Page 41 of All’s Fair In Love & War (The Bulgari Cartel #2)

Play Me For A Fool

Naeem

Two of my men and I pulled into the lot beside Vital Exchange Plasma Center and killed the engine.

This was Tatum’s establishment, and I had to admit, she had it booming harder than a trap house.

The line wrapped halfway around the building, and men and women of all ages were waiting to trade plasma for a few quick dollars.

When she first told me about the blood banks, I didn’t see the vision.

But when she explained that they mainly dealt in cash, things started to fall into place.

The beauty of it was in the volume and the noise—hundreds of transactions happening daily, all small, all believable.

Nobody questioned the flow because people were always struggling financially, and there was always blood to be sold.

Each donor walked in, signed paperwork, and left with a few bills in hand.

What the books showed was a steady stream of legitimate payouts.

What they didn’t show were the extra envelopes slipped under the table, the inflated donor counts, and the ghost names added to the system to clean dirty money.

Tatum made sure it all passed inspection. On paper, it appeared to be a model operation characterized by low overhead, high volume, a cash-based approach, and community service. In reality, it was a front that moved hundreds of thousands a month without a single red flag.

Genius didn’t even cover it.

To top that off, she didn’t just use the place to clean dirty money.

She turned a profit doing it. The plasma they collected didn’t sit in a freezer out back.

It got processed, packaged, and sold off to hospitals and pharmaceutical companies for top dollar.

That meant everything coming in was multiplied on the backend.

She was paying out scraps to desperate folks, flipping their plasma into contracts worth six figures, and nobody thought twice about it because it was medicine.

The system was airtight, legal, lucrative, and damn near untouchable.

I confirmed my weapon was hidden at my waist before exiting the car.

After straightening my jacket, I made my way to the entrance.

Some of the people we passed looked nervous, some looked numb, but they all seemed to need whatever they had come to get.

That was what this place was good for, even if the slight financial relief was only temporary.

Once inside, I found myself nearly having to squeeze through the crowded lobby, which was alive with a whirlwind of activity.

The air was thick with the hum of conversations and the shuffle of feet, creating an energetic symphony of noise.

I navigated my way past the reception desk, where a young woman glanced up from her work.

Our eyes met briefly, and I gave her a polite nod, which she returned with a quick, acknowledging smile.

Tatum’s office sat at the back of the building, tucked behind a long hallway lined with stacked boxes and staff moving like clockwork.

Upon reaching her door, I noticed it was slightly ajar, and I could hear someone speaking.

It was most likely Riley. They were thick as thieves and didn’t often leave one another’s side.

I didn’t bother knocking. I walked in, my eyes immediately landing on my wife. She sat at her desk, engrossed in examining reports on her desktop as Riley lounged opposite her, leisurely swinging one leg over the chair's side.

“What’s up, Naeem?” Riley said, glancing in my direction.

I tossed her a chin nod. “Hey, Riley. Everything good?”

“Couldn’t be better,” she said with a grin, eyes dropping back to her phone.

“I’m happy to hear that. You mind giving me a moment to speak with my wife?” I asked, though I really wanted to tell her to get the fuck out.

Riley and I were cool, but she knew I wasn’t there for her, and she should’ve taken the hint without me having to say a word.

Still, I kept it polite because I didn’t feel like hearing Tatum’s mouth later.

She didn’t tolerate rudeness or disrespect of any kind, especially when it came to her best friend.

Riley raised both brows, but didn’t argue. Instead, she stood and stretched before asking Tatum, “You good?”

Tatum nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Go on.”

As soon as Riley left and the door shut behind her, I walked around the desk and reached for Tatum’s hand.

She let me pull her to her feet without protest. I wrapped my arms around her waist and held her there, breathing her in.

It had been too long since I’d touched her without something between us.

Even though we shared a bed every night, it seemed like I hardly saw her these days.

“You smell good. Wearing a new fragrance?” I asked, placing soft kisses all over her face.

“Yes, Riley gave me this to congratulate me for meeting my monthly goals,” she said. “She said it smelled like something boss bitches wear, so I gave it a try.” Tatum giggled, shaking her head at the things her crazy friend says.

