Beauty and the Brown Eyed Beast

Chapter 20

Robert's Perspective

When my Nokia flip phone goes berserk on the surface of the beat up bedside table, I have a hitch I shouldn't ignore it. Like every other person that believes technology helps us a bit more than it harms us, I carry the latest smartphone with pride, reassured by its new-age efficiency and capabilities. But the burner is my only real connection to the alternate universe that houses my life with Cassandra, single thread that keeps me in her manicured grip. It rings only when she calls me; otherwise it stays completely silent. Like some eighth of a pound burden in my pocket.

The noise it makes buzzing against the hard surface irritates the shit out of Alfie. He glares at it from the window like he's inclined to crunch it up into little pieces in that colossal fist of his. "You gonna answer that?"

I probably should, I think silently to myself. Cass probably has her panties in a bunch by now since we haven't reached the airport yet. She's probably looking for a decent explanation as to why I'm keeping her and her mysterious new partner on their toes. It's not exactly my style to be five days late with an order, and I really don't think Cassandra would appreciate me getting sloppy now when there's so much on the line.

But I stare at the tiny machine with crude interest, unmoving, content to just watch it vibrate itself off the tables edge. Maybe it'll fall and break, and when it does, maybe that'll be it. Maybe when it breaks, I'll be free and so will my niece.

Beth emerges from the bathroom, distracting me from my wishful thinking. She's looking better than she did a few minutes ago, her face colored in with the miracle-working tubes of concealer and mascara I swapped from a convenience store earlier. The liquid foundation warms her features and fits her skin tone well enough, though I can still detect the hint of puffiness and swelling under her left cheekbone.

The idea of putting my hands on her now makes me so sick I have to lean forward in my chair to abate nauseous feeling churning in my stomach.

"Someone's phone is ringing," Beth notifies us with a whisper of a smile on her lips. "Probably one of the scary men asking what the holdup on their 'package' is."

Alfie throws her a cursory glance over his shoulder before he looks down at me again. "Aye, probably."

Beth looks smug. "You should probably answer it, Robert."

My eyes flit to the bed where Beth is pulling on a pair of Converse. She refuses to look at me, her head bent as she ties the laces. Looking at her now, I realize I have never hated my job more than I do at this exact moment.

"Probably," is all I say to her before snatching up the phone and flipping it open. "Yes?"

There's a long, tired sigh on the other end of the phone, and I immediately know it's not Cassandra calling. "I'm told you're called 'Robert', yes?"

"Who the hell is this?" I ask the guy on the other end of the phone. "Only a handful of people even know this number exists."

A genuinely gleeful laugh peals through the receiver, but it only makes me bristle further. "You can add to me that very short list of yours, then, signore," a lilting Italian cadence answers back with amusement.

"I suppose I am the newest addition to Cassandra's in little operation," the man informs me with barely concealed mockery coating his voice. "I am Bruno Ricci, the client."