Chapter 56: Opening Night Part 2

“Mr. Cicero, so good to see you!” Razia was absolutely not pleased to see him there. She hid it behind a smile, but beside her Quentin was frozen and grimacing, which meant he was uncomfortable, possibly seconds away from panic. She stepped forward, spreading her arms. Cicero’s bodyguards stiffened but allowed her to embrace the crime lord and plant a kiss on each cheek.

Cicero for his part looked amused. “Ms. Rashid. Mr. Quintius. Or I should say, Mr. Q. You doubled down on her nonsense, have you?” The tone was jovial, but in her experience there was always more under the surface when dealing with men like him. They luxuriated in their power and control, even in the smallest interactions.

Quentin worked his mouth silently for a second. “You might say that,” he admitted, shoulders slumping defensively. Razia elbowed him and he stood up straight. “What kind of talk do we need to have?”

From the couches, Isa, Jenna, and Stavos watched with growing unease. At a look from Razia, Jenna turned back towards Stavos and whispered in his ear. That was enough to rip his attention away for now, but Isa watched on without bothering to try to hide it. The two newest customers looked as if they didn’t recognize who it was, but were sharp enough to know he was a big deal.

“The private kind,” said Cicero. “One wherein I let you know how disappointed I am in you and we try to reach some kind of accord before things get worse.”

Quentin made a sound only Razia heard. His eyes darted to hers and she tilted her head. “Then please, allow us to show you our garden and let these fine people enjoy their evening.” There was an art to making requests and showing submission without showing weakness. Cicero saw it and recognized it with a nod.

“After you, Ms. Rashid.”

Razia gently dragged Quentin with her and led the way out the back. The garden was still new, but the plants there were at least alive and chosen for their appearance at night. The moon hung high, illuminating a sitting area in the center, surrounded by moonlit desert roses and lycanpoppies. Mr. Cicero took a seat on one of the curved benches and made himself comfortable. He graciously motioned for them to sit across from them. Razia did. Quentin remained standing, and the bodyguards kept their distance at the door. With the gate locked, there was nowhere for them to run anyway.

“So, how have we disappointed you Mr. Cicero?” Razia asked, putting her hands in her lap and embracing the low level of fear that he instilled. It was good to be wary of predators, but it wouldn’t do to show fear. “Surely you know whatever it was, it wasn’t intentional.”

“I surely know no such thing,” Cicero said, snorting. “I want you to imagine you’re in my position for a moment. You’re running half the underworld and everything is going smoothly. Most people know their place in the ecosystem and know better than to cause a fuss. And then some reckless, independent free agent ruins one of your better sources of income and information.

“No big deal, it happens. The apology is appropriate thanks to an unexpected new player.” He inclined his head at Quentin, though it was unclear if it was respectful or mocking. Maybe both. “And then you put the matter behind you. Only to find out that said free agent and new player open a business that’s almost identical to the one they ruined. They’ve got some of the employees of that dead business, even. If you were in such a situation, what would you think is going on?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” said Razia, with a small laugh, “no wonder you’re unhappy. This is quite the unintentional insult, with a strong emphasis on unintentional. It seems we owe you a very big apology.”

“That would be a good start, yes.” Mr. Cicero’s smile didn’t reach his blank eyes.

“Then my apologies, Mr. Cicero,” Quentin spoke up. “After our last meeting, Razia and Samantha put in extra work to repay the debt they owe me. It…attracted attention. Before long, there were other women who circled around me and before I knew it…”

“Before you knew it, you ended up owning a whorehouse,” Cicero finished for him. “Whoops. Happens all the time, I’m sure.”

Razia hated how unreadable he was. It was impossible to tell whether he was amused or angry, whether he was leading up to something or if this was their warning before setting his attack dogs on them. Quentin wasn’t armed and they were, and Razia was only useful in a fight if no one was watching her closely. Rather than be surprised, Razia let out a sigh.

