Chapter 86: The Shaper’s Offer
The only person in the room who hated surprise more than Razia was Mr. Cicero, and he was not happy. He was also the only one who might’ve hated Piro more than her, and at the moment Razia’s hate bowed out to let fear take center stage. She hated him, but seeing him and Christophe standing there in the middle of their private party, she was utterly terrified of what could possibly happen. The only thing she knew for sure was it wouldn’t end well.
“Now, the thing about war is you don’t have to win it,” Piro called up to them, taking the center of the room for himself. He was surrounded by a vanguard of his own men, knives out and ready. “You just have to make it too expensive for the other bastard to keep going. And I think we’re in a pretty good place to do that. But I’m getting ahead of myself. How are you, Cicero?”
Mr. Cicero let out a long breath. “Good evening, Piro. I’m doing okay. A little confused, I think, at how you got past my men. And what exactly you intend on doing here. You have to know you can’t win in an open fight.”
“Ahh, but see, we’re not here to fight.”
A murmur went through the crowd. Quentin met her eyes questioningly. Oh gods, he didn’t know what to do. Neither did she. Razia shrugged helplessly. It was hard to think over the pounding of her heart. There was a small, selfish part of her that hoped they could resolve all of this without ever seeing the bastard again. And while she was scared of what Piro could do, it was nothing compared to the cruelty Christophe could dish out. His eyes were on her, staring unblinkingly. She kissed the air and smiled at the way his face turned into an animalistic snarl.
“Then why are you here? This is a private party, and you weren’t invited.” Mr. Cicero sounded calm, but Razia could see how unnerved he was. He was gripping the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. “Who told you about it?”
Piro shrugged. “As much effort as you put into clearing out my informers, you didn’t get them all. It wasn’t hard to find out when, nor to knock out your men. Just a bit of alchemical help and a strong breeze and they’re all asleep at their posts. Don’t worry, they’re still alive. We genuinely just want to talk, before things get ugly. Well, uglier.”
An entire room full of criminals and mercenaries grumbled, becoming more alert by the second. With most of them only lightly armed, no one was rushing to attack. Some of them looked ready though, and they greatly outnumbered Piro and his men. The problem was both the pains in her ass were way more dangerous than they looked. Not for the first time, she found herself wishing Christophe hadn’t been busted out so Quentin could’ve executed him like he was supposed to.
Razia whispered in Cicero’s ear, “If he wanted to talk, why not wait until next week?”
Cicero shot her a withering look and she fell back. To Piro he said, “Why crash my party instead of finalizing details for neutral ground? We were already going to talk, now you’ve just insulted me. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t take the opportunity to finish you off now, once and for all.”
Christophe was the one who took point on this one, finally tearing his glare away from Razia. “We have a couple. One, if you try you might be able to get one or both of us, but not before we kill you. For another, if we don’t report back North Orchrisus will burn to the ground. Don’t be a prideful cunt, Cicero. Let’s just get this over with.” He held his hands up. “Look. Came unarmed and everything.”
Piro sighed theatrically, as if this was all some great hassle. “And we’ll swear upon the Wanderer that we come in peace and will abide by the rules of hospitality and friendship and all that crap, in front of you and all these witnesses.”
Razia watched Cicero carefully. She prayed and tried to will him to refuse the offer and send them away, or to just attack and risk whatever repercussions would come. Mr. Cicero still wore the same barely restrained sneer on his face. He met her eyes. She didn’t like what she saw there.
“Then be welcome Piro and Christophe. Get yourself a drink and make yourself comfortable for as long as your behavior holds.” He waved and the partygoers understood they were to go back to enjoying themselves. That was easier said than done, but if nothing else Fish at least just shrugged and went back to dancing without the music.
“You can’t be serious,” Razia said.
“I am,” Mr. Cicero replied. “Like it or not, it’s in my best interest to try to find a way to prevent all out war. We both know he can’t win, but he’s a spiteful son of a bitch and there’s no telling what tantrum he’ll throw if we say no. Behave yourself and trust that I have this all under control.” He turned from her and headed downstairs.
