Page 9 of Widow’s Walk (Women of the Mafia #1)

Chapter seven

Sinclair

I t’s late as I aimlessly sail.

Restless, bored, and in need of some kind of entertainment. Someone to play with. So far, no one has piqued my interest. But that all changes as I walk by one of the house’s many pointless sitting rooms and find Harlan tucked away.

Harlan is the youngest brother, married with two kids, and so deep in the closet he should be choking on mothballs. I’ve only had a handful of short conversations with him, but I’ve seen enough to see what he’s hiding. And I always find what’s hidden.

He’s alone, sitting too upright in a leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, and pretending to read a book. But he hasn’t turned the page in too long.

I’m already close enough to pounce when he finally notices me. “Hello, Harlan,” I say cheerfully.

He glances up enough to acknowledge me, then returns to his book like I’m a passing inconvenience. “Hello, Sinclair. Hunting for another victim to drag back to your lair?” he murmurs dryly.

I smile as I trail a finger along the edge of a credenza, and I circle his backside like a lion sizing up its prey before it realizes they’ve been spotted.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say innocently, and I lift the decanter with a flick of the wrist, popping the crystal topper.

“I’ve been an angel since I got here.” After topping off his glass without asking, I give myself a modest pour and sink into the velvet chair across from him.

He snorts, flipping the page without looking at me. “Right,” he murmurs.

I vigilantly watch as he stiffly holds the spine of his book with one hand, and his other hand twitches as if eager to fidget with something.

Immediate regret burns my stomach when I take a sip of the bourbon and manage not to grimace.

“So.” I lean back and casually cross my legs as I begin swirling the glass in my hand lazily.

“Why are you here at one in the morning instead of your picture-perfect home life?”

He’s hardly amused as he arches one eyebrow at me. “Needed some peace and quiet.”

“Mhmm,” I hum, lips brushing the rim of my glass before tilting it for another punishing sip. I don’t think I’ll ever like the taste, no matter how many times I try.

He eyes me again with more focus. “Something on your mind?”

I hold his gaze, weighing my approach. “Does anyone know?”

He blinks. “Know? Know what?”

I roll my eyes and set my glass down with a soft clink. “Let’s not play games, Harlan. I know what it is you are hiding.” The color drains from his face, and his fingers flex on the hardback still in his hands. But there’s no change in his face. “There’s no need to lie to me.”

I watch him patiently as he tries to calm the growing storm behind his eyes. “Mind cluing me in on whatever it is I am hiding? Because I’m a member of a crime family. I have many secrets.”

“You know which secret I mean. One you may have never said out loud. One that has never made it past your teeth,” I drawl.

He slams the book shut with a little too much force. “I’m not here for your entertainment, Sinclair.”

“Everyone is here for my entertainment.” I grin. “It’s the only thing that makes any of this tolerable.”

“Well, I am not interested.” He gets to his feet as if to leave.

“Hiding it won’t make it untrue,” I sing out, striking a nerve that stops him cold. I lift the glass to drain the bitter contents that cause my nostrils to flare. “Always tie up your loose ends, Harlan. Especially if it’s something you wouldn’t ever want to get out. More than it already has.”

He’s abruptly in front of me, looming, shoulders tense, eyes mad. “If you think you can blackmail me some bullshit—”

A real, genuine giggle comes out of my throat, which seems to shock him in outrage. “Relax, Harlan,” I say, still smiling. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear. I’m just surprised I could crack you so easily.”

He stares at me, a flare of disbelief in his eyes. God, I love it . “Watch your mouth, Sinclair,” he growls.

“Oh,” I purr, shimmying my shoulders as if ice just skated up my spine.

“This alpha man side of you is kinda hot. Effective too.” I tilt my head playfully, teasing the edge of his control.

“I almost believed you might hurt me.” His eyes burn, and it faintly jabs at me from the inside, so I soften a little.

“Look, your secret is safe with me.” I pretend to lock my lips and throw away the key. “I won’t tell a soul.”

“You can’t if you don’t have a tongue,” he threatens, voice low and lethal. The second time someone has threatened to remove my tongue since I’ve been here. Not bad.

My natural reaction would be to match his threat with one of my own, but I stop myself.

“Harlan, I’m serious. It’s insane that you have to hide who you are, building a life around pretending to be someone else.

But I get it.” I glance down at my empty glass.

“We don’t exactly coexist in the real world.

We’re born in cages. Some gilded, some rusted, but all inescapable.

Legacy. Duty. Reputation. It’s all bullshit, but we can’t escape it.

” I shrug one shoulder. “We all have a part to play.”

His throat bobs with a swallow, but he doesn’t say anything.

Just lets the silence hang between us, but it’s fine.

I’ve always had a talent for making people squirm in it.

“I hate whiskey.” The words feel weightless as they fall out.

“Not quite as life-altering,” I add, lips twitching with a crooked smirk.

“But it’s something I pretend to like to—I don’t know. ”

I let my words linger for a moment before looking at him. I find him still watching me, but his face finally shows something. Humor. His face cracks into a smile as his shoulders relax and he backs away until he plops back down in the chair, melting into it. “That does not at all make us even.”

I giggle softly. “Okay…” I skim through the catalog of sins in my head.

“Uh, I hate chocolate. Actually, I hate anything sweet.” Except for red wine, but I keep that to myself.

He narrows his eyes at me. “What?” I chuckle.

“Secrets don’t have to be explosive,” I murmur, finding it hard to keep eye contact.

