw everything, I felt nothing. Now I think I feel too much and that’s why everything is dull and blurry around me.

Max crosses the street, meeting me right outside of Fujimori’s.

He brushes my cheek, worry vibrating off him.

“Do you think we should get a divorce?” I ask.