“We could apologize until we’re blue in the face. Or until he’s blue in the face anyway,” Razia nudged Quentin playfully. “But that won’t make things right. We all know you’re a man who never does anything without intent. You must have something specific you want that brought you here. If you were just here to express your displeasure at us, you would’ve just sent some men to deliver the message. What can we do to make things right, Mr. Cicero?”

His smile faded. Cicero leaned back, looking at them while he stroked his short salt and pepper beard. “Nothing happens in North Orchrisus without my knowledge, and if it does it happens without my consent.”

“Are you saying we should’ve asked your permission before we did this?” Quentin blurted out.

“More like my blessing, considering the nature of your business.”

Razia wasn’t able to hold herself back all the way. “So any kind of vice falls under your control? I thought you mostly focused on betting houses, fights, loans, and secrets.” Quentin’s hand on her shoulder kept her from continuing.

“The latter is what this concerns. When you burned the Silk Lounge, I lost a great source of gossip and news on top of money. Luckily, there is a way that we can resolve this.”

Quentin understood immediately and shook his head. “We’re not going to spy on our clients for you. We mean to run a legitimate business and offer up comfort and hospitality. We have no intention of becoming another Silk Lounge.”

Razia really, really wished he had checked with her before responding. Mr. Cicero said nothing for several long, agonizing seconds. He looked over the two of them, considering them intently. There was life to his eyes now, a spark that struck Razia as dangerous. This wasn’t going according to Mr. Cicero’s desired script. “Is there anything else we could potentially do to offer up a sufficient apology?”

“You could become one of my tributary businesses,” said Cicero. His tone hadn’t changed. He still sounded conversational, even indulgent. “In exchange for a modest fifteen percent of your take, you’ll be considered to be working under me. A small formality, mostly to show the rest of the jackals around here that everything you do happens under my sufferance. A display that you two aren’t spitting in my face and taking what’s mine.”

Quentin opened his mouth to speak. Razia elbowed him in the side. “Could you give us a moment?” Razia asked sweetly.

Mr. Cicero bowed his head. “Of course,” he said, smile reappearing on his face. “This is a big decision to make, and you don’t want to jump into anything haphazardly and end up regretting it.”

Razia dragged Quentin to the other side of the garden, behind a small sapling that would someday provide shade and fruit. In a low, sharp voice she hissed, “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Quentin scoffed. “What are you doing? We didn’t start this business just to roll over and give in to the first sign of a bully pushing us around.”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Ever since Lucy’s beating, Quentin had been one hundred percent committed to the role. While she worked out the finer details, it was Quentin’s resolve that made things happen. Seeing him take a stand and have pride, well…She adored it but hated the timing. “This isn’t the first sign of a bully, this is Mr. Fucking Cicero.”

“And?” Quentin looked over to Mr. Cicero, who was watching them intently as they spoke in hushed tones. “He’s rich, he’s powerful, and he’s not crazy. He wants a piece of us but he wouldn’t go to war over something this small.”

“He wouldn’t have to,” said Razia. “That’s the thing. All he would have to do is make it clear that we’re on our own and he has nothing to do with us. He does that and some of the bigger sharks under him will come sniffing around for weaknesses. From there, they either rob us or try to take over and deliver the business to Cicero as a gift and in the end he gets what he wants and we become a cautionary tale. Do you want that?”

Quentin made a face. “Are you saying you want to roll over and become one of his tributaries? Just like that, after we’ve worked our asses off on getting this place set up? I don’t want to jump from being an…an executioner to a crime lord’s underling.”

“It would be in name only!” Razia insisted. “He said as much. He just wants the appearance of being in charge of us. I guarantee you he couldn’t give half a shit about how the place is run so long as he gets a piece of it. You’re strong Quentin, and I think you could beat anyone sent your way. But do you think you could beat them all? We’re small fry. Us against him, there’s no chance.”

She hated how much the truth stung. It was never her dream to run someone else’s business, or for them to take credit and prestige for her hard work. If she did, she might’ve stuck around with Piro instead of burning him. Of all the times for Quentin to dig his heels in and decide that pride was more important than prudence…Hell, it was her of all people recommending they be cautious. Did that mean nothing?

