Coffee & Criminals

22. She's Your What?!

"Fine." He said huffily. "Don't tell me then."

"I wasn't going to."

"Alright, you don't always need the last word."

I grinned at him even though he couldn't see me. "But I do."

"Oh my God." He growled. "Change of subject. Why'd your parents name you Florence? Have you ever been?"

"To Florence, Italy?" It was so weird think I was carrying a normal conversation with a wanted criminal in the middle of some dark tunnels while clinging to his arm like an octopus for dear life. "No. My mother is from there though, so I guess that's why they named me that. Why did your parents name you Wolfe?"

He was quiet for so long that I began to think he hadn't heard me. Just as I was about to repeat the question, Wolfe said in the softest mumble, "They didn't."

"What do you mean? Is Wolfe just a nickname or-"

"I don't know, Florence." The agitation was clear in his tone. Wolfe Sterling was a very private man. Not many people knew much about him, not even the agencies looking for him. All information about Wolfe could be found online, from leaked reports and inquisitive clickbait articles looking for views, which wasn't much. The public didn't even know what Wolfe looked like. To lay low in Canada for several years, making people think the Crowns were gone for good, had kept the public unprepared for their return to Brooklyn. I don't even think Brice, Jasper, or Daniel knew much about him, either. Wolfe was aloof, distant, and cruel.

But me being the curious monkey that I am, I couldn't help but pry in some more. "But it's such a strange name. It had to have come from somewhere. Did you get too attached to the story The Three Little Pigs and-"

"I told you, Florence." Wolfe's voice was hard. "I don't know my real name. I've been called Wolfe for as long as I can remember. I do not know and I would very much appreciate it if you kept your nose out of my personal business."

"So it's a nickname."

"For fuck's sake." He growled loudly. ''I don't have my birth records, okay? I don't know where I'm from, how old I am, what my name is. I don't even remember my parents, Florence. All I know is that the day I was born was on a Monday, the same Monday that I was put in front of a foster home with a fucking number tag around my wrist. For the first two years of my life, that number tag was what I was referred to. The next year, I saw a grey wolf. It was a rogue, shunned from the pack like we were from society but still survived. Fought it's own way through the world, didn't need anyone for help. I wanted to be like that, to be strong enough to have to depend on no one but myself. So I adopted the name Wolfe and it stuck. Wolfe Sterling. That's me. Does that satisfy your curiosity or do you need a run down my entire life up to this point, too?"

I couldn't find a response and he didn't wait for one. Wolfe began walking slightly faster, almost huffily, so that it was harder to keep pace with him. Somehow, I got the feeling that I pissed him off. Along with that, I was getting real tired of all the walking and even more so from being kept captive from work. At least half an hour had already passed. Or maybe it was ten minutes. Or even five. Who knows? It was hard to tell time in the dark.

The more we walked, the more electricity appeared. Soon, the passageways were lighted with the same bulbs screwed into the ceiling until it became occasional. There were several other underpass entrances along the way, none of which Wolfe entered. He seemed to be headed for something and he seemed to be in a rush to get there. Or maybe he was just too annoyed with me to slow down for the faint of heart.

"Are you memorising the turns we are taking?" Wolfe asked. "It's a life-size maze, literally. The whole point of this is to make sure you can find your way around the tunnels in case you ever find yourself down here alone. Not that I think that's going to happen, but it might be helpful if you paid attention."