Dangerous Notes (Dark Pen)

She quickly pulls away, walks toward the door, looks over her shoulder and says, “You made a mistake, Atlas. Remember this as you watch me one by one take every single one of your jobs and your clients. I’m not the girl from Boston you once knew. You’re going to learn this the hard way.”

She walks out of the room, closes the door, and leaves me with a bloody lip and a hard dick.

Chapter Six

VALENTINA

One long honk of a car horn pulls me out of my focused concentration. I’ve been pouring over architecture blueprints and building schematics for hours, casing a possible job. I stand, crossing to my second story window to look outside. It feels good to stretch as I watch the grouchy shopkeeper from the bodega across the street yelling at some neighborhood teens.

Just another evening in midtown.

I may live in Manhattan, but this cramped box of an apartment is proof the real estate game on this tiny island is where the real highway robbery takes place. That I have to pay eight grand for my one bedroom in this ancient building in midtown is bad enough. What’s worse is that I just got notice they’re raising rent again next year.

I push down the grain of panic trying to wiggle into my brain. I moved to New York City from Boston with a five-year plan. Realizing I am now less than six months away from hitting my five-year mark and still have so many goals to still achieve is starting to weigh on me. Unwanted memories push into my thoughts.

The fury of losing out on the tiara to Atlas a week ago is still a fresh wound. It galls me to know just how much I needed the revenue from that job. Unlike my nemesis, I actually have to take care of myself. I don’t have a rich daddy and family money to subsidize my lifestyle.

My cell phone vibrates on the glass coffee table holding the plans I’d been studying. Walking back to the table, I pick up my phone and see my brother Johnny’s face filling the screen.

It’s so tempting to just let him roll to voicemail, especially knowing that the only reason he ever calls is because he needs something. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one who needs me.

“Hey,” I answer at the last ring.

“Eh, Tink.”

His use of my childhood nickname makes me cringe. “Valentina. For the hundredth time.”

“Fuck that shit. You’ll always be Tink to me.”

The temptation to hang up is strong.

“I gotta go—”

“Pop’s breathing is worse again.”

Sigh. He does know how to keep me on the line.

“What does the nurse I hired have to say about it?” I ask, pinching the bridge of my nose as I feel a headache coming on.

“She was a bitch. We had to fire her.”

“What?!” I shout before following up with a calmer, “When?”

“About two weeks ago. Jimmy and I have been taking turns staying with the old man.”

“And let me guess, you’re pocketing all of the money I sent to pay for the live-in nurse?”

“Hey, we’re doing the work, we deserve the cash. He’s a mean sonofabitch these days.”

I take a few cleansing breaths to keep from losing my shit on my oldest brother. “Except you and Jimmy are not nurses. You can barely take care of yourselves. You’re not qualified to make sure he’s taking the right doses of medicine, and you’re certainly not prepared to take action in a medical emergency.”

“I can call 9-1-1.”

“Oh, and spend a fortune? Even though he has some Medicaid coverage now, the out-of-pocket amounts are still out of control.”

“So? You’ll just need to nick another painting or two this month.”

Jesus. That headache is growing as I literally bite my tongue to keep from lashing out at my brother. As much as I want to berate him for once again assuming I can just shit out money on a whim, I know deep down it’s at least partly my fault. Not only do I hide just how hard it is making it on my own when competing with powerful men like Atlas Giannopoulos, but since I was old enough to pickpocket on public transportation, I’ve been taking care of my father and even my brothers.

It never used to bother me. In fact, it used to make me feel good…useful…loved.

As I glance up and see my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room, I finally admit to myself just how tired I am. Tired of scrambling, scratching for every morsel, and taking care of everyone but myself.

“Tink?”

Johnny’s voice yanks me out of my pity party.

“When is his next appointment at the VA hospital?” I mumble, trying to shake out of my funk.

“Not for another six weeks. He’ll run out of his prescriptions before then.”

What I wanted to scream was “then you’d better go ask old man Murphy for more work” but the last thing I need is for my brother to end up in jail again. His legal bills were almost as bad as the old man’s medical bills.