Do you trust me?
Kala turns restlessly onto her back, an arm flung across her tightly shut eyes.
She tries to sleep - she has been trying for at least an hour, since Wolfgang left - but sleep escapes her, crowded out by a fit of self-blame.
She reaches for his pillow, turning into it, breathing in.
Do you trust me?
She does. She does.
So why, then, did she hesitate to tell him about the articles she found from an old Bosnian newspaper? Why didn't she ask if the stories are true?
Kala exhales, eyes open.
Because she knows they are. She knows he'll admit they are, and maybe she's not ready to accept the extent of his family's notoriety. Not when everything he already admitted was enough to drive a rational person very far away.
And that's not even asking him directly if he had anything to do with Steiner's death.
Kala groans into the pillow.
She had wanted to ask him. She tried to bring it up earlier, cryptically telling him she was able to do some research "about all sorts of things". But Wolfgang simply presumed she was referring to her work, and then she dropped the effort altogether.
Coward.
Kala sits up, agitated: How, exactly, was she to ask if he murdered his cousin? What would she do if he told her he did? What does it accomplish to know for certain?
Kala buries her face in her hands. She tests the idea, for the dozenth time, of knowing in her head. And for the dozenth time, she feels no pity for what happened to Steiner. No alarm, no fear, that it is Wolfgang who likely fired the weapon that killed his cousin.
Kala grimaces. She shifts to get out of bed, reaching for her cell phone on the nightstand.
She sends a quick text before she can change her mind: Are you still out?
It is half an hour before midnight, and Hernando called hours ago, but surprisingly, his response is almost immediate: Going back to karaoke. Meet us?
Kala worries her lower lip between her teeth. She had not wanted to intrude on Hernando's evening, but it is clear she can't sleep and Wolfgang was right: Hernando had invited her. Maybe she just needs the distraction. How long has it been since she socialized with a group of people, or gone out for something other than a fake date?
Kala sends a reply before she can overthink: Where?
Hernando texts her the name of a place not too far from her home. She's gone by it many times on the bus; people always seem to be laughing coming out and going in, and she's always wanted to try it.
Kala gives a bracing huff and gets out of bed. She showers, plucks jeans and a loose blouse from her wardrobe.
Fifteen minutes later, she is in a taxi, on her way to meet Hernando and his friends.
…
The karaoke bar is an open one, with a stage and a microphone and tables of people eating and drinking. A man is singing a ballad in a language she doesn't immediately register, his emotive performance punctuated by dramatic gestures that earn hoots and whistles from the people watching. Which is most of the crowd.
Kala's eyes grow wide with alarm. The karaoke bar she went to with Betina in Hannover had private rooms with sound proof walls where you could sing 90s pop tunes off-key without anyone else knowing.
Not this.
She stands rooted near the entrance, already wondering if she should leave as she scans the place, half-heartedly looking for Hernando. It is busy but not crowded: small enough that he would not believe it if she told him she somehow missed him.
A loud burst of applause turns Kala's attention back to the stage. The singer had stepped down and was offering the microphone to a man at a table. A woman just joining them with three shot glasses in hand pushes against the sitting man's back, urging him to take the microphone. Kala winces at the man's obvious reluctance despite the audience's whoops of encouragement. But he finally relents. He takes the microphone and turns to face the cheering crowd with a sheepish grin.
Kala's eyebrows lift in surprise.
Hernando effortlessly picks up the next line of the song in Spanish. His voice is a surprisingly smooth tenor, clear and melodic. He relaxes into the lyrics, conveying the emotion of the music through his singing rather than the performative gestures of the original singer, who watches with a self-satisfied grin from the seat Hernando had vacated. He sounds beautiful. He sounds professional.
The audience is temporarily silent with surprise.
Then someone shouts a drunkenly tearful wunderschön! during a guitar solo that triggers a smattering of laughter followed by applause and cheers. Hernando chuckles.
Kala's mouth falls open before she catches herself in a wide smile: Who would have thought the brilliant and reserved Hernando Fuentes could sing like that?
