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Sweep nods and he and Trig exit the car. I grab my cell and call the mayor of Posting.

“Danny,” he answers.

“Hey,” I respond, sounding just as weary as he does. “Can you meet me? Can we talk?”

“Where?”

“Biagio’s.” I haven’t eaten and they have private areas where we can speak confidentially.

“Be there in ten,” he says.

Once I pull up to the restaurant, the valet takes my keys and I head upstairs. In a gray, single-breasted suit, Paul is seated in the back close to the window. Biagio’s is on the north side of town. It’s upscale and dark. He stands when I near. I give him a nod, removing my coat and placing it over the back of the vinyl dining chair. They offered to check it at the door, but I waved them off.

“I assumed you’d prefer a scotch,” he says, returning to his seat.

“You assumed right,” I reply, taking my seat and lifting my glass. Ice clinks against the side as I taste a sip. I lick my lips, savoring the bold warmth of the Dalmore.

“How are you holding up?” he asks me.

“Not well. You?”

He shakes his head, looking grave. “Heartbroken. I all but raised Samuel. It almost feels as if I’ve lost a son.”

I look out the window at the cars’ taillights below us. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“Oh, but you’ve lost someone, too. For that I am also sorry. Grief is heavy. How’s Bexley?”

“Same as us.” I clear my throat, wiping my hand on my slacks.

The waiter walks up and I order a steak, medium rare, with roasted potatoes. Paul has the same. Once the waiter leaves us, I exhale and grab the note from my pocket before placing it on the table. Paul’s eyes jump down to it before looking back at me.

“Do I want to know what that says?” he questions.

“No, but you need to anyway.”

He lifts his brow and reaches for the note. I watch his eyes bounce over the words and then he tosses it back on the table. He takes a drink from his glass, chewing on his inner cheek. “Where did you get this?”

“The shop. Either it was thrown in there or placed. I’m not sure.”

“The bullets were meant for Bexley,” he says.

“Yes.”

“They were trying to hurt you by killing her,” he says.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t say anything else. We sit in silence, and moments later our food is brought to us. I cut into my steak and take a bite. I eat one potato and that’s all I can stomach. Paul doesn’t touch his.

I’ve been working out a plan in my mind for years on how I wanted my life to eventually end up. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get my woman back and live a good life with her.

Did I want my brother to die for this to happen? No, of course not. I knew eventually Bexley would realize that she wasn’t happy and her life wasn’t fulfilled. She would leave him and hopefully he’d meet someone else. Am I being presumptuous?

No.

My confidence in what we shared has never wavered. Was I disappointed when she chose to marry Samuel? Yes. But still, I knew her feelings for me ran deeper than anyone else could touch.

Things worked out differently than I had hoped and I’m heartbroken about it. But there’s no changing it, so forward is where we go.