Kill Your Darling

STEFAN

Stefan couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of Los Angeles. He hated the heat, the lingering smell of asphalt, and the pretended kindness with which people regarded him wherever he went. The air-conditioning in the crowded bar did nothing to keep his palms from sweating, and the cold whiskey didn’t ease the burn in his throat.

He should have gotten a haircut. The strands tickling his neck didn’t help the heat.

Stefan pulled up the sleeves of his white shirt and looked around, searching for something that could distract him this humid July night. The dimly lit, luxe interior enveloped guests in a sultry glow. Low-hanging chandeliers cast a warm, golden hue over plush leather furnishings. Rich mahogany accents, muted gold and deep burgundy tones, adorned the walls. Velvet curtains subtly separated private lounges from the heart of the club. The bar centrepiece, where Stefan sat, was manned by skilled mixologists, throwing around crystal glassware, engraved with the logo – a soft gold V.

Velvet drew a particular clientele, predominantly affluent businessmen, and their plus ones were either models or escorts, never their wives. Stefan hated the name Velvet, and he wasn’t a huge fan of its clientele, either. But between soft jazz notes here and the thudding of techno in any other club, he’d choose jazz.

He should have booked a VIP table. Maybe he’d find something to fuck then.

His phone was blowing up, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to answer.

Stefan downed the drink and grabbed his wallet. Time to get out of here.

“Hey!” A soft female voice came from his left.

Stefan turned to face a lovely, young blonde sitting on the stool, dressed in a bright red slip, a Louis Vuitton hanging on her arm. She was beautiful; her red lips were plump, heart-shaped, blue eyes tilted upward, a thin black line following their shape. She had nice breasts; firm, round, fake. Stefan nodded towards her in greeting.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked and flashed a grin.

Stefan chuckled, “I believe it’s supposed to go the other way around.”

“Buy me a drink, then?” she pouted.

Stefan faced the bartender and nodded at him.

“Another?” A young, energized man took the empty glass from Stefan, and briefly looked at the blonde.

“Yes.” Stefan took out his wallet, then glanced at the blonde, “What would make you happy?”

“Can I get a glass of Dom Pérignon?”

Stefan forgave her lack of taste, and ignored the distinct feeling that she was trying to sniff out how much money he had. He simply shrugged, and hoped the bartender would get his whiskey to him as soon as possible.

“I’m Katie.” The woman stuck out her hand his way.

He shook it. “Stefan.”

“So, Stefan,” she emphasized, “What brings you to LA?”

“Business.”

“What kind of business?”

“The kind that requires my presence in LA,” Stefan said.

The bartender put their drinks in front of them.

The woman’s blue eyes sparked as she brought the glass to her lips. “Mysterious.”

“Boring, mostly.” Stefan took a gulp of whiskey, gaze falling to the phone buzzing on the marble counter. “So, what do you do for a living, Katie?”

“I’m an actress.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, really?” Stefan took the phone and scrolled through the messages. “Where have I seen you?”

Answer the phone. Martin texted. Don Moretti is dead. We need to talk.

“Well, I- uh, I was in a Marvel movie.”

Stefan swallowed. He knew Don Moretti was dead. He wished he hadn’t learned it yesterday morning. Maybe he would have had a moment of peace tonight.

“Which one?” Stefan asked the woman, his finger gliding over the screen.

“Doctor Strange.”

I heard. We’ll talk tomorrow. He sent the text, put the phone back on the marble counter and faced the blonde.

“Oh, yeah,” he lied. “You’re that pretty girl, the one with blue eyes. In the background.”

Katie’s entire face lit up, a healthy flush splashing her skin. “You saw me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I did.”

His goddamn phone buzzed again.

“I’m sorry, Katie,” Stefan said and grabbed the phone. “Some colleagues don’t understand the meaning of the phrase ‘working hours.’”

She let out a laugh, “You’re so right.”

Tomorrow is too late. They read his will today.

Stefan’s breathing stilled for a second. Don Moretti had been dead for less than 48 hours and they already read his will? Someone was in a hurry.

“Katie.” He raised his gaze, and the woman glanced at him over the rim of her glass. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Okay.” She giggled and took a sip.

“How about we grab a bottle or two of Dom, I throw this phone in a damn river, and we go have something to eat?”

She let out another small laugh, then peered at him through her thick eyelashes. “Where would we eat? It’s 1AM.”

“We can order in,” Stefan suggested, eyes firmly on her despite the phone buzzing against his palm.

“Where is your room?” she asked, her voice changing from sweet to sultry.

“Hilton. Across the street.”

She took in a breath, and an exciting smile circled her face. “Okay, let’s go.”

“I just have to make one phone call. You order two bottles for us.” Stefan stood up and left the money on the counter in front of her. “And wait for me here.”

She smiled. “Okay, great.”

Stefan evaded her stool and went for the hallway that led to the bathroom, his phone already ringing against his ear. Martin answered a second later.

