Khadija

Chapter 6

Midtown Manhattan, New York, 2018

Li Ming Jin

I was rebellious growing up. Call it the hazard of trying to confine your kids to your image.

Want me to keep my hair all long and pretty? I took a pair of scissors to it and bleached it out. Want me to behave myself when we have guests over? I'd invite all my loser friends over and blast the plethora of rap and rock n' roll made available by the nineties. Want me to just give that sweet boy from school a try? What about that twitchy Brooklyn girl with the neck tattoo?

So I appreciated the little anarchists of today. I saluted those future rebel rousers. I gave 'em a wink.

But in my old age of thirty seven, I'd come to have an appreciation for rules--a certain respect for them.

And one of them is that "...I don't deal with these people, Keller!"

Jacob Keller continued his brisk pace and kept his eyes trained in front of him. "Li, I'm really not in the fucking mood right now."

I glared at the back of his blonde head and skipped forward to catch up. The dress pants I had on suddenly felt too long, baggy hem tripping up my black heels. My blouse seemed to twist and bunch around my body awkwardly, and I struggled to adjust both as I fucking power walked to the meeting. "Oh, and what's got you so pissy, princess?" I hissed as quietly and as angrily as I could.

I saw him grit his teeth. "...Amira."

I nearly stopped dead in my tracks, but sped up with a sudden burst of annoyance. Christ, he was almost as bad as Rebecca. Thought every man was spared Amira a glance had a plot to fuck her in a shadowy corner.

"Amira? You got girl troubles?" I hissed. "You know what I got going for me? An angsty bastard leading me to a room full of criminals! Is it just Gigante we're meeting? Did you hear anything from the other capos?"

He had the audacity to roll his eyes. "No, we've only heard from Gigante on the conference, and he asked for it to be off the records. He said he had major news for our partnership. Now would you calm down? We've been dealing with the Italians for years. Nothing's going to happen."

The kid had no idea. I grew up in this city, with some slum or ghetto always close enough to reach out and touch. As I grew, gang activity did the same. I saw them, saw crime and killers on the streets. But it never really scared me. It wasn't the grunge I feared.

From the time I was a kid, I would freeze on the streets when I would see those men roll up in luxury vehicles to upper class hotels and restaurants, dressed in designer suits with cigars pinched between their teeth. "Don't you ever get in business with the Italians, Li," Baba had warned. It was the one rule I actually listened to as a kid.

Until now, I guess.

"Jesus, Jacob. I hate it. I hate that I got anything to do with these motherfuckers." I tucked my hair behind my ear like a kid, anxiety twisting my gut.

"It's just business, Li. There's a difference between business and personal," he growled, still obviously miffed about whatever went down with lover girl.

Right. Business and personal. The Italians and Amira. Christ, if only he knew how much they had to do with each other.

No. If only I knew about how much they had to do with each other.

I only had a stripped bare version of the story. Seven years ago I got a call, and it sent my hands shaking the second I recognized the voice on the other end of the line; Tony Goretti, the man who only existed when he came to collect. Fortunately, he hadn't told me to run while I still had my kneecaps, but what he did say left me understandably confused. "You're gonna get a girl coming in tomorrow for the secretary position--tall, dark hair, tan--good lookin' kid. Her name's Amira Kassab. Hire her." Then he hung up.