Golden Burn (Songs of Crime #1)

5. Etta

5

Etta

‘Gangsta’ - Kehlani

“ E at. There’s plenty here.” Dominic gestures to the coffee table in the living room laden with a continental style breakfast. It’s a far cry from my usual protein bar as I run out the door every morning, and thank God for that, because I’m starving.

The magnificent floor to ceiling windows overlook a foreign city. Grand and imposing, the juxtaposition of sandstone buildings bordered by metallic high rises gives the illusion of a time warp. I can’t see the street, so I’m assuming we are a significant distance from the ground. Not good. I can scratch jumping out a window from my list.

I pull the tie around my waist tighter when I notice Ford watching me cautiously. He doesn’t seem impressed. Right back at you, buddy.

I chug back a glass of water as elegantly as I can and then wait for whatever the hell this meeting is about. Are we discussing the terms of my kidnapping? Do I need to sign some documents before they sell me to a Russian mobster?

If I keep making jokes, maybe I won’t break down into a puddle of tears.

The awkward tension in the room has reached catastrophic levels by the time Dominic breaks it. He stands and moves to a nearby table, retrieves something, and brings it back. He sits and places a manila folder filled with a stack of documents tucked inside next to the tray of tea and milk.

I stare blankly at it, my heart beating harder than an automated firearm.

“What is this?” I ask, pleased that my voice is steady, demanding.

“Firstly, on behalf of Odin and the Bolt Group, we want to acknowledge that the recent events have been extremely distressing for yourself, and that from now on, your safety and comfort will be our number one priority.”

I almost cackle with laughter. But I fear a permanent frown has taken full control of my face. This is a joke, right? My safety ?

“Everything will be explained,” Dominic says, his voice taking on the same tone he had in the airplane when he was trying to keep me calm and cooperative. This seems to be his role amongst the three. The lawyer. The negotiator. I don’t like it. It means he’s smart, prepared. It means he’s going to be ten steps ahead of me.

“Is there something in there about taking me back home?” I ask.

“No.”

“So… I’m staying.”

“Yes.”

My patience snaps. Just like that. “No.” I stand, Ford mirrors me. He’s so freaking big I feel my adrenaline waver. Ignoring him, I fix my stare on Dominic. “You can’t keep me here. This is illegal. I will not be forced to be a sex slave!”

Dominic balks. “Harriet, please sit down.” I stay standing despite his request. “I will explain everything.”

I open my mouth, a shout or a scream, ready on the tip of my tongue. But before I can heave in a breath, I’m cut off.

“Sit down, Ms Lewis,” Bolt demands.

I flinch, like I’ve been zapped by a live wire. If that husky voice wasn’t attached to my own kidnapper, I would comply just so he could call me a good girl.

But my brain wants me to rebel.

To disobey.

I stay standing as I watch Odin enter from afar—wide shoulders, tapered waist, long legs and a gorgeous neck. Dressed head to toe in clothes that require an obscene amount of money. He strides through the space like he owns, not only the apartment, but the entire building.

God, why did he have to be so… alluring?

Odin reaches the edge of the living room and raises one brow. “Comply or fight,” he reminds me. “You have the same choice now. If you comply, we can all have something to eat while we discuss the terms of your presence. Or you can fight and spend the meeting sitting on my lap.”

My core clenches.

No. Bad girl!

I lift my chin despite the shake in my shoulders. “As long as nobody touches me.”

“Fine,” Odin waves a hand. “You might change your mind in a second. ”

He whistles, and the familiar sound of claws on tiles fills the space. Juniper rushes out of the hallway and over to my side.

A smile splits my face. But I drop my chin so Odin can’t see it. He doesn’t notice anyway, as he strides off, leaving me to greet Juniper.

Dominic catches my attention as he stands, his expression stern. He gestures to the couch. “Please. Sit.” I do as he asks. Juniper finds a spot to sit at my feet. “Thank you, Harriet.”

I run my fingers through her fur, the motion settling the anxiety festering in my chest. “It’s Etta, actually. No one calls me Harriet.”

“Of course. And call me Dom.” He smiles softly, then his gaze flicks to Ford. “Can you sit? There’s no need to be hostile.”

Ford grunts in response and takes a seat, though he keeps his focus trained on me. Without looking away from my face, he reaches across the coffee table and shoves a whole muffin into his mouth. I watch, enrapt, as he chews and swallows it in seconds. Then, as if to make matters even more weird, he throws me a wink.

Dom sighs, exasperated. “There are a few things I need to inform you of.”

