You’re nervous that I’m back? I hope we can talk about that when we meet.
My hands burned for one of my bows.
City blocks shifted to country homes on a dirt room. We continued and turned south, leaving Belladonna. Large land expanded with miles of fences and livestock grazing. Then, the car pulled into a long driveway. At the end of it a big log cabin stood.
We parked in front and left the car with no problem.
Mr. Shotgun led me in. The rest stayed outside.
When he opened the door, annoyance hit me.
No one stood inside.
I stepped in.
Polished wood served as the walls and floors. Besides for one chair in the center of the large room and a twenty-four inch television, there was no other furniture.
Shotgun nudged me forward. “Go over there.”
I went to the chair and sat down.
Shotgun glanced at his watch. “It won’t be long.”
“Bien.” I thought they would leave me alone in the cabin for a while. It would’ve been my move. Isolation triggered anxiety and uncertainty. After several hours of fear, most were eager to let me know anything.
I was shocked that they didn’t tie me up either, leaving themselves open to harm.
The rumble of an engine sounded outside.
This must be the person.
The door opened minutes later.
I expected some large Russian guy reeking of vodka and cabbage.
Shocked, I studied the beautiful figure in front of me. She was an older woman. I could tell from the hint of wrinkle around her eyes and mouth when she smiled. A tinge of gray that outlined the blond hair that she kept in a tight bun. Very elegant, she wore a tailored blue suit that matched her eyes. Small pearls dangled from her ears. Diamonds decorated her fingers. Fur covered her shoulders.
Who’s this?
I rose.
Shotgun growled, “No one told you to get up.”
“He’s a gentleman.” She curved her lips into a smile and walked over to me. A sweet voice came from those painted lips. “I would like to call you Jean-Pierre. I find Le Boucher to be too much.”
“That’s fine.” I extended my hand to hers.
“No. I do not think we should shake hands yet.” She walked over to the television. “My name is Celina. Feel free to forget my name in the future, as well as this city and everything in it.”
“I’ve found a liking to the city of Belladonna.” I sat down.
“Let’s talk about that, Jean-Pierre.” She took the remote control from the top of the television and turned it on. An image played. I realized it was Eden’s apartment divided by four different camera screens. One camera showed Eden sleeping in her bed. I knew that moment instantly. I’d dreamt of that view since standing there that night.
The recording was the evening I’d broken into her apartment.
Celina pointed to the camera footage in the right corner. “And here’s you. . .enjoying the city.”
On the television, I crept down Eden’s hallway, resembling a dark vampire in the night that was searching for blood.
“You were very quiet.” Celina watched me on the television. “Eden is a light sleeper.”
I crossed my legs, not enjoying the view of me on the television. On the screen, I walked up to the violin, touched the case, and gazed at the object like a deranged man. My face twisted in disgust as I didn’t feel the magic that I’d hoped to experience. And then I turned to Eden. Desperation replaced the disgust.
Celina paused the footage and turned to me. “This isn’t a great first impression. Do you agree?”
“I agree. I shouldn’t have entered her apartment. I’d gone for the violin.”
“And Eden distracted you.” She nodded. “I understand. That’s always the story with men like you.”
“Men like me?”
“Broken men gazing at shiny new objects.” She handed the remote control to Mr. Shotgun. “Why are you here?”
“You are the one that sent the Russians to Nice?”
“I’m the only one asking the questions today.”
“I’ve been unharmed.”
“Because I’m nice.”
“Because your Russian resources requested to handle me with care. I doubt they want any more severed heads on their doorstep.” I leaned my head to the side. “Or do they?”
“Jean-Pierre, you’re going to have a long year, if you ever make the mistake of thinking that you understand my resources or me.” She took off her fur and handed it to Shotgun. “You have an interesting story. Drug trafficker at ten. A low-level Corsican leader killed your father and you repaid him at fifteen. The same year you won the Golden Violin award. Both quite huge accomplishments.”
“Thank you, but I would love to get to know you more. You’re Eden’s aunt?”
“I am.” She strolled over to me and placed her hands on her hips. “And I’m very, very protective.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Unfortunately, you don’t have any kids, but I want you to try and understand where I’m coming from.” She walked behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. “Imagine that the woman in that bed is not Eden, but your daughter.”