Reluctantly she followed him. Her heart was up in her throat and every step forward carried her closer to her greatest mistake. Quentin met her at the stairs, falling beside her and taking her hand in his. She squeezed as hard as she could.
“Not going to let anything happen to you,” he promised her, bringing their hands up to kiss the back of hers. Gods how she was grateful for Quentin. One day he’d get tired of cleaning up her messes, but for now she clung to him as long as he’d have her. “That’s Christophe then?”
“Yes,” said Razia, laughing nervously. “Hard to mistake him once you’ve seen him. Be very, very careful around him. He’s got a temper and I think he might be stronger than you.”
He grunted, and they continued forward. From a nearby table Isa stared with undisguised fear. A second later she got up and put as much distance between her and the uninvited guests as possible. Razia envied her, but there was no getting out of this. Cicero stopped and Quentin and Razia stayed just behind him.
Piro smiled at her, and for a second she swore it wasn’t his usual shit eating, malicious grin. He genuinely looked happy to see her, and she didn’t know how to process it. “This my replacement then?” he asked, nodding towards Quentin. “A bit pale, but not bad. I’d fuck him, at least. How about you Christophe?”
Christophe sniffed. “No. Unlike you I have standards.”
“Enough,” Cicero growled. “Say what you have to say. You went to all this trouble to crash my party and get our attention.”
Piro nodded, bowing deeply. “Of course, Mr. Cicero.” Even when back to business and sounding serious there was a part of him that sounded mocking. He always sounded like he was joking. It was something Razia once found endearing, even attractive. Now she wanted to claw his eyes out while screaming.
He kept his eyes on Cicero and said, “Firstly, I’d like to apologize formally for our incursion into your territory. It was ill advised, and a product of seeing an opportunity that wasn’t as prime as we thought it was.”
“You’re just saying that because I killed a third of your men and got another third arrested,” said Quentin. “Would you be apologizing if you’d succeeded?” He wore his usual resting murder face.
Christophe growled, but Piro continued to do the talking, “Honestly? No, not at all. I probably still would’ve sent the shards as a sign of good faith but an apology? Why bother if I got what I -- we wanted.”
“Which is my head on a silver platter,” Razia said. “You had it coming you know.”
“Ms. Rashid,” Cicero started, but it was too late.
“You think so, bitch?” Christophe snapped. “You have no idea what you’ve got coming to you. You should’ve known your fucking place and stuck to gargling cock and looking pretty. You’re not even good at that part.”
“Sorry I’m not a child, maybe you’d like me better,” Razia shot back. The words came out before she realized it, face flooding with heat.
Christophe shoved past Piro. Quentin pulled Razia behind him. Cicero stepped out of the way. Token moderator or not, he was too smart to stay in the middle. As big as Quentin was, Christophe made him look small. He was at least a full foot taller and half again as wide. Just the same, Christophe stopped and considered him. “You think you can stop me if I want blood?”
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Quentin tilted his head to the side. “I think that even if I can’t, I can buy some time for others to arrive and hack you to pieces. You feel like gambling, Christophe?”
“ENOUGH,” Cicero bellowed. Razia flinched. She couldn’t ever recall seeing him lose his temper or even raising his voice. “I’m allowing this impromptu meeting on the hope that we can accomplish something here. If I was wrong, let me know so we can part ways and try this again in a week when everyone is feeling sufficiently mature and restrained.”
Piro tugged on Christophe’s tunic. The big man allowed himself to be pulled back, but his hateful glare was focused on Quentin. Quentin stared right back unblinking. Piro held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, “I know things are heated, and there’s a lot of bad blood. But really, I want things to end. I hurt you, you hurt me, we both did a lot of things we regret. But keeping it going, that’s not really smart, now is it?”
“When does smart enter into it?” Razia asked, quickly adding, “Anger doesn’t give a shit about smart or practical. And maybe you’re ready to bury the hatchet, but your pet giant looks like he still wants to strangle me. You willing to let things go, Christophe?”
