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“Yeah, fine. But if you try to sell me some oils to center my aura, I’m gonna shoot you.”
I hang up.
“Dick.”
I’m guessing he’ll have a few things to say when he gets here. But the shit I’ve witnessed him do since he first met Payton makes my kidnapping Savannah and forcing her to marry me look tame.
I press my lips together. Okay, maybe I win on the fucked-up scale ofhow I met my wife, but still, the man was basically stalking Payton. Which would normally be a bad thing. Who could’ve predicted she’d be just as obsessed with him?
Too wired to sleep, I think back on my history with Nero while I research what someone would need for a home art studio.
Nero is the one person in this world I can count on for anything. Sure, I have my sisters, and they’re great, but they’re not the ones I call if I need someone killed. Nor are they the ones I call after I kill someone, when I need help cleaning up the body because I got pulled away chasing after a curvy little goddess.
A goddess who has an impressive virtual following, but who has little daily contact with friends and family. A beautiful woman whose life could be moved from her little house––which seems to have been bought with an inheritance from her grandparents––to my mansion, without anyone the wiser.
I have a moment’s guilt, thinking about the full impact of what marriage to me will mean, about what being tied to The Alliance will mean for her, but it doesn’t change my mind.
It’s been more than fifteen years since Nero and I coordinated our hostile takeover, wiping out all the major players in both the Irish and Russian mafia in Minneapolis. The local Italians had already moved out, and were turning clean at that point, so with our previous employers out of the way, Nero and I formed The Alliance. We aren’t good men. We don’t do good things. But unlike our predecessors, our word can be trusted and we don’t cross the lines that we set for ourselves. Granted, those lines are few and far between, but we live by them. And other people die by them.
Until recently, even the men in the Alliance didn’t know I was a part of the organization, let alone one of the leaders. I’d kept my head down, remained an invisible partner for over a decade. I’d done it that way for a few reasons. First, to protect my family. Second, it made it easier for Nero to unite the men under one leader. And third, it’s been beneficial to us to have me on the outside. As an upstanding businessman in society. It’s amazing what people will share with you when they think your richness might rub off on them.
And that all worked. For a long time.
But as time went on, and I accrued more wealth and power, my public career and financial investments were starting to become almost as treacherous as running guns and laundering money. The two intersect more than anyone wants to admit. And I saw the writing on the wall. So, letting the underworld see me, letting the underworld understand who I really am, was the right call.
The risk increased, but so did the protection. And the risk was already there. Being rich as fuck makes you a target, whether you’re dirty or not.
Not to mention the fact that Aspen’s already inserted herself in some of thefamily business, becoming Nero’s lackey, against my wishes, when he needs a feminine touch. And I’ve never kept what I do secret from my family. Doing that would only put them at risk. They need to know what to look for and how to protect themselves.
I drum my fingers on my desk.
And tomorrow my family grows by one.
* * *
The light surprisesme when I quietly open my bedroom door. But then I see the body under the comforter and realize she just went to sleep with the lights on.
My bare feet don’t make any noise as I step into the room.
I keep my hand on the door handle, making sure it closes just as quietly behind me.
I was just coming in here for some clean clothes.
Iamjust coming in here for clean clothes.
My hand reaches out and turns the overhead lights off.
There’s a glow still coming from the bathroom. I follow the light, and the scents of a shower.
The steam is long gone, but there’s still drops of water on the glass wall.
The opaque glass stops three quarters of the way across the shower space, eliminating the need for a door. With soft steps, I move around the end of the wall and turn into the shower. Pine and sandalwood cling to the air.
Savannah was in here. Naked. Scrubbing my soaps all over her body.
My own body reacts, all my blood sinking to my waist.
And then I see it. Hanging off the showerhead. Her pretty floral shirt. The quietdrip drip dripas it hangs there to dry.