“Look,” said Quentin, looking off at the guards and the room inside. “We’re still starting out, still growing. We’re going to hire some extra help around here to defend the place. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? We can politely decline, maybe offer him some shards and maybe a gift in the future. I don’t know, you’re good at that kind of thing.”

He was right. Razia was absolutely the type of person to think of a way out of this without giving in or giving up. She was no stranger to dealing with powerful, stubborn men. The trick wasn’t to give them what they wanted. It was to let them think they were getting what they wanted. “You’re right,” she said. “And I’ve got an idea. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do, Razia. We’re partners, right?”

His trust stabbed her in the heart and twisted. She put a big smile on her face. “Then let me do the talking. We won’t become his tributary. We’ll stand on our own.”

Quentin flashed her a fierce grin. It made her feel terrible, but this was for their own good. He bowed and motioned for her to go first. Razia reached up and cupped his face before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. It wouldn’t make up for what she was about to do, but maybe in the moment it would make him a little happier, a little braver, a little more unaware.

“Mr. Cicero,” Razia began as soon as they were back in the sitting area. “We really appreciate you coming here tonight and being honest with us. We never intended to insult you or make you look weak, and we appreciate your patience with us. But we’re not willing to put the Moonlit Garden under your name, even if just for appearances. We built this, we run it, and we’re going to run a clean business no matter what.”

Mr. Cicero’s nose wrinkled. The dangerously neutral mask faltered and displeasure showed on his face. “That’s a pity,” he said, sighing. “I’m afraid we’re all going to be disappointed by this choice. Some of us more than others, but I respect the desire to stand, or fall, on your own.” He stood up.

Razia stood as well, and smoothly continued, “But you are very much an honored guest tonight. It would be our absolute pleasure to show you what we have to offer before you go.” She made eye contact with him and gave him a pointed look. “We’d like to show you a good time, on the house. Please, pick any of our girls and she’ll show you the time of your life.”

He understood immediately. He was no fool. “Anyone who works here?” he asked. At her nod, his smile returned. “Then I think, Ms. Rashid, it’s time I see what makes you so confident and has your head held so much higher than every other whore I’ve known.”

Beside her, Quentin took a sharp breath. Before he could respond and ruin things, Razia bowed her head and said, “It would be my pleasure, Mr. Cicero. And luckily, our master bedroom is open. If you’ll follow me…” She turned around to shoot an apologetic look at Quentin, who was completely blindsided.

Every time she took on a client these days, she thought about Quentin. She wondered if it was what was stopping him from making a move, or if it was something he’d grow to resent, like so many men did. Seeing him now, he didn’t look betrayed so much as surprised, and then resigned. He gave her a tentatively approving nod. Mr. Cicero stood up. Razia offered up her hand and he took it. She led him inside, past his guards who followed behind, with Quentin bringing up the rear.

Stavos and Jenna were gone, off to their room for the foreseeable future. There was no way he’d take as much time as they’d promised to his son, but every happy customer was potential growth to the business. Isa looked up from the man she was speaking to, looking at her suspiciously. Lucy was sitting in the lap of a middle aged man, who was talking animatedly while she listened and nodded. Quentin could handle this without her, no problem.

Mr. Cicero followed her to the room. He wasted no time in sitting on the bed, leaning back on his hands and looking at her appraisingly. Razia closed the door behind her, noting the guards had taken up position there without needing to be told. Chances are they were well trained in not listening to their boss, but a part of her still worried. Everything about what she was about to do wracked her nerves, but it was their only option.

“Let’s start by seeing what you’ve got,” Cicero said, smile growing.

Razia smiled back and wasted no time in slowly sliding her top up and over her head, letting it drop on the floor. Cicero’s eyes roamed over her body and a hint of life came to them. She didn’t stop there, pulling her skirt down and stepping out of it. The panties were the last to go. She took a step forward, wondering if she’d get a chance to soften him up, so to speak, before making her offer.

“That’s close enough.” Mr. Cicero held up a hand, stopping her just a couple of feet away. His smile grew and he let out a low chuckle. “You are exquisite, Ms. Rashid. If I wasn’t the type of man to choose my vices carefully, I think I’d be vulnerable to falling under your spell. But I’m not. You wanted to speak to me privately, so speak. What’s your counter offer?”

