Oily. That’s the word that comes to mind where Armin is concerned. Oily and smooth, like a snake.
“What do you want from me?”
“Damage Control. Why, you got anything else that’s worth anything? Oh right, I forgot. You don’t, because you don’t invest your profits. You give them away, like a charity institution. So you’re as poor as those bastards you’re trying to help. So what good did it do you, huh? You’re just like Marnie.”
Being like Aunt Marnie doesn’t sound like a bad thing. She was wonderful.
I scrub a hand over my face. Damn insomnia. My brain is shrouded in a thick fog. Makes me paranoid. I thought someone trailed me all the way here. As if I’m the one with the stalker, after all.
“Name your price, Armin.” I never called him uncle. Never felt related to him, even though he’s my mom’s brother. “There must be something more you want from me.”
At least I hope so. And I’ll gladly give it up, whatever it might be, so that the guys can keep Damage.
“You have nothing else I want,” he says, shattering my last hope.
I sink into a chair, grabbing fistfuls of my hair. “Please,” I rasp, my voice barely coming out, refusing to beg him, and yet doing it. “Please, Armin. Marnie would have wanted me to keep Damage, you know that.”
He slams his hand down on the table, and I almost jump out of my skin. “Marnie spoiled you rotten, brat. She felt sorry for you, for the whiney, self-destructive kid that you were when your parents died. Woo, poor boy, he’s doing drugs, so we give him a shop to run. She was fucking insane.”
Guess he didn’t love his wife much. Bastard.
“Damage is doing fine,” I snap, because it’s the damn truth. Fuck, I’m supposed to be begging him, not getting in his face. “Just…please. Do I have to get on my knees?”
From the way he’s looking at me, I bet he’d love to see that. He’d probably be the only person in the world to ever witness it, and as much as it grates, dammit, I’d do it if it meant keeping Damage.
Suddenly he laughs. I blink heavy lids at him, wondering what’s so fucking funny. I feel like I’ve dug a rusty knife through my chest, ripped it wide open, and he’s laughing.
“Okay, boy,” he says, and leans forward, placing his hands on his knees. He has my mom’s hazel eyes, her auburn hair. “Okay.”
The word finally sinks in and I jolt. “Okay?”
“Okay, I’ll think about it, since it means so much to you.”
God, I’m so tired. Has to be why my eyes burn and sting, not because of this unexpected kindness. Since that night with Megan, I can’t keep my head straight, can’t find the shield I used to hold against the world. Every word, every action hits me right through the chest and I feel ready to crack in two.
“Thanks,” I whisper, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Thank you, Armin.”
“Don’t mention it. Like you said, Marnie would have wanted you to have Damage.”
I frown. He said the exact opposite just a few minutes ago, didn’t he? Even through my gratitude, I feel a twinge of suspicion at the sudden turnabout. But my head hurts too bad to ponder this further.
“You should get some sleep,” he goes on. “You look sick, boy. Go on.”
Unsteadily, I rise and nod. I’m shaky. This isn’t good. The anniversary’s looming over me like an axe, and today’s the day that may change my entire life. Clyde is waiting for me right now in a back alley, and I can’t miss this meeting.
“Oh, before you go. Here,” he says and pushes a document on the table. “Sign this.”
“What is it?”
“A standard authorization letter for the lawyers to start the transfer process of the shop to your name. We’ll call you in for the official deed, of course.”
I glance at the paper. That easy? “Armin…”
“You’re blood. Sign the damn paper before I change my mind, Rafaele.”
So I do. I sign the damn paper and leave, wondering what the hell I’ve just done and what I’m about to do.
***