Kala is almost at his table when the song ends. She watches him return the microphone to the stage, the next person already waiting to take her turn, although she tells everyone to keep their expectations low. Very, very low. A chorus of laughter and encouragement erupts from the crowd.
"Oh my God you saw that?!" Hernando catches sight of Kala, his face flushed and beaming.
"You were amazing!" Kala wraps him in a hug, her grin as large as his own.
Hernando waves away her praise and draws her to an empty seat at his table, shoulders hunched to make himself as inconspicuous as possible as the woman on stage starts to sing. Kala sits next to him, her smile growing shyer at the curious stares from the two other people at the table.
The singer who had encouraged Hernando says something in rapid Spanish before he leans forward and kisses Hernando, pride and affection radiating from his face. Hernando laughs, demuring. "Kala," he says in English, "this is my partner, Lito." He nods at the woman sitting next to Lito: "And this is our friend, Dani."
Dani extends her hand in greeting first. She is beautiful, with a piquant face crowned by long dark hair. Her makeup is bold - appropriate for a night out in Berlin - but flattering: bright red lips, gold eyeshadow, heavily-winged eyeliner. Her eyes are framed by red crystal dots along the lash lines. "Nice to meet you," Dani says in English. "I'm glad you could make it! Hernando has been talking about you since you texted!"
"Oh?" Kala shakes her hand, relieved that Hernando will not need to interpret all evening; it didn't occur to her until this moment that his friends might not speak German or English when Hernando does so flawlessly. "That makes me nervous," she says in English, laughing.
"You know Hernando only says the best things!" Lito shakes her hand next, an arm draped loosely around Hernando's chair. Lito is more beautiful than handsome, with large dark eyes fringed by thick, long lashes. He wears a black mesh top that Kala somehow failed to notice earlier, but it teases the muscular torso underneath. "For instance," Lito continues, "he said you are very smart, and you are very…" He frowns in thought, searching for the appropriate word. "Bold. Brave, yes? Audaz." He shakes his head. "You came here to work. To research. Not knowing a soul. And barely the language. I could never."
Kala glances quickly at Hernando, surprised. Hernando seems embarrassed by Lito's revelation: "I told him I admire your sense of adventure," he says. "It's not easy, I know. But here we are!"
"Yes. Here we are." The woman singing hits the wrong key, and the table where she came from shows no mercy, heckling her loudly before singing along. Several other people begin singing along, too. Kala gives an exaggerated shrug, adding: "In a karaoke bar in Berlin."
Hernando grins. "In a karaoke bar in Berlin," he repeats, nodding.
"Did you hear him sing?" Lito leans closer to Kala, still beaming with pride.
"I did!" Kala nods, turning appreciatively to Hernando. "I didn't know you could sing so beautifully."
Hernando shrugs, his smile embarrassed.
"He never mentioned it to you?" asks Dani, feigning bemusement.
"Surely he must have!" says Lito, ignoring Hernando's sudden alarmed protests.
Kala stares from one to the other, brows furrowed.
"Hernando is a singer!" Lito explains, his eyes dancing with amusement. "He was in a boy band as a teen. They were quite popular in Mexico." He ignores the strangled sound coming from Hernando, his attention focused on Kala. "I used to have a poster of them in my room."
"You did?" Dani exclaims, genuinely surprised. "Me too! Although that one guy with the dimples - ay, Ricardo - was my favorite!" She fans her face, fixing Kala with a meaningful stare, before a thought occurs to her and she reaches for her phone. "Hang on," she says, frowning at her screen.
Hernando groans. "Dani."
"You still sound like perfection," says Lito, looking softly at his partner.
"And he can dance, too." Dani reaches over to hand her phone to Kala. "See? Check out those moves."
