Page 89 of Cashmere Ruin
For the longest time, I don’t say anything. The car’s vibrations flow in and out of me, bringing my racing heart back under control.
“Should I drop you off at the loft or the penthouse?” Yuri asks. “Or I can do both if you want to clean up first?—”
“Carmine.”
He freezes. “What?”
“That’s what Ivan said to me before he died:‘Carmine. Carmine is here.’”
“Why would he say that?”
“Because he was the mole.”
I watch Yuri’s face falter in the rearview mirror. “That’s impossible.”
“It’s not. He had access.” Clearly, he had motive, too, but I’ll be damned if I know what that is. He said so many things to me, but in the end, none of it made any sense. None but the last. “It was him, Yuri. It was him all along.”
Carmine is here.A brag.You might have killed me, but I still let the enemy in.
Yuri doesn’t speak right away. Ivan raised him as much as he raised me—he must still be processing the shock.
But eventually, even he has to accept reality. “It was Ivan,” he says out loud, as if trying to make himself believe it. “Ivan was the mole.”
“Mm.” After what feels like eternity, I say, “The penthouse.”
“What?”
“You asked where I wanted to go.”
He blinks. “Oh… right. Penthouse, then? You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I’ve never been more sure of anything. “Bring me there. I want to be with my family.”
When I finally step out of the elevator, I’m drained. All I want is to be with them: my woman, my child.
“April?” I call. The apartment is unusually dark, not even a single light on.She’s probably asleep.
From memory alone, I make my way to the crib. “Hi. Sorry Daddy’s so late today.”
May coos, her hands outstretched towards me. She’s pushier than usual, demanding a place in my arms. “Alright, alright. Come here, you.”
“Meow.”
I look down. “I don’t have any more arms. Go bother April.”
“Mrowwr.”
Great. The security cat’s acting weird, too. I go to corral him, but?—
“Get back here,” I bark.
But he slips out onto the balcony.
Goddammit.If this mangy cat leaps from fifty floors chasing a butterfly, April will never let me hear the end of it. They say cats have nine lives, but I’m not sure how many this old bastard’s got left.
I part the curtains. I step out into the balcony, eyes adjusting to the skyline. “I said get back?—”
And then I seeher.