Page 90 of Threads That Bind Us
Ben struggles for a moment, but the pain must be overwhelming, because he lets out a cry that fills me with vindictive glee. Emily really has been a godsend with all of this. It’s taken months, but we’ve laid all the evidence we needed to. Manipulated Ben’s accounts to make it seem like he’s withdrawn sizeable sums of cash at regular intervals. Planted rumors with his staff and neighbors that he’s getting involved in even less credible businesses than before.
Maybe I’m cocky, but it feels surprisingly easy to convince the world that Ben would be involved in an unfortunate incident of drug trafficking gone terribly bad.
“Please,” he begs, and I’m relieved we’ve gotten to the bargaining stage. As much as I’m enjoying my vengeance, I’m starving. “Please, I’m sorry about the whole money thing. How about I pay you back for the treatment, huh?”
“You can’t honestly believe that money is the issue here,” Charlie scoffs, and I scratch my nails against his thigh. “I bought this boat just to kill you on. Well, technically,youbought this boat, Ben. But we both know how fickle finances can be.”
I’m lucky enough not to know yet how it feels to face death. I’m sure that I’ll be surprised by my reaction when I do. But I certainly didn’t expect Ben to start bawling. He’s incomprehensible, begging and screaming for his life, with spit and snot mingling with his tears as he chokes on his own saliva. It’s pathetic.
I turn in Charlie's lap and throw my arms around his shoulders, touching my nose to his. He’s so beautiful. I don’t say itenough, but he really is. Hair messy, smile kind, that devoted and lovesick look in his eyes. The feeling in my chest, like I could turn and find him in a crowd no matter how many people surrounded us, is always there. Pulsing like a living thing between us.
“Take me home, Charlie,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his. He presses my body against his, and the sounds of everything around us slip away as he kisses me.
“Anything for you, mio filo,” he says.
An hour later we’re walking along the shore, Emily having dropped us off at a private dock before taking off up the shoreline. On the horizon, there are no emergency boats. No investigation. Not even a ripple where the yacht sunk under the night sky.
Even if there is an inquiry into Ben’s disappearance, there’s nearly one hundred thousand dollars’ worth of cocaine in the hull of that ship, safe in watertight containers. Emily’s permanent career should be alibis and cover stories.
There are never a ton of stars in the D.C. night sky, but as we walk toward where Zane is supposed to meet us, I feel like I see more of them than usual. Bright and winking, they follow us on our path as we walk hand in hand, husband and wife, into the night.
Epilogue One
Gwen
Eight Months Later
My hands are shaking as I clasp them in my lap, trying to hold still so Ana can finish painting my lips a red that matches the stone on my finger. My eyes are closed, but I can hear Kenzie and Clara making polite conversation behind me. Well,Kenzie’sputting in an effort. Even without looking, I can tell Clara is still fuming.
“Okay, all done,” Ana announces, swiping her thumb under my lip once more.
When I open my eyes, I have to blink back tears. Not just because Ana did a wonderful job—she did all of our makeup perfectly—but because of how happy she looks. My beautiful, brilliant, cancer-free sister, caring about the things she should care about, like her application to Carnegie and softball championships.
“Thanks, kid,” I whisper, reaching back to pat her face. She smiles and scrunches her nose at me before brushing my hand away.
“No crying, and no touching faces,” she orders, turning to Clara and Kenzie. “That applies to you, too.”
Clara’s only met Ana once, when she and Emily came for a visit to D.C. last winter. Ostensibly, it was a family Christmas celebration. In reality, we were strategizing about the threat lurking in Gia’s team. The girls had stayed for dinner, and as soon as Ana went to bed, Clara had asked what position we’d like to train her for in The Syndicate.
I was less surprised by the question, and more by Charlie’s reaction. He nearly bit Clara’s head off, vehemently opposed to the idea of Ana ever joining The Syndicate.
“She’s been through enough,” he said, his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulder. “And she’s under no obligation to take any sort of role with us.”
But Clara had just kept her eyes on me, nearly bored with her brother’s outburst.
“She can decide when she’s of age, obviously,” Clara said, sipping her glass of wine. “But you can guide her. She’d be good.”
I have just over a year to decide. And I’m going to take every last moment until her eighteenth birthday to make that choice.
So I recognize that look in Clara’s eyes. For the first time since we started getting ready this morning, she’s not pissed out of her mind. She’s assessing. Watching my little sister as she meticulously cleans her brushes and packs her bag. I catch Clara’s eyes in the mirror I’m sitting in front of and shake my head, but she only smiles. Never a good sign.
“Ana, can you go downstairs and grab my shoes? I left them in our room.”
Despite the fact that we are already legally married, Charlie’s father had insisted we sleep in separate rooms the nightbefore the wedding, in the name of tradition. So Ana and I spent last night watching movies and doing face masks. And I left a few things there, just in case I needed to get her out of the bridal suite at any point.
“Yeah, no problem,” she shrugs, lifting the skirt of her midnight blue dress and padding out of the sunroom-turned-bridal-suite, her feet bare.
As soon as the door shuts behind her, I glare at Clara.