Kala stares at the video on the small screen. It's a live television performance from well over a decade ago. She recognizes Hernando immediately, his hair curly and longer than it is now, but the face mostly unchanged. He is one of four boys dancing in the background while a fifth boy sings lead: a bridge change, a smooth slide to the front, and it is Hernando singing, girls screaming off camera. Kala can't help the impressed "oooohhhh!" she gives, or the wide-eyed look of awe she directs at Hernando.
"Ok, that's enough." Hernando takes the phone and returns it to Dani. "Kala didn't come here to watch old videos. I wanted her to meet you guys and have a good time with us. So." He hands out the three shot glasses Dani brought earlier to Kala and Lito and Dani; Hernando takes a half-empty beer bottle in front of him. "To new friends."
Lito lifts his glass. "To new friends," he repeats.
Kala joins them in the toast, the alcohol burning a warm but welcome path down her throat. She may have had doubts before, but she is glad she came: Better here than at home alone with her intrusive thoughts, trying to fall asleep.
She smiles at something Dani says, claps with everyone else when the karaoke singer finishes her song.
Kala wonders what Wolfgang is doing now.
…
The radio on the desk crackles to life. Sasha's disembodied voice, clipped and precise, comes through to make a simple announcement: "She's here."
Wolfgang's eyes narrow.
He walks to the window that overlooks the lower level of the club and catches sight of Lila Facchini along the perimeter of the dance floor. He had instructed Sasha to let him know the moment Lila arrived. The last time, it was after 2 in the morning: By that precedent, she is a little earlier than expected.
Wolfgang puts out the cigarette he is smoking. He frowns when he loses sight of her, but she emerges again at the stairs, saying something to Sasha, who steps aside. Like before, she pauses to look up in Wolfgang's direction, as if to catch him staring, although she can't possibly see him.
Like before, she seems to be alone.
Wolfgang moves back to his desk. He eyes what he's left on top - printed images from the security camera held down by the two-way radio (he checks his pocket to make sure his cell is there), several opened envelopes that look to be bills - and locks his computer screen.
Lila knocks but doesn't wait before she opens the door. Wolfgang moves to the front of the desk, watches her with raised brows. "Come in," he says dryly, sitting back against the edge.
Lila is not dressed in club attire tonight, although the tight black leather pants and cropped leather top certainly aren't out of place. Given Lila's penchant for wearing more daring and certainly much less clothing to go out, she looks almost business-like. Which makes Wolfgang immediately suspicious.
She lifts her eyebrows.
"If you called me here to scold me about your phone," Lila says, her steps slowing,"I had to do it to reach your girlfriend. And," she continues, a faint twist to her bright red lips, "if you called me here to scold me about your girlfriend, I had to do it to reach you."
Wolfgang doesn't react. He folds his arms, eyes her warily as she stops directly in front of him. "I asked you here because you don't seem to understand no matter how simply I put it," he says quietly. "I'm not interested in taking over my uncle's territory. I'm not interested in helping you take over Berlin. Your tactics to get me to do it are doing nothing but pissing me off."
"If you mean trying to end things with your little scientist, maybe I was a bit…blunt." Lila shrugs, her long gold earrings brushing against her shoulders. "But you didn't tell her what you are. That was unfair of you. She should know the truth. Or at least suspect the truth. I was making sure she made an informed decision."
Wolfgang's mouth thins. "And to do that you left her a note on her bed and then used my phone to lure her into meeting you?"
"And look how easy that was." Lila ignores the tell-tale clench of Wolfgang's jaw and moves closer still to sit beside him on the desk, her leg touching his. "She's a trusting one," she says softly, turning to face him. She rests her head on his shoulder. "You would destroy her. You know it."
She doesn't see the flash in Wolfgang's eyes. He says nothing. Lila nestles her head against him. "You need a girl like me," she continues, her hand ghosting along his inner thigh. "I'm not trusting. You haven't destroyed me. You need me. We need each other."
"I don't need anyone. Least of all you."
Lila looks up at him with hooded eyes. "Baby you don't mean that," she says, a hard note in her otherwise placating tone.
He has wasted enough time. Wolfang stands, faces Lila.
