Zero, What a God!

Chapter 8

"Don't hold your breath, babe. He's going to cry in a minute." Vanessa held up her phone and recorded Vittorio from three steps away.

Vittorio looked straight into the lens. A year ago, the same phone had filmed him reading his wedding vows, and she had made him read them twice because the light was bad. He had meant every word both times.

"Say hi to the girls, Vittorio. Tell them how you were going to buy a Rolls-Royce with your coffee money, then tell them who's paying for your next sandwich."

At Teresa's funeral, Vanessa had worn sunglasses and checked her phone during the prayer. Vittorio had told himself she was crying behind the dark lenses.

Trent turned to the salesmen and lifted his sling. "You want to know what happened to my arm? This guard jumped me from behind last night and broke my wrist like a coward. I had to cancel a charity match because of him!"

From behind? Trent had thrown the first punch, the knee, and the two kicks while Vanessa looked on from the bed.

"Should I call the police, Mr. Holloway?" the young salesman asked, reaching for the desk phone.

Trent waved him off with a grin. "Not yet. I want everybody to get a good look at him first."

Vittorio had guarded the Crest barrier for six months, and rich men had looked straight through him every night. Today, Trent wanted the whole room to look, as long as they saw a thief.

The salesmen glanced at each other. One of them stepped in front of the glass cabinet where the car keys hung on their hooks.

"Watch the keys, boys. A guy like this checks which car is easiest to steal, then he comes back at night." Trent leaned close enough for Vittorio to smell his cologne.

Vittorio's jaw ached from clenching it. Last night Trent had climbed into his bed, and now he wanted this showroom to believe the guard was the thief.

Then Trent lowered his voice, and his smile grew. "His mother was a thief too, you know. She got fired from The Crest for stealing, then jumped into Gallows Ravine because she couldn't live with the shame."

Vittorio's breath stopped, because last night Trent had not even known Teresa's name. Her job, the firing, and the ravine had come from one person in this room, and that person was holding the phone.

Vanessa had lain in Teresa's apartment, in the bed Vittorio paid for, and handed Trent his mother's death to laugh at.

Vanessa giggled behind the screen. "Honestly, babe, she couldn't even afford her own wedding ring. She walked around with that pale mark on her finger like it was jewelry, and she showed it to everybody at the wedding."

Teresa had sold that ring to buy Vanessa's wedding dress, then rubbed the bare skin through the whole ceremony. That morning in the kitchen, Teresa had patted Vanessa's back and asked her to be good to him. Vanessa had promised with tears in her eyes.

The air in the showroom turned cold.

If Teresa had been standing here, she would have stepped between them with a dish towel over her shoulder. She would have told Vittorio that a man who had to shout was a man who was afraid.

Behind the glass, every key began to rattle on its hook. The salesmen rubbed their arms, and the woman by the Bentley pulled her coat tight.

Vanessa's phone screen fogged white in her hand. "Ugh, what's wrong with this thing? It was fine a second ago!"

Without warning, Trent grabbed Vittorio's collar with his good hand. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, guard!"

Vittorio pressed one thumb into the nerve inside Trent's elbow, and Trent's arm went limp, his fingers opening on their own.

"Say what you want about me, Holloway. Say her name with that mouth one more time, and you'll need a second sling," Vittorio said, low enough that only Trent could hear.

He let go, and Trent stumbled back against the Porsche, clutching his dead arm. The tattoo had begun to warm under Vittorio's shirt. He breathed in for a count of four and held it for four, until the warmth faded from his spine.

The keys stopped rattling, and nobody in the showroom laughed.

Vittorio turned to the young salesman in the navy blazer and held out the black card between two fingers. "The Ghost. Run it."

The salesman hesitated and glanced at Trent. Then he took the card with a smirk, already planning the story he would tell at lunch.

The card would ping Leviathan the moment the chip touched the reader. The ATM had already told them he was alive, and one more ping would only tell them where Zero liked to buy his cars.

BEEP!

The terminal sounded once, and the salesman's smirk froze. He read the screen twice before his lips moved. [Sovereign client. Call the manager now.]

He grabbed the desk phone, dropped the receiver once, and finally got it to his ear.

"Mr. Finch, sir? You need to come out here. No, sir, right now, there's a client on the floor and the terminal says sovereign. I've never even seen that word on the screen before."

Vittorio said nothing and waited beside the Ghost with his hands at his sides. Across the floor, Vanessa had stopped recording. Trent was still rubbing his numb elbow, and his eyes kept sliding from the terminal to Vittorio's face.

"It's a glitch, babe. Their machine is broken, that's all," Trent muttered, though his voice had lost its swagger.

Then a door at the back of the showroom banged open, and Robert Finch hurried out with his bow tie crooked and his forehead shining, a red folder clutched against his chest. Robert saw Vittorio's face and stopped so hard that his shoes squeaked on the marble. The red folder slipped from his arms and fanned across the floor.

Robert bowed ninety degrees in front of everyone, and only Vittorio heard the whisper. "Forgive my delay, Zero!"