Closer to the Edge

Rowan was not an idiot. She knew the conversation that Martin and whatever-his-name-was was a conversation that wasn’t meant for her ears. She could tell that by the way Martin ran out of the room and by the way Ash quietly shut the door after them. She was curious, of course she was. But there wasn’t exactly much that she could do about it. It was maybe fifteen minutes later when the door flew open.

“Is everything okay?” Ash asked, her eyes wide as Martin appeared in the doorway.

“No,” Martin said. “They need a couple minutes.”

Ash stood up from the bed and walked over to Martin, grabbing his hand, before looking back at Rowan. “Um…yell if you, if you need us, I guess…”

“Just go,” Paul snapped, slamming the door shut behind them once they decided to actually leave.

Rowan was thankful that she wasn’t gagged this time around. “What’s going on?”

Paul paced in front of her for a couple of minutes, hand rubbing his jaw, before he stopped. “What do you know about the DiGiovannis?”

Rowan paused. “Why is that relevant?” she asked.

“Answer the fucking question,” he said.

“What do you want to know about them?”

“I know your family hates them because of your brother.”

She nodded.

“Any other reason?”

“Why does any mafia lord hate another?” she asked, sarcasm lacing her voice as she rolled her eyes. “It’s the age old story, you know? Businesses compete like in Wall Street. Only in Wall Street, they don’t kill the competition.”

“You’re implying that the DiGiovanni’s kill anyone in their way?” Paul asked.

“No, that’s just how you’re interpreting it,” Rowan corrected.

Paul sighed. “Can you just tell me what I want to know?”

Rowan smiled softly. This was the first time she had any sort of leverage over him and, well, she kind of liked it. “You gotta do something for me first.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “I can’t let you go.”

“Did I ask you to?”

“Were you going to?”

“No.”

Paul scoffed. “Then what were you going to ask?”

“Can you untie me? I’m getting dreadfully stiff,” Rowan said.

“Are you going to kick me in the balls and try to run again?” Paul asked.

Rowan bit back a smile. “No. I promise I won’t try to run.” And she wasn’t lying. She wanted to know why he wanted to know so much first. Then, then she would think about running.

Paul sighed. “You gotta promise to not kick me in the balls, too, Rowan.”

Rowan laughed. “Okay, fine, I promise I won’t kick you in the balls, too.”

Paul refused to smile at the sound of her laugh—he refused. But he wasn’t sure if he could trust her. He had learned a long time before not to trust people’s word because, well, people had the tendency to lie.

Rowan could sense how uneasy he was and, for some reason, she wanted to reassure him. And it wasn’t because her wrists were practically raw and her ankles felt like they were bleeding. It really wasn’t. “I’m not lying to you. I won’t hurt you again.”

And for a brief moment, Paul’s mind wandered to his father. What would he do? And Paul didn’t want to be like his father. So he untied her, slowly and carefully, his fingers lightly trailing over the red rashes on her wrists. His heart ached, and he told himself it was because he didn’t want to hurt someone and not because that someone was Rowan. After all, he barely knew the girl. He wasn’t going to give into something like that.

“Thank you,” Rowan whispered.

“Yeah,” Paul muttered before taking a step back and sitting on the bed. He certainly didn’t expect Rowan to sit down next to him, that was for sure.

“When I was growing up, I heard a lot of stories about the DiGiovannis, mainly because they have a son my age,” Rowan told him. “I don’t know anything about him but I bet he’s just like his father.”

“What’s his father like?” Paul asked, ignoring the insult he felt at her previous comment.

“A ruthless man,” Rowan said, the hard-edge returning to her voice. “He’s killed many people in my family over deals that he thinks we’re involved in but we’re not. I know my father isn’t perfect and I know he runs a shady business, but he’s nothing like Anthony DiGiovanni,” she spat, his name felt like acid falling from her lips.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Paul muttered.

Rowan looked over at him curiously. “Why do you say that? You said you didn’t know anything about him.”

“I never said I didn’t know anything about him, Rowan, I just asked for information,” Paul told her.

“Clever wordplay .Thank you, Washington Irving,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Irving didn’t use clever wordplay; he just used too many long and drawn out sentences,” he said.

“He used clever wordplay! No one else wrote like him at the time!”

Paul rolled his eyes. “Please! Dickens did it first.”

“He only wrote wordy sentences because he was paid by the word, you idiot,” Rowan said. “God, you know nothing about literature.”

“I know that Irving used more metaphors than clever wordplay,” Paul said, sounding the part of the petulant child.

“Couldn’t one argue that they’re the same thing?” Rowan asked.

Paul paused. “Don’t get off topic.”

“You know I’m right.”

“What kind of business does your father do?” Paul asked.

Rowan sighed and rolled her eyes. “God, you don’t tip-toe around it, do you?”

He shook his head.

“He’s…involved in some sort of alcohol smuggling. I don’t know all of the details. But he uses real estate as a cover, much like DiGiovanni. But I’m pretty sure there’s a small amount of drugs mixed into his deals,” Rowan told him. And she didn’t know why she was sharing this information with a stranger, she really didn’t. For all she knew, he was trying to bring her family down. Hell, he probably was considering she had been kidnapped a little more than twelve hours prior.

