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Amelia---Late Night

I scratch my head, the tension in my neck at a new level of intensity, as I stare at the file in front of me. Duncan had dropped it off earlier, warning me that I likely wouldn’t be happy with its contents. Nothing is easy right now. I have spent every second of the last five years establishing myself as the leader of this Family, ensuring every single piece of vermin knew what would happen if they crossed me, if they challenged my rule.

I sold my soul when I took my father’s seat and have paid the devil since.

Now, my own men are fueling rumors, emboldened to start whispers of dissent. I have tempered them, but I do not know how long I can keep a lid on things while the face staring up at me is alive.

Alonzo Medina.

He’s been bold lately, leaving messages, and taunting me with threats of a takeover. The man is delusional. I can almost guarantee that if a man were in my position, Medina wouldn’t be so brazen. He is new, freshly appointed as Don, and very much making a power move. My fingers drum the desk, the black polish chipped on my left index finger. I lift it, rotating to examine the nail. Fuck . Another manicure down the drain. Why I try to keep up with having freshly painted nails is beyond me. It isn’t like I keep my hands clean anyway. While the other Families have their hands in drugs and in trafficking, I am simply trying my best to keep ours legal ish . We are the suppliers of weapons to the Outfits, and I have been investing in small businesses with above-board cash so that one day, we’d be clean.

My mind turns to Rhodes and the way his shoulders flexed in that green shirt this morning at breakfast. He’d knocked at my door, coffee in hand, and I hadn’t minded the way he now fits in my space. I need to tell him who I am– what I am. I need him safe, and no matter how I move my men, there isn’t a way of doing that without letting him in completely.

My hand goes to my mouth, rubbing until resting with my chin in the palm, and my eyes stare at the photo in front of me. I don’t have much on my desk that gives insight to my personal life, but this photo? This photo belongs. It is Rhodes and me, smiles wide, and you can feel the connection between us. We’re both in our comfiest sweatshirts, hair messy and our eyes are bright. He’d snapped it the other day with my Polaroid camera, placing it in my hand as I walked out the door.

This is the last thing I need. He is the last thing I need, and yet, is everything I cannot replace. I pick up my phone, dialing his number, hoping he doesn’t pick up. I just need to hear his voice, and I’m betting he’s asleep, since it is past midnight. I feel heat pricking behind my eyes as the phone rings.

“Hello?” Gods, the gravel in his voice.

“Hi Rhodes. You okay?” I whisper, despite my office being soundproof. I hadn’t planned what I’d say if he picked up, but there is a small piece of me that is glad I get to hear his voice.

He clears his throat, and I picture the way his large fingers wipe the sleep from his face. “Yeah. You okay?”

“Yep. Just missing you.” My voice breaks at the very end. I find myself wishing I was home instead of here, wishing I was wrapped around the solid muscle of Rhodes instead of shifting in my seat.

“Hang on.”

I wait, unsure of what is happening when a video call comes across my screen. I rub my palm hard into the sockets of my eyes, hoping the tears welling there cease by the time my finger swipes to answer. His face is slightly covered by shadows but my body relaxes at the sight of him.

“Why do you look like you’re crying? What’s bothering you, kochanie ?”

“I’m not crying. I’m just tired and out of coffee. What are you still doing up, Rhodes?”

I watch as his blue eyes search my face, his gaze darkening as he takes me in. I’m sure I look fantastic, just the picture of beauty. I’m also not entirely convinced that he believes what I’ve said. His stare lands on my lips, and then a heartbeat later, I hear him shuffle, the rustling of sheets coming through the speakers. Rhodes always makes sure we video-chat each night before bed, no matter the time. We’ve spent countless hours together, doing mundane things like flicking through channels on the television or dancing in my moonlit kitchen. Not once has Rhodes complained about the lack of excitement in our relationship.

The man sleeps bare-chested, a pair of sweatshorts slung low on his hips, and I thoroughly support this, but right now? Now, I hate being able to feel the planes of his chest, the way his biceps flex and his waist tapers under the sheets. He still thinks that I work odd hours, and I am hoping to carry that lie as long as I can. I’d told him that I’m in the trade business—that my clients worked globally. It normally works; I can typically be home by eleven and then work before the sun is up, coordinating my men and making sure everything is secure as it should be.

It is as if his days start, and end, with me.

“I couldn’t sleep. I missed our couch time tonight.”

I allow a slight smile to break through, liking how easy that came from him. I did enjoy sitting with him, usually my feet in his lap. The safety he exudes soothes my jagged edges.

“I just think you like my bed better, Rhodes. It’s okay to admit it.”

He grins, those blue eyes lighting up in the dark.

“You do have really nice blankets. And we both know that Lennon is a blanket all his own. We’ll have to double up on the snuggles next time I see you.” He pauses before locking his gaze firmly on mine. “Now, why are you upset?”

I sigh, squeezing my shoulders together before diverting my eyes from his.

“I hate how well you can read me right now. I’m just overwhelmed, and there isn’t anything anyone else can do to help. I just want to be home.”

I hear him hum through the phone. “What is overwhelming you, kochanie ?”

“There is someone who wants everything I’ve worked for to crumble, and I cannot let that happen. How do I fight that, Rhodes? ”

“Are they your competition?”

“You could say that.”

“What does Duncan think?”

I had told Rhodes that Duncan worked with me and that he was often someone that I bounced decisions off of. I couldn’t let Rhodes in completely, but given the way Duncan is integrated into my life, I had to give up something. Rhodes is perceptive, inquisitive to a fault. So, as a result, I told him how Parker and I are life-long best friends, that Parker is married to Duncan, and that Duncan is my most trusted advisor.