“Hey, man, why aren’t you taking this seriously? They read the will today.”

“There hasn’t even been a funeral,” Stefan answered.

“Yeah, because a whole team of fucking forensics is searching for evidence of murder through the old man’s guts. They think he was poisoned.”

The sheen of sweat covering Stefan’s neck turned itchy.

“What a way for a don to die,” he murmured.

“Aren’t you even a little bit interested what the will says? Man, he doesn’t have any sons. You could be the next Don. Think about it.”

Stefan’s throat bobbed, and the itchiness on his neck turned to full-blown nervousness.

“Yeah, not while the she-devil is alive.”

“She can try, but she’s never gonna be the next don, even if she is his daughter. These folks are too traditional for something like that,” Martin said.

“I don’t care about being a don, I care about being rich,” Stefan said, “And he hasn’t left me any money.”

“Maybe, but he left it to his daughter, and you happen to have signed a prenup before you married that raging bitch.”

Stefan leaned against the velvet-covered wall, heat climbing up his spine. No, he didn’t want to deal with this today. The Don was dead. Nothing he could do. His daughter would inherit everything. He didn’t care about that either. He just wanted to be as far away from them as possible.

“Like she’d ever agree to a divorce,” Stefan murmured. “Plus, at this point, she might even be getting more out of my wallet than the other way around. Everyone knows Moretti squandered half of his inheritance.”

Martin was quiet for a few moments before sighing deeply. “Listen, there’s something else.”

Stefan closed his eyes, the soft jazz too loud for him. “What?”

“Now that Moretti’s gone, so is your protection.”

Stefan kept his eyes closed; his last conversation with Don Moretti replaying in his mind. As long as I’m alive, your past is in the past. Maybe Martin was right.

“I don’t want to deal with this tonight,” Stefan said and opened his eyes. “There’s a very sexy blonde waiting for me.”

“As your legal counsel, I have to advise against drowning your complex emotions in a bottle of whiskey and some twenty-year-old’s pussy.” Martin took in a deep breath, and Stefan chuckled. “But if you must, can you be done by next week? You must attend the funeral.”

“I know.” Stefan nodded. “I wouldn’t miss the funeral.”

“I’ll let you know when they set the date,” Martin said. “And please, consider that Moretti paid off a lot of people to keep you safe. And all of your enemies know he’s dead.”

“Fortunately for me, I can keep paying them off.”

“Whatever, man, people think you’re competition for the throne. They’ll come for you. Sina Amiri will come for you.”

For a moment, Stefan kept quiet as the past replayed before his eyes. Sina Amiri was a problem.

“Let them come,” Stefan said, causing a chuckle on the other end.

“Fine, hot shot. Have a good night.”

Stefan hung up without another word. He was well aware his life was about to turn into a shit-show, and he just wanted one damn night to enjoy himself before he had to deal with everything. So, he frowned as he tried to remember what Katie said about the movie she acted in. Doctor Strange. Right. Maybe the plot was the same as in the comics.

He found the woman still sitting on the stool with two bottles of Dom in front of her, nervously chewing on her pinky fingernail. Stefan approached, and sensing something was off, frowned.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

“Uh, listen.” She looked up, her blue eyes wide and apologetic. “I can’t tonight.”

Stefan raised his eyebrow, ignoring the punch of loneliness in his gut. “What changed?”

“I’m just tired.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He kept her gaze and felt the same expression he used to use on his enemies take place now.

She took her lower lip between her teeth, chewed for a second, then released it. “Listen, this woman approached me. She gave me five hundred bucks to not leave the bar with you tonight.”

Stefan laughed, some of the desperation audible in the sound. “Seriously? Who?”

The girl chewed on her lower lip some more, then briefly glanced right behind him, towards the VIP booths. Stefan turned around on impulse, his eyes landing on a figure half-hidden by the velvet curtain, her crossed naked legs peeking behind it, smooth and silky even in the darkness of the club. She was wearing golden stilettos, and the left one hung loosely on her toes. Stefan sucked in a breath.

Like his night couldn’t get any worse.

A hand reached for the curtain and pulled it to the side, revealing the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

Octavia Moretti-Rosso grinned from ear to ear, her white teeth flashing at him. She threw her long sleek ponytail behind her back and took the glass of whiskey from the table. She saluted; looking as satisfied and as playful as ever. She leaned back against the velvet seat, revealing the deep cleavage of her skimpy black dress. Olive-skinned, dark-eyed, and dark-haired, he always thought Octavia was like molten chocolate, both in appearance and in personality. One shouldn’t take too much of her at once, or else one would be sick. Yet, she was irresistible. Warm and tasty. Deep and dark. Sweet and sinful.

Stefan’s gut clenched when his brain finally comprehended that she was here and everything that went with it. The one night he chose to ignore his problems ended soon, it seemed, and he’d have to face more than just demons of the past.

“Who is she?” Katie whispered.

Stefan raised his glass and forced a smile to his lips, still looking at Octavia.

“My wife.”