“Wait,” I interrupt. “What happened to my clinic? Is it still running?” I feel myself start to ramble, panic rising. “It’s my family’s clinic. It was my mother’s, now it’s mine. I own it. I need—”

“Your clinic is being taken care of. Two new experienced veterinarians have been employed to run the practice in your absence.”

“What do you mean? I had… I—” My mouth clamps shut, tears spring along my bottom lashes. How do I explain that I had hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt under my name? That the last few months have been some of the darkest, most soul crushing I have ever endured.

My mom suffered a fatal heart attack while working at the back of the clinic, checking on the animals recently recovered from surgery. She died so quickly the ambulance officers said the CPR conducted by the vet nurses did nothing.

The phone call I got from the head vet nurse, the sounds that came out of me, still haunts my dreams.

I was thrust into the primary role at the clinic. I was doing well for the first few weeks. The work kept me busy, kept me focused. Until I discovered a problem, a very big, costly problem.

My mother’s business, her pride and joy, was in serious debt. And she never told me. Never gave me any cause to think so.

In the span of two years, three veterinary clinics opened within a few miles of ours. Open twenty-four seven with shiny new facilities, it didn’t take long for our patients to cross over. Then the economy started to dip and people couldn’t pay their rent, let alone fork out the money for their pets surgeries. So, one unpaid bill led to another unpaid bill, which led to thousands of dollars that weren’t coming in anymore. It spiraled, clearly, but mom kept it all to herself.

And because I inherited my pride from her, I decided I couldn’t let the business fail so quickly after she died. I couldn’t fathom shutting the doors on the place that I felt her presence in the most. She tried to save it the right way, the hard way, but I knew that was going to be impossible.

So I did it the easy way.

But I can’t discuss that with these strangers. I’m not discussing it with them, period. I don’t owe them an explanation for what I have done.

Still, it surprises me when Dom confirms, “All debts have been paid in full. The practice is flourishing, and all patients are receiving the right care.”

My mouth hangs open. “What do you mean, all debts have been paid?”

“All debts have been paid by the Bolt group. Your mortgage, too, has been paid and your belongings put into storage.”

I’m speechless. My mouth flutters open as I comprehend what I’m hearing.

“But… why?”

Dom opens the manila folder he showed me earlier and pulls out a single white sheet with black typed writing.

“The man in the clinic was, in fact, your biological father. Gregory Lombardo.” A shiver runs down my arms when I hear his full name. A ghost. In both my memories and in the present.

The shake in my hands only intensifies when I glance over at Odin and notice he’s still ignoring us. The man who killed him is standing in the same room as me.

I take the paper from Dom’s hand. It’s my birth certificate. There, in neat, bold letters, is his name and my mother’s name. Their jobs, their ages and their signatures, too.

I see my birthdate and suddenly can’t breathe.

Harriet Lombardo. Born 6:25 a.m. October 20, 1997.

The one that I have in my desk only has my mother’s name on the certificate, and a totally different last name—Lewis. No partner, no husband. Just my single, brave mother.

Surely, this is a fake.

Dom pulls out another document, this time a photo. Greg is the sole person in the picture. Young and fit with a determined glint in his eyes. He’s standing on a deserted street, wearing a tailored pinstripe suit, a cigarette smoking in his hand. His hair is as black as mine. “Your father worked for the Lombardos, a large, organized crime syndicate that has a nasty history with the Bolt group.” Dom passes me another document, this one a contract with too many tiny words and impossible legal jargon .

“Odin’s father, Alistair Bolt, ran a very large company that owned several dozen smaller companies. He was a high-ranking businessman who worked closely with the top one percent of the world. But he wasn’t exactly clean. No one at his level is.”

Odin grabs a coffee from the table in front of me and says, “What Dom is trying to put nicely, is that my father was a greedy, cocksucking son of a bitch who loved money more than he did his own sustenance.” His string of foul words makes me flinch. “He allowed drug cartels to use his buildings to produce and launder, and asked for almost eighty percent of the profit, if not more. But they worked with him because he could hide them better than anybody.”

Dom clears his throat. “Yes, but it was not always a stable relationship. He often pitted cartels against one another, which almost always ended badly, but never for Alistair. The Lombardos, at the time, were the strongest, most organized group, but they soon began to question their allegiance to the Bolt’s. They thought they would make more if they went out on their own.” He lifts his glasses on his nose and points to one of the legal documents resting on the coffee table between us. “Alistair offered a solution to sway their hand. His only son was to marry into the Lombardo family to secure their alliance and broker a better, more stable future. And the next girl to turn sixteen within the Lombardo’s wider circle would be chosen as his bride.” Dom pauses and my throat constricts. “And that girl… was you.”