I chuckled and kissed the tip of her nose. “Well, she wasn’t wrong.”

“I know. That’s why I’m wearing it. This fragrance makes me feel sexy and empowered.” Her arms wrapped around my waist, fingers bunching the fabric of my shirt as I pecked her lips.

“I want you to take the rest of the day off,” I said, my voice low.

She leaned back slightly to look up at me, suspicion already forming in her eyes. “Why?”

“You’ve been pushing nonstop,” I said against her skin.

“It comes with the job,” she whispered, her voice lacking its usual edge.

She was tired, and I felt it in her body, though she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

“I know, but even you need to reset sometimes.”

“Naeem… what are you up to?”

“Nothing. I just want to take you somewhere.”

Tatum scoffed, her eyes narrowing with skepticism. “You didn’t just up and decide this on a whim, so what’s really going on. Is there something happening that I need to be worried about?”

“No.” I chuckled. “I’m serious. I just want to take you somewhere, so the two of us can have some alone time.”

She hesitated to answer, eyes scanning mine like she was trying to gauge if I meant it.

“I’m not asking you to stop being the Don,” I added. “I’m just asking for a few hours with my wife.”

She sighed, and I could tell by the heaviness that it came from the pit of her stomach. “I don’t want to fall behind.”

“You won’t,” I said. “One day won’t crumble your operation.”

She softened a little, but didn’t smile yet.

“Do you really want me to take a break,” she asked, “or did you plan this because you miss me?”

“Both,” I said without hesitation. “But mostly because I miss you.”

This time, she did smile.

“Then just say that,” she replied.

“I just did.”

She shook her head and rested her hands against my chest. “Alright, but only for today. I still have a lot to do to get my family back on top where we belong.”

“You will be,” I assured her, determined to do whatever it took to make sure my wife received everything she wished for. “Now, wrap this up and meet me at the hangar in an hour. Bring your passport and dress comfortably for the flight.”

“A flight—” she screeched, but before she could go on, I interrupted her mid-sentence.

“Be quiet, and just do what I said, woman. It’ll be worth your while.”

We touched down in Paris right before noon, and within the hour, I had her walking through the luxury fashion district like she owned every cobblestone under her boots.

I had called ahead to ensure everything was perfectly arranged for our visit. We had exclusive, private access to several boutiques, where rows upon rows of clothing awaited us. Each garment had been carefully selected and tailored to match her unique style.

Tatum didn’t ask many questions. She went with the flow and let herself be pampered.

Attendants brought out racks of Gaultier and Balmain and some Italian shit I’d never heard of but apparently cost as much as an entry-level Benz.

Tatum made a performance out of rejecting three-quarters of what they presented, but I saw the glint in her eyes.

She loved the attention, the exclusivity, the subtle flex of having the entire fifth arrondissement bending the knee for her.

And still—something was off.

She passed on the champagne twice, barely touched the water she asked for, and kept slipping off to the restroom.

The third time she came back, she looked a little pale around the edges and sat down on a velvet bench without saying much.

She pressed the heel of her palm to her temples like the light was too much or her head was starting to pound.

“You okay?” I’d asked more than once, but she kept giving me the same answer.

“I’m fine. It’s just the stress,” she said, not even looking up as she waved a hand. “Work is… a lot.”

She sounded irritated, but it couldn’t have been with me. I hadn’t done anything to get on her bad side lately.

“You’ve been saying that all week, and you’re barely eating. You sleep a lot, and now you’re turning down champagne? When did that start? You love champagne, Tatum.”

She sighed and leaned back on the velvet bench, her eyes fluttering shut for a second. Her fingers moved up to press the bridge of her nose, then shifted to her temples. And I didn’t miss the way she kept shifting in her seat, like her body couldn’t settle.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, but her voice was softer this time, less confident.

I sat down beside her, not touching her yet. “You’ve gone to the bathroom three times in less than an hour. You’ve turned down everything they’ve offered, and you’re looking pale.”

“I didn’t come here to be monitored,” she said, eyes still closed.

“I didn’t bring you here to monitor you either,” I said quietly. “I brought you here to take care of you, but I can’t do that if you won’t let me.”