His dark eyes glittered dangerously. With the beard and longer hair, he looked half-mad. “I’m willing to entertain the idea,” he said. “So long as there are some concessions and reparations.”
“That goes both ways,” Quentin said. “My best friend is dead because of you.”
“A lot of best friends are dead because of me,” Christophe scoffed, “you’re going to have to be more specific.
Balled up fists shaking, Quentin said through clenched teeth, “His name was Demetrius. He died defending the Garden from your men.”
“Shouldn’t have gotten in the way then, should he?”
Piro sighed. “Look, this isn’t going well, so I have a suggestion. How about the brainy people go discuss this in private and the muscley people can grunt angrily at each other? Just me and you, Razia. For old time’s sake.”
For a second she almost believed him. Maybe it was the exasperation but he sounded borderline serious. It was a coin flip whether he meant it or just another joke. Razia wasn’t feeling particularly lucky. “You really think I’m going to let a psychotic shaper get me alone after all of this?”
“I really think that,” said Piro, folding his hands and steepling his fingers. “It’s your best chance of walking away from this with things resolved, no need to look over your shoulder for the rest of your life. I think that you want that bad enough to spend a little bit of private time with me. I’ll even pay your going rate if that’s what it takes. But if I have to pay I insist on one last fuck to say goodbye.”
Razia held out her hand just as Quentin reacted poorly to that comment. He stopped, and looked about as unhappy as she’d ever seen him. He had the rare look on his face that said he was contemplating killing someone. “Fine, we’ll have a private talk on a few conditions. The first is you don’t use any magic. I feel that weird pulling sensation when you cast a spell, I’m walking away. If this is a trap or anything happens to me, Quentin will kill you both.”
Christophe snorted, but Piro nodded. “I’ve no doubt he could accomplish this. You got a meaty one this time. Mmf.”
“And enough of that, please,” said Quentin.
“Polite too. Fine. You witness our agreement Mr. Cicero?”
Mr. Cicero nodded. “I have witnessed your agreement. For the duration of this negotiation and up to an hour afterward, there will be a truce. The first one to break it will face the full judgment of my men. Do both parties agree to this?”
Razia looked up at Quentin. He was angry, concerned, and unsure, but he waited on her opinion. Did she really want to do this? She nodded. Sighing, Quentin nodded as well. “Agreed.”
“Agreed,” Piro chirped.
“Agreed.” Christophe growled.
This was her last chance to back out.
“Agreed,” Razia said.
Piro beamed at her, and for a second it was like the last six months hadn’t happened. He was a prick but he was a charming, genuine prick when he wanted to be. Her fear ramped up further, having never settled. More important than anything else, Razia had to remind herself that he was a devious, self centered bastard who would hurt her for fun if she pissed him off. The smile he wore was a mask, just like hers.
“Right this way, Ms. Rashid,” said Piro, offering her up his hand.
Quentin’s hand landed on her shoulder, nearly making her jump. She turned to him. “Be careful,” he said, looking over her shoulder to Piro. “I don’t trust any of this. First sign of trouble, leave. Don’t piss him off worse, please.”
“I’ll be okay, I promise.” She tugged the front of his toga so she could give him a kiss. Then she turned around and ignored Piro’s hand, walking in the direction he pointed.
Even with the interruption, the party was mostly back to normal. Music played, people drank and laughed, and only a few people stared at them as they took the corner of the room. Lucy was there, sitting in a sleazy looking man’s lap. She met Razia’s eye and grimaced, sliding off the man’s lap and holding out her hand. He followed her away, leaving Razia and Piro alone enough. Quentin was still visible. He and Christophe had more distance between them, but remained in the same area.
“Things a bit serious with the new guy, huh?” Piro followed her line of sight. “Quentin Quintius. How did you end up finding him?”
Was that jealousy? Razia shook her head, almost smiling at him. “My relationship isn’t what we’re here to discuss Piro.”