It was then she understood. Razia was naked and he was clothed. She stood in front of him while he lounged on the bed. It was power and positioning. Well, the joke was on Cicero. Razia didn’t feel the slightest bit vulnerable or powerless without her clothes. She crossed her arms under her breasts and was gratified to see his eyes flicker down. Maybe he wasn’t entirely immune to her charms. Razia would take anything she could get.

“There’s no changing Quentin’s mind on giving you tribute. I think this is the first thing he’s had that he can be proud of, and there’s no way he’s giving that up.”

Once again he chuckled. “And good for him. It’s quite a departure from executing poor damned souls. Do you have any idea how many people he’s killed, Ms. Rashid? How many lives he’s ended over the course of his career?”

Razia shook her head. “Doesn’t concern me. I know who he is.”

“But he doesn’t know who you are, does he?” Cicero leaned in closer, eyes sharp and shrewd. “He doesn’t know you’re about to deal with me behind his back.”

“No,” Razia sighed. “He doesn’t.”

“A bit rich that a man who’s killed over six hundred people thinks working for me is beneath him. What’s your counter offer, Ms. Rashid?”

“Well,” she started, mental flinching at the number. She couldn’t focus on that now. “I can’t give you all the gossip I hear. Not without Quentin finding out. What I can do is let you know whenever someone of interest comes in. Who they choose, how much time and money they spend, everything that doesn’t take place behind closed doors.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Mr. Cicero considered it. “Rather than give me real information to work with, you think to placate me with information I would have to piece together myself.”

“Something I’m confident you enjoy doing,” she said, undaunted. “The Silk Lounge will eventually recover and people will forget. You’ll have that to collect information on all your mercs and thugs and thieves and keep them in line. You’ve got your high end betting halls and high society events to keep you informed on the elites. What we have here is a location and price points guaranteed to lure in the middle class.

“Our first clients of the night are an advocate for the Magistrate and his son, soon to begin working with his father. I guarantee you they will be repeat customers. Let’s say they make a habit of coming by every now and then. You’ll know their movements, their spending habits, every dirty and nasty thing that gets them off. From there, it wouldn’t be hard to lean on them if you can get something from them. All while we keep our hands clean, relatively speaking.”

Mr. Cicero said nothing but the casual condescension and dismissal was gone from his face. He looked to be thinking about it, at least. Finally, he chuckled. “That’s not nothing, Ms. Rashid. Do you expect to have many clients who might interest me?”

“That depends,” Razia said, not bothering to hide the wicked smile on her face. “If we’re able to establish ourselves in peace, with no direct ties with you or anyone else unsavory and dangerous. My girls are the best around and we don’t have any competition in the area. Most of our standing clients are salt of the earth people, but with the power of a few well spoken words here and there I have every reason to believe that we’ll be flooded with men of influence and position who want discretion and hedonism in equal measure.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Even when you’re in the weaker position you’re trying to get more out of me. So what, I not only leave you alone, leave that blaring insult open for everyone to see, but I help your business grow?”

“That’s exactly what you do, Mr. Cicero.” Razia took a chance. She moved forward, pushing gently on his chest. He allowed himself to be pushed down onto the bed and Razia straddled his lap, putting her hands on his chest for balance. He didn’t seem to mind the position much. “We make a big show of being apologetic, we show you a good time, and when you leave, you speak highly of us. We’re not an insult to you, we’re well respected friends. Especially Mr. Q, who isn’t a king like you, but is a baron, or a duke. You understand me?”

“Almost,” he grunted, shifting beneath her. He wasn’t as careful about his vices as he said. Beneath her, he stiffened and Razia let more of her weight rest on him. Mr. Cicero reached up and cupped her breasts. Razia bit her lower lip, letting her eyelids flutter shut. Then he pushed her to the ground. Mr. Cicero raised up, straightening his clothes. “What you say has merit, but you’re not offering me enough. So here’s what we’ll do.