“And the DiGiovannis?” Paul almost didn’t want to hear the answer. He wasn’t sure how much his father told him and what information of that was actually true. The only thing he knew were the drug deals. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know just what else.

“It’s all gossip, you know that, right? I don’t know if any of this is true,” Rowan told him, her hands absently rubbing her knees.

“Just tell me.”

“Under the table arms dealing across the border. That’s all I know. Cuba, Mexico, I don’t know every location. That’s all I’ve heard my father talk about. It’s nothing across the ocean. At least, I don’t think so,” she told him. “And my father knows. He wants to go to the cops and strike a deal so he gets immunity or something. My mom and I aren’t supposed to know that. But I overheard him a week or so ago. That’s what the party was for. He was getting as much information as he could.” Rowan could’ve slapped herself for giving up so much information. But maybe a part of her wanted both of the families to be found out so it could end. Her family had been fighting with the DiGiovannis her entire life and she just wanted it to end.

“Goddammit,” Paul muttered, standing up from the bed and starting to pace again. “God, he’s such a fucking liar.”

Rowan watched him for a minute as he ranted and cursed under his breath, avoiding her eyes at every possible chance. “Do you work for the DiGiovannis?”

Paul stopped pacing and just stared at her blankly. “What?”

“I said, do you—“

“I know what you said,” he snapped. “And no. Not… Not exactly.” He ran his hands over his face before he started pacing again. He didn’t know how much of what Rowan said was the truth, but then again, his father neglected to tell him a lot of information. And he had no reason to distrust Rowan, whereas he had a multitude of reasons to not trust his father. If everything that Rowan was saying was true, there was no way he was just going to hand her over to his father. No way in hell.

“Who are you?” Rowan asked.

Paul ignored her.

“So you’re not even going to tell me that?”

“No. So stop asking, woman,” he said, waving his hand dismissively as he resumed his pacing.

Rowan scoffed. “Don’t you woman me like that. I will take you out.”

Paul stopped and turned to face her, opening his arms. “Do it. I dare you. I double-dare you.”

Rowan shook her head. “After all the information I just gave you, I think I deserve to know your name.”

“I untied you, that’s all you deserve right now,” Paul said, running his hands through his hair.

“I just think—“

“Can you shut the fuck up?!” he exclaimed with a sigh.

Rowan bit her lip. Yeah, she didn’t like this side of him. Not at all.

“Martin!” Paul yelled, tapping his foot anxiously on the floor while he waited for his best friend to show up.

Rowan groaned in frustration. She didn’t get what was so difficult and why he refused to tell her his name. Well, she had a few suspicions. But they were just that—suspicions and completely unfounded.

Martin stepped into the room hesitantly. “Yeah?”

“Get Ash in here. You and I need to talk,” he said, before glancing back at Rowan. “Sit down,” he told her, motioning towards the chair.

Rowan scoffed. “Are you kidding me? I haven’t even tried to run and you want to tie me up again?” She let out a laugh before shaking her head. “Not happening.”

“Does it sound like I’m giving you a fucking choice?” Paul asked, his voice dropping an octave as he advanced on her.

Rowan stood up, standing toe to toe with him. “You’re not going to do a damn thing and you know it.”

“Are they about to kiss or fight?” Ash asked, walking into the room and watching Rowan and Paul.

“I wouldn’t kiss her if she was the last woman on earth,” Paul muttered, grabbing her arm and forcing her to sit down in the chair.

“I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the last thing on earth. I’d make out with hummus before I touched you,” Rowan spat, jerking her arm out of his grasp. “Next time say please, asshole.”

Paul glanced up at her and leaned a little bit closer, until their faces were an inch apart. He didn’t miss the way her eyes widened or fell to his lips. He wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t deny that was attracted to her (only slightly) as long as he didn’t really have to tell anyone that. But he knew she was attracted to him, even if he had, well, been less than nice to her. “You sure about that?” he asked, his voice low.

Rowan’s eyes drifted shut but she forced them back open. “Yes.”

Paul laughed before pressing his lips against her cheek and backing away. “If she gets up, beat the shit out of her,” he told Ash before grabbing Martin’s arm and pulling him out of the bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Martin asked.

Paul bit back a laugh. “He fucking lied this entire time, Martin,” he said, stopping right outside of the elevator. He didn’t give the two guards standing next to it a second thought. He was too furious with his father to care.

“Who?”

“Anthony,” he said, rolling his eyes as he spoke his father’s name. “This whole family business is about a lot more than real estate and selling drugs to the Boston Elite.”

Martin ran his hands through his hair. “What else is there?”

“He’s dealing arms under the table to Cuba, Martin,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“Son of a bitch,” Martin murmured. “Shit just got real, Paul.”

“I know.”

“Is that what Rowan told you?”

He nodded.

“Are you sure she isn’t lying?”

“Why would she lie about that? I have more reason to trust her than my own father.”

“If she’s telling the truth, Paul, then this just got a whole lot bigger than the four of us,” Martin told him.

Paul sighed and raked his hands through his hair. “I know. I fucking know.”

“What are we gonna do? Your father wants her in his office on Monday morning.”

Paul shook his head. “I can’t do that, Martin. We all gotta get out of here. He won’t suffer this loss lightly and we’re all in this together.”

Martin nodded. “What’s our first step?”