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The Vision She Hid 78
The dressing room was too clean to be safe. Everything was in its place. Only somehow makeup looked like a war paint, ribbons looped just so, the faint scent of rosewater hanging in the air like a lie that wanted to be trusted. I’d danced here before, cried here once, and now I was about to learn how future mafia queens rehearsed their lines.The chip clicked into device with the obedience of a dog that knew who holds the leash. I’d lifted it from the heel of Marta’s old Chanel courts exactly the way she told me never to lift anything: fast, nervous, like I knew all along I wasn’t supposed to have it. But curiosity is a hell of an addiction—stronger than opium, and could be twice as lethal. In my case, anyway. I held my breath and listened.I recognised the voice of Andros, dry as gin without tonic.“Its a perfect drama, man. Just imagine she dies on the balcony, like a black swan. Mid-performance, when everyone is watching. He will list the rest of his marbles, whatever left of them
The Vision She Hid 77
The room smelled like rosemary and late autumn. The kind of place where curtains whispered and shadows knew when to hold their breath. A half-eaten dinner still sat on the table—wineglass with touch of my lipstick, silver fork still poised like it expected dessert and didn’t know better.I borrowed Elky’s shirt. It was soft, clean, and didn’t reek of gunpowder for a change.Elky stood by the window, shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. His hair was damp from the shower, the kind of damp that makes a man look like he’s been just baptized.He was quiet like a storm before the thunder. He poured me wine like it was an apology.“Do you think,” he said, “you and I could just disappear somewhere?”I raised an eyebrow. “You mean like death, or Marbella?”He smirked. The good kind. The one that made you believe in oceans and tender neck kisses.“No,” he said. “I mean like vanish. Start from scratch. A nice scratch, I mean.”I sipped the wine. It tasted expensive and sad. “Uh-huh. With your t
The Vision She Hid 76
The house didn’t blink when we came back. It didn’t smile, the dogs didn’t bark a welcome, the trees didn’t rustle to greet us. It just sat there at the edge of the cliffs, carved from menace, holding its breath.We stepped off the yacht seven in the morning - big Elky in white linen like a Riviera ghost, me in salt-stained silk that hadn’t seen a hanger in days. My pumps clicked once on the dock, then the silence swallowed everything. Not a word, not a whistle. Just the crunch of gravel under the shoes that cost more than most people’s cars and the whisper of dread rolling through the courtyard like fog when the driver parked the car.The staff lined up, eyes glued to the ground like it owed them something. They looked like kids at a funeral trying not to cry in front of the uncle who taught them how to drink and lie.Elky smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t need to show teeth to feel like a warning. One by one, the capos kissed his hand, terrified of missing their turn. L
The Vision She Hid 75
The deck had been scrubbed, but you can always tell when something’s been cleaned too well. It glistens wrong, and smells of bleach and cover up. The sun was melting into the sea like a guilty conscience. The table was set for two. White linen. Two plates. Red roses in a silver flute vase. He sat across from me like a man who hadn’t executed three people with the same nonchalance most men reserve for peeling an orange.“Sea bass,” he said, cutting into it with the precision of a surgeon. “Caught this morning. Or at least that’s what the cook tells me. Who knows? Loyalty’s a slippery fish.”He looked up, smiling like sin on vacation. “Did you ever think about that, rabbit? How nobody’s really loyal? Just different flavors of afraid.”I sipped my wine. Red, dry, expensive enough to feel like a bottled bribe. “I think some people don’t need loyalty. They just need everyone else to feel too scared to lie.”He raised his glass. “To fear, then.”I raised my glass.He laughed. That soft,
The Vision She Hid 74
The fixer just stood there, mouth moving, but the words were marshmallows soaked in gin. He kept saying, “I didn’t—I didn’t—I didn’t—” like repetition could buy him time.Elky Jennings tilted his head like he was listening to opera. Then he stood up. Walked over. And without a word, shot the man once in the gut. Put the gun down. Waited. Watched.Then put the second bullet in his mouth like a period at the end of a short sentence.The table still had unfinished bottles of wine, and olives, and a small plate of caprese, which I would never eat again in my life.Elky sat down, taking chair just across from me. Wiped his fingers on a white napkin with J monogram in the corner. Took a sip of wine like he’d just finished a round of golf.I wanted to say something, to object, to save lives. But all my words had packed up and left the country.Big Elky looked at me, calm as the sea that had just swallowed three souls.“You’re wondering why you’re here, huh?” he asked.I nodded. Or maybe my n
The Vision She Hid 73
I wondered whether Freya waited for me that evening. If she did, her waiting was in vain. I spent the sleepless night hanging from the rail, being sick on Elky’s boat. The storm passed around 5 am. The sea has become too calm for comfort. It lay outside my round window like a silk sheet—smooth, quiet, hiding things that mattered. It was the kind of morning that made you suspicious of too good weather and men in well-pressed chinos.I walked into Elky’s office without knocking. I never knocked anymore. Not after I saw what he did to the guy who always waited for permission.He didn’t look up. Just closed a leather-covered notebook with the kind of care you reserve for love letters and legal threats. His fingers lingered on the cover an extra second, like the book might whisper back if he pressed hard enough.There was a sheet of A4 paper on his desk—cream, textured, fine, the kind that flakes dignity when you fold it. There were names written in black ink. Some underlined. Some circled
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