Lord of Unkindness Chapter Thirty-One

 Notes: Time to settle in, reacquaint ourselves, maybe have a loving father-son talk...ha, NAH!

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Thirty-One

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Chapter Thirty-One

 

Photo by Aiden U.

Hambly Tower is far enough outside of Downtown Boston to be an absolute eyesore against the skyline. It’s thirty-eight stories tall, and while most of those levels are rented out to subsidiaries and the top three are reserved for the family’s living quarters, it still means a huge amount of wasted space. Wasted space is wasted money, and when Ciro was young he asked his father why they left so many stories empty. He’d thought it was deliberate, but only got smacked for his trouble and sent away.

Now he knows it’s because those extra stories are getting harder and harder to fill. The number of people who want to associate with the Hamblys has gone down over the years, and so the empty office space gets larger and larger. And because his father has an ego to match the size of his stupid skyscraper, there’s no way he can bring himself to offer deals on rent, or God forbid to sell the tower and relocate somewhere more comfortable and affordable. No, the tower is the symbol of Hambly power, and so they stay in it despite the fact that they’re witches, for fuck’s sake, with animal familiars would all would enjoy being outside far more than confined to the marble-floored gloom of the Tower.

There had been ponds, back when his mother was around. Now the ponds are all covered over, plastered and painted and turned into “signature pieces.” Victor’s Dobermans roam the halls of every floor, even the ones where other family members live, a constant reminder of the fact that he’s in control.

And each and every window is barred. That’s a new one.

“Sit down,” Victor says as he rounds the enormous desk in his private office on the topmost floor of the building. It used to be all dark wood and plush carpet and leather furniture; now it’s stainless steel, chrome, and glass. One style of power exchanged for another, and Ciro doesn’t like either of them. His heart aches even harder for colorful fabrics and comfortable cushions, soft lights, and the smell of soup warming on the stove.

He disguises his heartache by setting his bloody hand down on the armrest, careless of the way it smears. Richard is less than pleased, judging from the way his cougar growls, but Victor just smiles.

“You must be relieved to be away from Nephele.”

Ciro startles. That’s not the direction he expected his father to take this conversation. He is relieved, in fact; was surprised but happy when, as soon as they got to the Tower, Victor told Nephele in no uncertain terms that she should go and check on her father, who was still unconscious on the floor below, and leave him and Ciro alone to “reacquaint ourselves.”

She’d regained enough control of her voice at that point to squeak out, “No, I want to stay with Ciro!”

“You need to remember how to be a proper daughter before I’ll even think of letting you act like more to this family,” Victor had said warningly, and Nephele’s eyes had widened like he’d slapped her. “Go. To. Your father. I’ll call for you if I need you.” Not when, if. Her eyes had been frantic as the Dobermans had basically shoved her and her rats out of the elevator.

If Victor was expecting a thank you for getting Nephele out of the way, he’d be waiting a long time. Ciro doesn’t say anything, just stares with an expression of perfect boredom at his father, who smiles in response.

“You know, I got the most interesting sensations from my familiar when it got its teeth into you.”

Ciro curses internally as he suddenly remembers that old trick. His father used it all the time on him when he was a child and thought Ciro was lying about something. Once one of his dogs bit someone, it could access their thoughts and emotions. The transfer wasn’t clear, more impressions than anything else, but it was still something he should have remembered.

“You were impressively calm. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such emotional control from you. Clearly, you learned a lot during your time away from the family.”

Ciro still says nothing, just maintains his blank stare. Victor tuts reprovingly. “And here I thought you were doing better. You’re in a poor position to negotiate, my son, but there are some things of value you could bargain with. For example.” He sits back and steeples his fingers. “When were you going to tell me you managed to make Angelo Fabroa fall in love with you?”

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. “He’s not in love with me,” Ciro says as calmly as he can.

“No? Because that’s not what I hear from other people.” He pulls out his phone and turns it around. There’s a video cued up on the screen. It’s of a familiar, defiant young face, mouth open to shout even as the wind blows her black hair into it. He pushes play.

“Fuck you!” Maria screams, her hands clenched into fists. “Fuck all of you! You better let us go, or the Boss is going to fuck you up! You people picked the wrong man to mess with. Angelo’s going to tear you a new one if you hurt even a hair on Ciro’s head, do you he—”

He pushes pause and waits for Ciro to react. Which he does, with a caustic laugh and a shake of his head.

“She’s one of his subordinates,” he says with a shrug. “Naturally she idolizes the man, but she doesn’t know him well enough to speak for him. I was in the process of negotiating a deal with Mr. Fabroa, and she thought it meant more.”

Victor nods. “Quite the deal, if it meant giving you space in his family’s private cabin. I’ve had plenty of good witches look for that place off and on over the years, but it’s completely resistant to spells—or it was, at least. I expect it’s nothing more than ash now, thanks to Nephele’s rather rash actions.” He leans in a bit. “What did it contain? Was there a library? Powerful artifacts from his people?”

Ciro frowns. “What do you mean, ‘his people’?”

“The kinnara, of course.” Victor’s smile finally reaches his eyes when he sees Ciro flinch. “It took a lot of digging to learn that about him, and there’s far more legend than fact about them, but one thing that seems to ring true in story after story is the kinnara’s faithfulness to their chosen partners. And it certainly seems to me like you qualify as the person he’s chosen, Cyrus.”

He scoffs. “Because of a single outburst from one of his workers? She’s grasping for any straw she can think of to keep herself alive; of course she’d try something like this. That has nothing to do with the reality of the situation.”

“Hmm, I think there’s more to it than that.” Oh, his father looks exceptionally pleased now as he pulls something else up in his phone. When he holds it out again, there’s no video, but there is a message queued up.

“Mr. Hambly.” It’s Angelo, oh no, it’s Angelo and he sounds pissed. Cool, but clearly angry. “You’ve got a lot to answer for. Sending your niece here to disrupt my operations is bad enough, but her attacks on my employee and my personal property require compensation. Unless you’re looking to start a conflict with me that you’re not ready for, you had better be prepared to make reparations.” There’s a pause, and then, “I want your son present for negotiations. I’m not done with him, either.” The message ends.

Ciro’s mouth feels bone dry, but he makes an effort to speak. “That doesn’t mean much.”

“On the contrary, I think it means a great deal.” Victor leans forward slightly. “I’ve been in business a long time, and I know a desperate man when I hear one. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, Ciro; he might not even know how tightly himself yet, but he will.

“He’s right about one thing—I don’t want to start something with [name] if I can avoid it. There’s too much I haven’t been able to find out about his finances. I haven’t had enough leverage to force him to comply, but with you here.” His eyes glitter with both malice and pleasure. “I think the tides are finally turning in my favor.”