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Stephen closes the book. Amelia pouts and wraps her arms around his waist. Did she not like the story this time? She cranes her neck up to look at him.
"Papa, is uncle hiding something?"
Amelia has beautiful green eyes, usually lost in wonder of the world and how it works. She's curious about everything. Whether it's a simple cartoon made for children to a fantasy movie, she'd point at the screen and ask question after question.
"Uncle is allergic to garlic, doesn't age, has pretty skin," Amelia pauses and stares at her hands. "and can make anyone trip for him."
Stephen actively listens, taking out the stickers in her hair. She giggles, taps his shoulder and he humors her request. He knows where this conversation is headed, last time she asked if Isabelle was a mermaid.
"Is Uncle Tristan a vampire?" Amelia whispers. Stephen's lips curl into a smile and he laughs, shaking his head.
"No, Amelia."
Just like her mother, Kate.
They were highschool sweethearts. He assumed she was the only woman he'd want to spend the rest of his life with. Naive. All good things come to an end eventually and the world decided to cut his time with her.
When Kate told him news that she was pregnant, only he was estatic about it. She originally did not want a baby and had other plans. Stephen somehow convinced her to change her mind, but Kate rejected his proposal and only agreed to give birth.
Stephen squints, feigning a yawn. Amelia taps his face, putting glittery pink stickers on his cheeks. They're the useless kind of stickers that don't stick once exposed to air.
The promise of forever drifts through his fingers like ash in the wind. He was stupid and naive back then to believe such a thing. Nothing lasts. The view of dazzling lights and a sudden downpour puts him in deep thought.
Sometimes, he wonders if the clouds are as soft as he imagines.
"Papa?"
Things were smooth, until she learned what his family does for a living. He can't exactly be angry, he wouldn't want to get married to a modern-day assassin either, if given the choice.
Ah. Wondering about his ex isn't good. He merely wished she was part of their daughter's life. Whenever she asked about her mother, he didn't know what to say. She crawls onto his lap, clinging onto his arm.
"Papa! Don't cry or I will too!" Amelia wipes her eyes, pouting as tears start pouring down. She pats his face, pouting.
Tristan of course, made up stories on the go. That her mother was an explorer, off on an adventure to save the world. Amelia loved hearing about her mother.
A shame, really. Kate would've loved to live here. While the mansion was rather old, it was doing well. It had a timeless feeling to it, with the smell of wood and crisp fruit from the orchard.
"I'm sorry, little one."
Stephen tries to remember the stories his grandfather retold often, which proved rather challenging. He barely paid attention to him to begin with.
"Papa! Promise me we'll play more!" Amelia rolls over on his legs. He holds out his pinkie finger.
"I promise."
He pulls her in for a hug. The door opens with a soft click. Tristan walks in, wearing a loose shirt and shorts. Seeing his niece, he smiles and spread his arms. She looks at her father and he nods.
Oh? That was quick.
She jumps into her uncle's arms. He puts her onto his shoulders and they run throughout the house, though Tristan seemed to enjoy it a little too much. He watches them play, silently reminded of himself and James, years ago. He hears their voices from the hallway, loud and clear.
Never change, cousin.
With his daughter now preoccupied, he continues some work. Well, Stephen calls it work. In anyone else's eyes, this could be considered unscrupulous in nature. Another day, another comission.
"No ethical way to be a billionaire. Correct, as usual, uncle."
He speaks aloud, mostly to himself. It eases his fear, as if the portrait of his late family members in the room could hear. His parents made him understand those words from a young age. Only by exploiting others could they gain more than needed. But for what? Power?
It's a cycle that never ends. Same thing, different names. It's all he knows.
He looks out the window and sees the two in the garden, creating a mess with the puddles and cupping frogs in their hands. Tristan puts Amelia down. She taps his leg, dropping a toad and runs off, laughing.
Tristan looks as if his soul left his body, screaming his head off.
That's his little girl, no doubt about it.
His daughter is a handful at times, but she never gives him too much trouble. After a good hour, Tristan fell asleep on the couch with her curled up on his chest.
Of course, both soaked with rainwater and some mud, reclining right on the newly vacuumed furniture.
He wasn't surprised at this point. His cousin acted just as childish as his six year old daughter. A no brainer to why they get along so well. Tristan always caved in to what Amelia asked, be it playing house or having his hair done by her. Stephen gently wipes her skin with wet wipes, changing her clothes and tucking her in.
Tristan stretches his arms and rolls over in the couch. He gently touches his eyelashes, earning no reaction. Perfect acting, almost enough to fool him.
"I owe you one, cousin."
Stephen pinches his relatives nose. Tristan gasps and lands on the floor. He looks around, wrapping his hands around himself. He pouts and carefully pulls out a frog from his pocket.
"I almost squished little buddy." He said.
"Have you forgotten our schedule?"
Tristan holds up the amphibian with a grin. Stephen freezes. If that thing so hopped near him he'd whack it out the window with no hesitation.
"Put that away this instant."
"Aw, he's exploring! I think buddy likes you." Tristan grins, stretching his arms. Stephen hops onto the couch and pulls his feet up, watching the little green menace skip around.
"Tristan!"
"I'm sick." He rubs his eyes, forcing a cough. Tristan covers his eyes with arm and lies still. Surely the hardwood floor isn't that comfortable. Not even a five year old would be moved by such a performance.
He felt sick but ran around with his niece? Quite the illness to arrive so late.
Clara laughs, watching the two. Upon seeing such a large stain on the couch, her smile disappears. She has a slipper in hand and a hand on her hip. This will not end well.
He taps his cousin's shoulder and Clara shoos the vile creature out of the house. It didn't help that Stephen can't lie to save his own skin either.