This could be the realest conversation I’ve had with anyone in…

I can’t even remember. “They just have to be yours.” I steal a glance up at him, and I find his energy suddenly so comforting.

As if I could sit here for hours divulging secret after secret, peeling back those layers I’ve spent my entire life wrapping myself in.

“True.” He drains his glass and rises to make another trip to the minibar. “But you can do better than that.” He glances over her shoulder with a boyish smirk.

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Fine. What would you like to know?”

He turns around with a glass in each hand.

When I eye the one holding the stemmed glass with red wine in it, I fidget a little in my seat, but I don’t let it show on my face how much I hate that he knows a damn thing about me.

When he offers me the red wine, I raise an eyebrow and take it, careful to look unimpressed.

“Here’s something better to help loosen those lips of yours.

” He pauses. “Don’t worry, joon-kharash ,” the words roll off his tongue so practiced and perfect.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes, looking at me over the rim of his glass as he takes back his seat.

“It’ll be our little secret,” he adds with a wink.

I’ll bet no one knows how clairvoyant Harlan is. I hate how I couldn’t see how he’s been watching me like I’ve been studying him.

“Tell me what that means, and I promise to give you a good secret.”

He laughs, and for the first time, I see dimples crease in his cheeks. “I don’t know if I should.” He’s teasing me.

“Then I’m not exchanging any more secrets with you,” I quip.

He gives a long pause for theatrics. “Soul-scraper.”

I almost choke on my wine. “What?” He grins and joins me in laughter. “Soul-scraper?” I echo, still laughing. “What does that even mean?”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Meaning you get under his skin.”

I laugh a little more because not only is it too accurate, it’s dark and poetic. “I’m pretty sure I get under everyone’s skin. In fact, I make it my life’s mission.”

“Well, mission accomplished. Now, give me something good.” He gets right back to it. “Tell me about that guy you killed.”

I shoot him a cheeky smirk. “Which one?”

“You know exactly which one I am referring to.”

Yes, I do. The one everyone thinks I killed while fucking. But I actually killed him after . I’m not that sick.

“That’s not exactly a secret.”

“No, but the truth behind it is.”

“There’s not much truth behind it,” I say a little too defensively. My mask fraying at the edges.

He leans forward slightly. “Humor me.”

“How will you know if I’m being truthful or not?” I challenge.

His smirk is slow. “Try me,” he says smugly.

“It’s not a very interesting story.” He sips his drink, his gaze unwavering. “Fine.” I heavily sigh and drink half the glass of the most delicious red wine.

Harlan doesn’t speak, doesn’t push. Only waits.

“He was one of our mob pups,” I begin. “We were fucking in secret.” I pause and mull over my words, deciding on how much truth to give him.

Something inside shoves at me, forcing me to give more than I have ever been willing to give.

“He got a little too close—too comfortable.” He was supposed to be my entertainment.

Until he wasn’t. “He began saying things, making promises, and assumptions. Yet, when my brothers would use me for their own sick entertainment, he’d stand there silently. As if he were a piece of furniture.”

I grow quiet, finding it more difficult to look at him. So, I fidget with my ring. The most gorgeous piece of jewelry I have or will ever own. And it’s odd because the large diamond is blue. A dark blue, but still blue. Yet I happen to love it. There’s something so uniquely captivating about it.

“I realized he’ll always be like the rest of them. Thinks he can own me, manipulate me, and use me. So, I let him think he did that night. Pretended to eat up every sweet word he whispered in the dark. Melted into every kiss, every touch.”

When I glance up at Harlan, the sincerity in his face has me buckling down again. My slow grin is controlled, unshakable. “So, when I reached for the blade, he never saw it coming.”

He lifts his glass to his lips, and his eyes twitch with disappointment. With the anticlimactic ending or the short version of the story, I don’t know what he expected out of me.

“Sorry it wasn’t the story you were hoping for.” I keep my tone playful. “I didn’t end a man mid-orgasm or torture him while pleasuring myself. Everyone prefers the messier version, but it’s not the truth. The truth is quieter and cleaner.”

“More dangerous,” he quickly adds, then he full-on grins. “Like the widow spider.”

My cheeks heat, and I find myself bashful. They’ve called me that as if it were a curse. But I have always worn it like a title.

“He thought he’d be the man you won’t bite. But you’re a woman who lures, traps, and consumes. Seduction with teeth.”

I bite down on my bottom lip, still smiling. “I think those are the most romantic words anyone has ever said to me.”

He chuckles, dimples popping. “I’m sure.” He sips from his glass.

“Glad you bought it.” I revert back into my preferred persona.

“You could have told me any version of the story, truth or not, and I would have gotten exactly what I was looking for.”

I stare at him, tongue dried up. “Am I so transparent?” I sass.

“No, I’m just that good.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

“You have no idea how much it drives Blackwell mad.” My eyes jump up to lock with his. “He hates that he still doesn’t have you figured out yet.”

I want to laugh it off. I want to flash teeth and roll my eyes and toss out some biting remark, but instead, my fingers tighten around the stem of my glass. Just enough to betray something.

He watches me for a drawn-out moment. Not in a daunting way. Observant. Then his head tilts to one side, eyes narrowed like he’s seeing something in me I didn’t mean to show. “You ever feel like you’ve played so many versions of yourself, you’re not even sure which one was real to begin with?”

His unexpected question rattles me, but I cover it up with a laugh, bringing the glass up to my lips and taking a sip before responding. “Every version is real,” I say. “In the moment.”

I don’t elaborate, and he doesn’t press.