“We’ll go along with what you’re saying. You won’t be one of my businesses. You’ll be respected friends. I assume you’re doing this to build Quentin up to be a good figurehead while you run things from behind the scenes. And that suits me just fine. I respect the deception. You’ll provide me with the information you said, I’ll use my channels to suggest your whorehouse to people I want to keep tabs on. And I’ll send an agent of mine to work here and collect information on their own. You won’t have to pass me specific information on your clientele. They’ll do it for you. All you’ll have to do is close your eyes and let it happen. That’s what women like you are best at, right?”

It was impossible not to feel that sharp, hot spike of anger dig directly into her brain and make her want immediate satisfaction. Between the push and his condescension, he was practically demanding she respond. But that was the problem with power. She was naked and at his feet, and with a word he could bring their fledgeling empire down. This was a sharp reminder for her to know her place. Razia could either fight it, or…accept it. The trick was making powerful men think they were getting what they wanted.

“Yes,” she sighed, eyes dropping from his. “You’ll get information on who’s coming and going and your spies, and Quentin and I can run the Moonlit Garden without interference or worry of coming under attack. I accept your terms.”

Mr. Cicero had the gall to reach out and pat her cheek. “Good girl. I knew you’d see reason. Pity Mr. Q won’t. I trust you’ll be able to keep all of this from him, and keep him in line?”

Guilt and disgust washed over Razia. It was the one thing she promised herself, after all Quentin did. She wouldn’t lie to him, she wouldn’t cheat him, she wouldn’t let him down. The affection and respect she had for him was real, but this wasn’t about disrespecting him. This was about knowing what men like Cicero were capable of and protecting Quentin. This was about protecting Samantha and Lucy and the rest of them. Wasn’t that worth a small lie?

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said.

“Or you.” Mr. Cicero stood. “Then we’re agreed, and there’s no reason for me to linger. You have a very lovely business, Ms. Rashid. I trust you to hold onto your end of the bargain. Expect to welcome in a new hire shortly. I can see myself out.”

Razia’s face flushed hot with anger but not shame. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Cicero. I wouldn’t dream of it.” She picked herself up and went to the door, opening it for him. He left and she followed out, naked and uncaring about it. With as little time as they spent in there, it would sell the illusion that she’d done something to please him. As a bonus, it would distract Quentin from asking too many questions. Gods, she hated herself sometimes.

Mr. Cicero stopped by Quentin just long enough to give him a respectful nod. “It was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Q. My compliments on your business. May the Wanderer bless it and bring you untold riches.”

Quentin looked surprised. His eyes darted over to Razia, and up and down before he tore them away and focused on Cicero. “May the Whisperer share every secret she learns with you,” he said in response. That seemed to please him. He gave one last respectful nod before he and his two goons left the building. The rest of the room was empty, and they were left alone with the muffled sounds of moans and beds rocking against the walls behind closed doors.

“I did it,” said Razia as soon as Cicero was gone. “I managed to placate him enough to leave us alone.”

Quentin made a face. His eyes remained painfully locked on hers, unwilling to let them drift down. The poor, sweet, lovesick bastard. “How the hell did you manage that?”

Razia put a sweet smile on her face. She closed the distance, making it both easier and harder on him. She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him in her best faux innocent impression. “Because I’m a witch and I can charm anyone I want. I convinced him to treat us not as people stepping on his toes, but distant, respected friends.”

“Once again, how?” Quentin grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her hands down. It still left them close enough to cloud his judgment.

“I promised him some freebies for his men on occasion,” she said smoothly. “Every now and then one of his higher ups might come here and we’ll pay the girls for their service. That’s not such a high price for peace, is it?”

Quentin made a face. “The rules still apply. I won’t tolerate any of them laying a finger on one of our girls, and they can still say no if they don’t want to do it. No one will be forced to do anything.”

“Absolutely,” Razia assured him. “We’ve got this, Quentin. You and me.” Razia didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. All she knew was that feeling like shit was a small price to pay to keep them safe. He never had to know. And if he did, well…He’d understand and forgive her. Wouldn’t he?