“You should be with her. I only wanted to call because I knew you wouldn’t come to the house otherwise, but I’d like you to.”
“I’ll ask her—”
“No, son. Please. I’ve spoken with your father. He knows that I’ll put arsenic in his meat pie tomorrow if he treats her badly, but I don’t think he will. I think she impressed him.”
I rolled my eyes. “Jesus Christ.”
“Well, it’s not every day that a woman will dothatto save herself, is it?”
“Surprised he doesn’t think she’s dirty now.”
“Take that back, Brennan,” Ma snapped. “Did you think he tossed me out of his bed because I was a slut in his mind after those bastards—” She sucked in a breath. “—did what they did to me?”
Bowing my head, I rumbled, “Sorry, Ma.”
“So you damn well should be. If anyone understands what you’re going through, Brennan, it’s your father. And if anyone understands what she went through, it’s me. God help me, I never thought what we endured would be visited upon our sons.” A noise drifted from her lips, something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “It really is like they say—the sins of the fathers...”
“Don’t get into that Bible shit, Ma. It had nothing to do with you or Da. If anything, it had to do with her father, her family.” I reached up and rubbed the back of my neck. “She’s not like you. What you went through, she didn’t. She’s fine.”
“I want her to know, today of all days, that she’s with family. I never put my foot down with you, Brennan—”
“Don’t you?” I interrupted glumly.
“But I have to insist that you bring her here.”
I scowled at the coins, wanting to argue, but knowing as well that this was important to her. That she wanted to see Camille for herself, make sure she was okay.
From one victim to another. But Camille didn’t feel like a victim. At least, she wasn’t acting that way, which was only confusing me more.
I blew out a breath and said, “I’ll talk to Camille. I make no promises.”
“Thank you, son,” was her immediate reply.
She cut the call before I could say another word, and I just rocked in my chair after I placed my cell down on the desk and picked up a Krugerrand.
Running it between my fingers, I raised it to my eye to squint at the marks etched on it.
Krugerrands started being produced in South Africa in 1967, and this one was minted from that year. They weren’t precious, but they were worth a hefty amount of change, which was why the oyabun from the Yakuza had gifted them to me.
A bribe...
I hadn’t exactly lied to my brothers, but Yamamoto had asked me to keep quiet about a certain someone in my phone list. A certain someone who was his son.
Frederica.
The old bastard was ashamed of his kid, refused to accept whatshewas, and had bribed me to keep quiet about it. I liked Freddie. I’d run across her over the years, and had paid her to get close to Coullson. Yamamoto’s issue was that I’d known Frederica back when she’d been Akio. We’d gone to school together.
Pursing my lips, I placed the coin down on the desk and got to my feet.
My office was a simple space, just a desk, a chair, a computer and a painting that, unoriginally, hid a safe.
There was still a blood stain over on the carpet by the window where I’d had Callum tied up for the night, and that was on Tink’s to-do list to deal with. I’d already instructed him to get rid of Camille’s dress from the night she’d murdered her father. I’d had that stored in my safe too, just in case, but when he came over to sort out the stains, he was under orders to get rid of that as well.
She’d never know that, but it was a true testament to how fucked in the head I was over her that I was willing to destroy evidence—and my leverage—on her behalf.
The painting was of Central Park. I’d picked it up from one of the painters who sold tourists the same images over and over, but I’d liked how this one kid had picked up the light as the sun peeked through the trees at dawn.
Even though I’d bought it years ago, it reminded me of Camille now.