“He isn’t happy with it. I honestly think if much more goes wrong, Duncan will fly off the handle.”

Rhodes clears his throat before answering, his voice shooting straight to my core. “If there is one thing I know, it is that you cannot let up off this person’s neck. They hit you, you fight back, kochanie . I’m sure they have a weakness you can find.” I glance up at him, my lips parting on a breath. I feel my brows come together as a plan formulates.

“Maybe.”

“You are one of the most cunning people I know, Amelia. If anyone can shut this down, it is you.” He yawns, bringing one arm to rest above his head, and my core warms at the sight of his bicep. Rhodes is the kind of man you don’t mess with, but I have never felt safer than when he has those arms curled around me. I feel like he could hold me together if I ever broke completely.

“Go back to bed, Ro.” The guilt I feel for keeping him awake is consuming, but before I spiral into the feeling, I see a sleepy smile on his face. “What?” I ask.

“You called me Ro.”

“Go to bed.”

“You gave me a nickname. You like me, don’t you? You let it slip last time. You meant it just now.”

I shake my head, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach.

“I’m hanging up now.”

“You like me. You like me. You liiiiiike me.” He sing-songs, humor dancing along his face, those blue ocean eyes sparkling.

I let the smile break out across my lips. “Goodnight, Ro.”

He chuckles, the joy echoing in the quiet. “Goodnight, kochanie .”

I end the call, setting my phone on my desk. I don’t deserve him, and I know I can’t keep him. I mull over what Rhodes had said. Surely, Medina has a weakness. I can’t exploit a relationship because there isn’t one. I can’t plant a mole in his men. That would take away from my numbers, and I’m not trusting of my own men at the moment. I stare at the wall, its textured paint the color of a forest at night, and I run through Medina’s hierarchy. He just took over control and seems like a bit of a loose cannon. I don’t know if he has chosen an Underboss, I don’t know who his Capos are, and I’m not sure on the size of his Outfit. I do know that unless Medina has something to hold over the men, it takes time to establish loyalty. There is a chance he’d kept a few of the faithful from the previous Don.

Biting my lip, I remember my father dealing with that Outfit, an older gentleman attending meetings in place of the Don. I don’t recall him being an Underboss, but perhaps he was more of a Consigliere. Consiglieres were like a keymaster; they advised the Dons in decisions and courses of action, but the men didn’t typically implement the resultant actions. Instead, they held the persuasion like keys in their pocket, navigating the chessboard full of landmines.

That man would be my way in.

I shoot Duncan a text, telling him to call me. It is late, but Duncan’s job never stops, so I know he’ll pick up. I bounce my foot, anticipation of Duncan’s call getting the best of me. I need this to be over. I need Medina eliminated in whatever capacity—by whichever method—I can. My phone rings, and I answer, putting the phone on speaker, cutting straight to the chase.

“I want Medina dead.” I hear Duncan chuckle and a rustling of sheets comes over the line. “I am not kidding, Duncan. I want him out of the game.”

“I can’t kill someone I can’t find, Ames,” he says warily.

“What was that old man’s name? The one who advised the previous Don?”

Duncan is quiet, and I know he’s trying to catch up to what I have planned in my head. I’m usually two steps ahead of everyone, and Duncan is one step behind me.

“Jimmy?”

“Sure.” I shift in my chair, slipping my shoes off and tucking my feet under me. “Did Medina clean the house out, or are some of the old men still around?”

“As far as I know, he’s cleaned house. Jimmy might have convinced Medina to allow him the option of staying. He’s pretty persuasive, if I recall.” I play with a strand of hair, rubbing it along my fingers as I contemplate my next move. If Medina kept Jimmy, I might have a chance if I can convince him to meet with me.

“Can you get a meeting with him?” Duncan sighs, and I smirk, knowing he’s over my questions and antics late at night. I do what I want, and he just helps along the way.

“Can I do that in the morning?”

I glance at the clock on my computer and decide to have a little fun.

“Technically, it is morning.”

“You know what I mean, Ames. May I go back to bed and reach out to Jimmy when I have a full breakfast in me?”

“Duncan.”

“Ames. Nothing will change in,” he pauses, and I know he just checked the time on his phone, “three hours. Go home, go to bed. I’ll contact him in the morning.”

“Fine.” I huff, understanding what he’s saying but also trying to not be annoyed at his relaxed response. “I expect confirmation, you know.”

“I know, boss. I’ll get it set up.” Duncan ends the call and I loudly exhale.

Curling up in my chair, I grab a blanket from the basket I keep nearby for this reason. There isn’t a point in going back to my house only for my alarm to sound in a few hours. I have to come back here for trade calls anyway. This is why I demanded my office to be finished in a commanding but comforting vibe. When I took over after my father’s death, I had my family home renovated–-starting with this office. Anything that reminded me of my childhood was removed and in its place, I made sure everything was intentional but still soft.

This room is a reflection of how I feel when I need to remind people of the monster I have within me. I can’t be a mouse here; I have to be someone with a spine of steel, uncompromising in all regards. There is no Ames, only The Fox. Their worst nightmare moves her chess pieces within these walls. The walls are a dark green, almost black. All the furniture is harshly composed, unyielding in comfort. Two chairs sit before my desk and neither is cushioned. Nothing to the common eye screams ease.

When it is just me though? I pull the blankets out and light a candle to ease the hardness the Mafia demands. There is a drawer at my desk where I keep a stash of candy, mostly sour hard candies, and a pair of soft wool socks.

I take one last look at the clock and feel my eyes start to get heavy. Pulling the velvet fabric over me, I tuck myself in and try to sleep.