Stephen tosses a pillow at him. Tristan often reminded him of his younger self, minus the high sexual activity. During their first encounter, he hated him.
"Ah, perfect." Tristan comments, putting it behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.
The hot-headed, arrogant blonde for a cousin has grown on him, whether he likes it or not. Despite this, the jealousy tugging on his heart grows stronger each day.
Tristan is as free as a bird, unlike him.
It simply didn't suit him, with his sense of style and rather loud mouth. He slaps Stephen's hand away, clearly annoyed about being disturbed.
Tristan stomps his way to the his room. The meeting today is important, his father would be present.
Please, no more cropped blouses. He understood being comfortable, but it was too much skin for his liking.
Besides, weren't those reserved for women only?
It hadn't even been five minutes and he could hear the off-key notes. Stephen shuts the door and tries to relax for the time being. Cigarettes don't help him, nor do sleeping pills. No matter what he tried, he's haunted by James' face every time he closes his eyes.
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Tristan's head falls forward. Stephen nudges him with his shoulder. Stay awake!
His head shoots up, but his eyes continue to droop. If anyone could sleep while standing, it certainly wasn't his cousin. Not exactly the best idea, standing next to Michael, Stephen's father, as he discusses plans.
These weekly meetings at the office are a chore. Stephen merely heard the same type of information being tossed around, it didn't seem like anything major.
Michael Pierce. He is one of the few men the groups scattered throughout the city knew and respected, to a degree. Michael had passed on his position at the company to Stephen, with his hands full with sorting out trades and neutralizing issues.
In other words, he is getting too old for this.
Though Stephen doesn't always agree with his methods, he is proud of his father. Tristan's head hangs as he snores softly. He allows his cousin to lean on him, for the time being.
He isn't paid enough to deal with this overgrown toddler.
Michael discussed about the potential plan of action to keep things in control. The northern group had split, leaving unnamed gangs scattered everywhere. Another issue raised was downtown.
The area had become dangerous. Even in broad daylight people fight, leaving those stuck in the middle with little choice. Stephen raises his eyebrows.
And what does that have to do with them?
If he recalls correctly, Michael worries about their supplier and his connections. He is fully aware his dear father didn't care for those caught in the middle.
An indirect hint? Not another mistress, please. He's had enough.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Tristan pauses. He wipes his mouth. Stephen pushes him off his shoulder.
Couldn't his cousin have picked a different time to speak?
He keeps his eyes on Tristan, searching for any dead giveaways in body language. If he found any drool on his suit, his cousin would be in for it.
Everyone scans the arrogant blonde, expectant looks on their faces.
"Zhang was kidnapped, but Xingchen and I got him back. Things will probably be back to normal, soon." Tristan continued. He has a big smile on his face. He looks like an overjoyed puppy, excited for his reward.
Michael chuckles, followed by the soft laughter of his men. Stephen folds his arms.
He ought to stop asking how reckless his cousin could be, he seemed to take it as a challenge.
Had luck not been in their favor, would Tristan be with them today? He perishes the thought.
"Have you gone mad?" Stephen raises his voice. He assumes this happened when his friend brought him to the house, weeks ago. Tristan's face turns pink.
"I couldn't let him go alone! Besides, it all worked out. I don't see the problem." Tristan whines, raising his hands in defense. He hides behind his uncle. Their men chuckle, engaging in small talk.
Michael snaps his fingers and the room fell silent in an instant.
"Explain what happened, Tristan."
Tristan dusts off imaginary dirt off his jacket. His stands tall, a smug look on his face. He flashes his cousin a finger behind his back.
Stephen narrows his eyes and flashes one back in return. He listens to the rather exaggerated narration, which included acting it out and sound effects. Though it is clear Xingchen had his back, watching Tristan recall what happened with a shine in his eyes made him glad.
If ever something happened to him, his cousin wouldn't be alone in the world.
"After that, he dropped me off because I couldn't feel my legs. It was so intense!" Tristan finished. Hearing this, Stephen choked on his water.
They did what, now? Stephen had been wrong about them this whole time. They slept together, didn't they? It sounds like it.
His dear cousin acts aloof and carefree so often, it is easy to forget his capability in a fight. Michael is pleased with the story and motioned for one of the men to step forward.
He bows and put two photographs onto the table.
"Sir, this is all I could find. This is the man who James attempted to murder."
Stephen took one photo. All he could see was a bloodied body and another crouched over it. It wasn't exactly the best quality, with such an old camera model and dim lighting. He recognizes Samuel instantly, yet had no clue to who the other person was. Aside being able to tell it was a woman in a dress, nothing.
"I suspect this person to be an accomplice of the Valdez." Stephen put the photo down. He folds his arms.
Tristan glances at the table and the color drained from his face.
Next to the pictures was a report. Upon further inspection it merely had information about his injury at time of admittance. No mention of anything else, however.
Was that woman a mere bystander? Stephen frowns. How unlucky. Once she's identified, they'd have to kill her.
"Did this happen... four months ago?" Tristan picks at his fingers. Michael focuses his attention towards his nephew. Stephen notices his father's expression harden.
Tristan's hands tremble ever so slightly. The two of them have a silent conversation, neither breaking eye contact.
Michael looks away first. Stephen places his hand on Tristan's shoulder. He shook his head and fixed his collar.
It was Tristan's way of saying not now. Michael brought the discussion back and wraps up the meeting. He follows after his cousin.
They stand beside one another, waiting for the elevator door to open.
"It's nothing, cousin. Just.. don't mention it. At all." He gives Stephen a small smile before leaving. Terrible liar.
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