“Isn’t it?” Piro clutched his heart. “I beg to differ. What I really came here for was to say I’m sorry. And that I want you back. I’m serious.”
For the first time in a while, Razia was speechless. After nearly half a year of hating him and running from the aftermath of her poor decision to screw him over, this was possibly the one thing she could never have predicted. She blinked, staring as she tried to figure him out.
“Okay, so,” Piro clapped his hands together, making her flinch. “I never wanted to trash you like I did. I was doing it to appease Christophe, mostly.”
“Mostly,” Razia echoed. “I know that already. It was for your image. Your precious image. You couldn’t stand the idea that people were whispering that I was the secret to your success. You had to remind everyone you’re the one in charge, the one who is on top. That’s just who you are. And you know what? That’s the exact opposite of who Quentin is.”
Piro’s nose wrinkled. “What’s his deal, anyway? I know you go for the weird ones, but oof. Seems obedient enough, but surely you can’t be serious about dating a fucking moonkissed pimp. You might like to pretend otherwise, but you’re a lot like me. You need to be on top too. And let’s be real, it’s more fun with you there.”
Ignoring his smug smirk, Razia jabbed a finger into his chest. “He’s twice the man you are. Both figuratively and literally. He understands and respects me. He would never humiliate me in front of all of my peers. Not for anyone. You couldn’t possibly think I would ever consider getting back together with you after that, let alone after trying to kill me.”
“I can, and do think that,” Piro said, undeterred. “You’ve misunderstood the attempt for what it was. I specifically wanted them to bring you back to me alive. Then we’d be having this talk and I’d make you the offer I’m making now. Come back to me and together we’ll rule over the entire Southside. We’ll expand and be the richest, most powerful bitches in this city!”
Razia looked back over. Quentin had left and was speaking with some of the gladiators, who all gathered together. Their conversation looked to be heated. Christophe stood there and stared at her from afar. “And what about your big brother?” Razia asked. “I have a tough time believing he’d let me live after all of this. Him being alive and within thirty feet of me would be a deal breaker if I wasn’t already a hard no.”
Piro let out a frustrated groan. He ran a hand through his gorgeous red hair nervously. “That’s been difficult. He hates you more than just about anything else. Getting him to agree took a lot of effort, but I finally managed when I offered you services, for just one night. He’ll get all of his anger out, you’ll rest up and then make a few appearances, properly chastised but back in the fold. You’ll take control of all the whores of the South and we’ll move in on those last few neighborhoods outside my reach!”
It took Razia a few seconds for his words to register. And then she had to picture it. She wanted to wretch. Piro looked completely serious, as if offering up her body to be punished was a completely fair offer. The worst part was how unsurprised she was when she thought about it. “What a tempting offer,” she said, sneering. “Come back and get raped by Christophe and then be your pet again. Why the fuck would I ever do this?”
Piro smiled and Razia’s blood went cold. “Because if you don’t, I’ll kill your new boyfriend. And if you get one after that, I’ll kill him too. And the next. You were the best lover and partner I’ve ever had, Christophe included.”
Razia blinked.
“Partner, not lover,” Piro amended, shaking his head. “Ahem. The point is, I don’t think I’m willing to let you get away. So I’ve decided that so long as you live in Orchrisus, you belong to me. You want to go home or fuck off somewhere else? Fine. I know you’ve got some wanderlust in you. Have fun. But you come to my city, my country, you’re mine. And I think when you accept that, you’ll be happier.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Razia said, heart pounding again. “You couldn’t kill Quentin if you tried. He’s more dangerous than you and can beat anyone in a fight. We’ve got Mr. Cicero on our side, and even if he doesn’t want war he’ll go for it if it means not backing down to you. If that’s your offer, you’re honestly crazier than I thought. This conversation is over.” Razia turned in time to see Christophe punch Quentin.
Oh crap.
“Ooh. Maybe I won’t have to kill him myself,” Piro said. “This is going to be fun!”