[Claire’s POV]
I’m smiling. The world feels lighter today than it has in months. My two-month chip feels even heavier in my hand than my 30-day one did. Like it actually ans sothing. Like I’m actually accomplishing sothing real for the first ti in years.
As I head into the guest room for my visitor, my stomach does a little flip. Hopefully I’m not eting with Caterina this ti. The mory of Adam in that racing helt, broken and drugged, has haunted my dreams every night since I saw him. It’s been the fuel keeping sober these last thirty days. Every ti I’ve felt the itch to find a card ga, I’ve seen his helt-covered head bobbing in that chanical nod.
I get into the room and scan the faces, expecting to see anyone i know. Instead, my gaze lands on a woman I don’t recognize sitting at a table near the window. Tall, imposing, with long black hair and striking green eyes. She wears a bright green Hawaiian shirt that should look ridiculous but sohow doesn’t. A golden cross glints at her throat.
She waves down with a bright smile. “Claire, yes?” Her voice carries across the room, confident and cheerful.
I hesitate, sothing primal in my brain setting off alarm bells. This woman gives off the sa dangerous energy as Caterina, just packaged differently. Like comparing a tiger to a panther, different stripes, sa teeth.
I sit down across from her, nervously fiddling with my sobriety chip. “Hello.”
“Luna Cruz,” she says, extending her hand across the table. Her grip is firm, her tan skin warm against mine. “I’ve been looking forward to eting you.”
The cross necklace catches the fluorescent lights as she leans forward, her smile never quite reaching those piercing green eyes.
“So, how’s recovery treating you?” Luna asks, glancing at the chip I’m still turning over in my hand. “Two months is impressive. Most people don’t make it this far.”
‘God, everyone just knows everything.’
I tuck the chip into my pocket, suddenly self-conscious. “It’s been... challenging. But worth it.”
Luna nods sympathetically, though sothing in her expression suggests she’s never faced a challenge she couldn’t imdiately crush underfoot. “Addiction is a beast. My sister struggled with it for years before finding her way.” She taps her cross. “Through faith and family support.”
The casual ntion of family makes flinch internally. My own family washed their hands of after the third ti I stole from them to fund my gambling.
“That’s nice,” I say laly, still trying to figure out why this stranger wanted to et . “I’m sorry, but have we t before? I don’t rember…”
“You’re married to Adam Anderson, right? Mrs. Claire Anderson?” Luna interrupts her tone suddenly direct.
I blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift. “Correct. Yes.”
Luna leans forward, her green eyes intense and calculating. There’s sothing predatory in her gaze that reminds uncomfortably of Caterina.
“Well, listen,” she says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I looked into it, and I’ve got an idea of the deal you made with Caterina, and I have to assu you would like to get your husband back, correct?”
My heart skips a beat. I glance around the visiting room, suddenly paranoid that Caterina might have other eyes and ears here. The orderly by the door seems absorbed in his phone, and the other visitors are engaged in their own conversations.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” I whisper, leaning closer despite myself.
Luna leans back in her chair. She spreads her hands wide, a grin spreading across her face that reminds of a shark that’s just spotted blood in the water.
“Nah, it’s definitely possible,” she says with absolute certainty as if we’re discussing sothing as simple as changing a lightbulb rather than extracting my husband from the clutches of Boston’s most feared criminal.
My heart hamrs in my chest, hope and suspicion warring within . “What do you want?” I ask bluntly.
Luna’s green eyes gleam as she studies , her fingers absently playing with the golden cross at her neck. “You’re going back to work after this at the casino, right? La Reale?”
I nod solemnly. “Yeah, Caterina sent the papers the other day. I assud I’d be fired after this was said and done, but she seems to be letting keep my job for now.”
The revelation shocked when the rehab counselor handed the envelope last week. Inside was a letter on La Reale’s expensive letterhead confirming my position would be held for upon completion of my treatnt program. I couldn’t figure out why Caterina would want back, especially after showing what she’d done to Adam.
Luna’s smile widens, sothing dark and calculating flickering behind her eyes. She leans forward, lowering her voice to barely above a whisper.
“Fantastic, wonderful even,” she says, her tone dripping with satisfaction. “I’m simply looking to have a little birdy feed info. You can do that, can’t you?”
The request hangs between us, deceptively simple yet laden with danger. Being Luna’s informant could get killed.
“How would you get my Adam back?” I ask, trying to keep the desperate hope from my voice.
She flashes a confident look, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arching upward. Her hand cos down to cover mine, her skin warm and dry, her grip just a little too tight to be comforting.
“Let worry about that,” Luna says, her voice soft but edged with steel. “But I promise on my mother, when I’m through with Caterina, Adam is all yours.”
With all the awful things I’ve done to Adam, this seems like God is giving a lifeline. The universe doesn’t usually offer second chances to people like , addicts who sell their husbands to pay gambling debts. But here it is, dressed like a Latina Antonia Montana and offering exactly what I need.
I stare at Luna’s outstretched hand.
“If I help you,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “I want guarantees. I need to know Adam will be safe.”
Luna’s smile doesn’t waver. “Of course. My word is my bond.” Her fingers tap against the golden cross at her throat. “I swear it.”
The mory of Adam in that helt flashes through my mind again, the chanical nod, the flat voice, the way he swayed like a puppet with half its strings cut. Whatever Caterina’s done to him goes beyond broken hands. She’s destroyed sothing inside him, sothing essential.
‘He was like a husk.’
Luna’s green eyes gleam with sothing that might be understanding or might be triumph. It’s hard to tell the difference with won like her.
“So we have a deal?” she asks, her hand still extended between us, patient and inevitable.
I take a deep breath. “Okay.”
I hold out my hand, and Luna seems almost surprised how easy it was to convince . Maybe she expected more resistance, more questions. But she doesn’t understand the weight of guilt I carry, doesn’t know how the image of Adam’s broken hands keeps awake at night.
She grips my hand tightly, her skin warm and dry against mine. Our eyes lock, and in that mont, I can just tell, this is a deal with the devil. Maybe not the sa devil as Caterina, but a devil nonetheless. The kind that smiles while she cuts your throat.
“Wonderful,” Luna says, releasing my hand. “I knew you were a smart woman, Claire.”
“I’m not smart,” I reply, rubbing my palm against my jeans. “I’m desperate.”
Luna laughs, the sound bright and genuine in a way that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Desperation is an excellent motivator. Better than money, better than loyalty.”
Luna reaches into her garish Hawaiian shirt pocket and pulls out a small flip phone, the kind I haven’t seen since 2005. It’s black, nondescript, the perfect burner. She slides it across the table to with a casual flick of her wrist, like she’s passing a business card instead of evidence of a conspiracy.
“When you get out of here, give a call,” she says, tapping the phone with one perfectly manicured nail. “I’ll give you instructions.”
I pick up the phone, its plastic casing weird against my fingers. I slip it into my pocket quickly.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible even to my own ears.
Luna rises from her chair in one fluid motion, towering over . Her smile stretches wider, revealing teeth too white, too perfect.
“Head up, girl,” she says, her sweet as sugar but her eyes cold as winter. “Change is on the way.”
Clairillionaire:
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