My jaw falls open. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

“Unfortunately, no, I’m not. The marriage contract is legally sound.” He points to the bottom of the file in my hands. There’s only one signature this time.

I shake my head. “My mother’s signature is missing.”

“It is, but in this case, your father’s holds worth,” he says sympathetically.

“But he didn’t even know who I was! He didn’t even recognize me at the clinic.”

“He hasn’t been in his right mind for many years. He used to be a leader, but a series of events have seen him pushed further and further to the bottom.”

My gaze shifts to Odin. He shrugs. “I may have spread a few rumors. Pulled a few strings.”

“And you weren’t his only child, Etta,” Dom continues.

“One of a hundred,” Ford mutters.

“He moved on quickly,” Dom says while giving Ford a look. “But despite his long list of partners, he did keep records of his offspring, from what we can tell. He knew you were the next in line to turn sixteen.” He pauses, swallowing. “But in the end, it did not matter because Odin ignored the contract and ruined all ties with the Lombardos.” There’s more to that nugget of information that he is not willing to divulge. I glance at Odin and notice his jaw has hardened, his knuckles white around the mug in his grip.

He seems to cool himself quickly as he takes another sip of his drink. “They were pissed, as you can imagine,” he says as a way of diverging the topic.

Ford listens, his hands clasped together between his knees as he leans forward. His face is stone cold. Furious. How are these men connected to all of this? What did Odin do?

My head is spinning like I’m stuck on a Ferris wheel. “I still don’t get it.”

Dom takes the contract from my hands and passes me another. My vision is blurry behind the tears that line my lashes. I don’t want to touch it. I’m scared it will singe my fingers.

“Without Alistair’s business, the Lombardos had to start from scratch. It’s taken some time, but they now have a significant foothold in the drug market and they want to expand.”

Ford grunts, drawing my attention. His warm brown eyes hint at a level of intelligence I didn’t see before. “We’re talking about new partners, new shop fronts, more drugs, more deaths.”

Dom continues. “It would be a tragedy for the Lombardos to gain anymore power alongside another brutal crime syndicate. Odin has decided— we have decided—it’s time to step in. To start dismantling the anthill. But in order for that to work, in order for the Lombardos to trust him, we need you.” He pauses. “You see, the original marriage contract was never broken, just ignored. It still stands. You and Odin are still engaged to be married.”

My gaze snaps between all three men.

They can’t be serious. There’s no fucking way.

I shake my head. “Nope.” Then a small crackle slips free from my lips. I feel nauseous and my head pounds, but the laughter just evolves until I have to wipe the moisture from my eyes.

I’m still chuckling slightly as I tell them, “I’m not marrying him. I’m not marrying anyone .” I stand up, Ford mirrors me. Déjà vu washes over me. I flutter my hand over all the documents. “This has been very interesting to learn about. No, really. But I’m not doing that.”

“You will if you want your reputation intact.” My attempt at a joke dissolves as my eyes lock with Odin.

The saliva in my throat is like honey, but I keep my cool as my chin lifts in defiance. “And how will you ruin it, exactly? Tell them I witnessed a murder, was kidnapped and forced into marriage. I’m failing to see how anyone would think I’m at fault here,” I say, a snarky tone coating my words.

Odin’s lips flick upward into a cruel smile. “So the tramadol you’ve been selling for cash to Gregory Lombardo is a known fact to all your staff?”

My stomach sinks beneath the floor. My shoulders rise like one of my hands is pressed to an electric fence.

This prick.

I try to compose myself, try to act meek and innocent. It’s like slapping wet cement onto my face. It doesn’t hold. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Let me remind you then, shall I?” Odin nods at Dom, who pulls out the same iPad I’d been using on the plane over here. He presses something and then shows me the screen.

A video springs to life.

I’m standing in one of the consultation rooms with Greg and his shaking chihuahua. The video shows me bringing in several boxes and opening them to show Greg the bottles of tramadol. He counts each bottle and nods his head. The conversation is muted, but the exchange of cash between his hands and mine is enough to have my veterinarian license revoked and be sent to jail.

The footage shifts to another location. The camera’s out back—the ones I was sure had been faulty for years. Looks like I was wrong, because the image is crystal clear as it shows me putting the boxes in the car and slamming the trunk shut.

The screen fades to black.

Fuck .

I clench my fingers into fists to stop them from shaking and fill my lungs before coming to a quick decision. “If I do this, you bury that footage. It never sees the light of day.”

Odin nods. “You have my word.”

I reach forward, grab the pen, and hold it up for Dom to see. He points to a section of writing on the new contract in my hands.

“We just need you to sign here.”