"Leave Kala alone; leave me alone. I won't be telling you again," he says quietly. There is no heat, no anger in his voice, but his demeanor is chilling; he slips too easily into the role his grandfather had given him, and there is a flicker of alarm in Lila's eyes. "If you try to interfere, if you try anything to involve me with the Kings or with Bratva or Camorra, or anything having to do with that life," he continues, "I suspect Fuchs will be just as interested to know about you and your plans for Berlin as you feel Kala needs to know about me and my past." Wolfgang regards Lila thoughtfully. "Fuchs should make an informed decision."
Lila's face pales. She looks at Wolfgang with narrowed eyes, all traces of flirtation gone. "You wouldn't," she hisses, searching his face, looking for some sign. "He'll kill me." She seems to expect Wolfang to demur; to explain that she's misunderstood. But his answering silence leads her to look at him in sheer disbelief: "You would do that to me? After everything we've been through?"
Wolfang tilts his head. "I've run out of ways to tell you to leave me the fuck out of your plans."
Lila's eyes flash. She takes a step back, the flush mounting across her chest.
Wolfgang watches the color spread up the long column of her neck. He catches her wrist before the slap reaches his face.
Lila glares for a long moment before she wrests her hand from his grip.
"You know you are being a fool," she says at last. Her tone is even, but the flush that remains betrays Lila's agitation.
Wolfgang watches as she walks to the window, stares down at the club, brooding.
"She must be spectacular in bed to have you so firmly by the balls," Lila murmurs derisively. "You might be enthralled by her now, but trust me, you'll realize your mistake soon enough."
"You place a lot of blame on someone who wasn't around for a decision I made five years ago." Wolfang's face shutters. "I gave you my contacts in exchange for you leaving me alone. When you showed up here, I thought it was because you were curious about my relationship. Well, your curiosity is satisfied. But you're still here, and back on your bullshit about taking Berlin."
"Because it's a waste! This," Lila gestures at the office, at the club, "is a waste! And one day you'll know it, and it will be too late."
"I doubt it. I haven't changed my mind in five years. I won't in fifty." Wolfang's tone grows bored, weary. "Take Berlin. Or don't. Leave me out. Leave Felix and Kala out. And don't bother sending Maitake or any of your people to harass mine." He takes one of the pictures from his desk, walks over to Lila. "Like you did yesterday."
She eyes him warily, the color still high on her cheeks. She takes the picture Wolfang gives her.
And stills.
Lila's eyes dart to the time-stamp on the corner of the image from the security camera. "I didn't send anyone here," she says, voice brittle.
Wolfgang's eyes narrow. "Didn't you?"
"No." Lila gives a humorless smile. She points to the tall man at the center of the picture, the one that had spoken with such foolish bravado to Sasha. "This is Sebastian's man. He doesn't work for the company; I don't know his name. But he's Sebastian's."
"That's all?"
She lifts an eyebrow but looks at the picture again. "That I know." Her eyes glide over the others; she points to a man standing behind the one she recognized. "Maybe this one," she murmurs, "but I can't be sure." She doesn't identify Volker Bohm, partially obstructed by the others but still discernable. Whether she knows Bohm is difficult to tell, but Lila gives no sign that she recognizes him. Lila returns the photo to Wolfang, her anger of a moment ago replaced by a thoughtful cautiousness. "They're Sebastian's men," she repeats.
Wolfang frowns sharply. "Why were they here?"
She meets his eyes, gives a short laugh. "Maybe they came to have a good time," she offers, shrugging. "Maybe Sebastian suspects something. I don't know." Lila regains her composure. "But as disappointing as this meeting has been, Sexy, I need to go." She gives Wolfang an arch look. "I won't bother you with my troublesome presence any more," she says, turning away. "Just stay out of my way."
A/N: Phew! It's been ages! I am very grateful for my beta! And to everyone who is still reading this story, I am more than grateful for your continued interest and support 3 Thank you all so much! As usual, reviews are much appreciated.