Page 37 of Arranged Addiction

That’s the best cover for our real activities.

If the Feds ever come snooping around, all they’ll see are actual businesses making actual money.

Which means half of my life is spent managing real employees and dealing with actual clients.

While the other half is juggling a criminal enterprise.

More of that work has fallen on me this past year.

As Dad’s health takes a turn, I’ve been stepping up to cover for him.

But it’s about more than just the daily operations. I need to make sure our captains and associates see me as the rightful heir. When Dad passes, I don’t want to risk any upheaval, resistance, or violence.

The last thing we need is a fucking civil war.

So I answer emails. I reach out to clients, both legit and less-than-legit, and I show strength.

If problems come up, I resolve them as quickly and efficiently as I can.

I make damn sure that everyone knows I’m in charge.

Sometimes I’m jealous of my brothers.

Seamus is our street boss. He’s out there with the soldiers doing the actual grind. Cormac runs our spy network and assassination squad. He used to be our one-man killing machine, but ever since he started a family, he’s been transitioning to a new role. He spends his days fighting our enemies and ensuring all our supply routes and shipping containers are protected.

While I answer more fucking emails.

After an hour, the coffee’s not working anymore. I hit the buzzer button, and Casey appears in my office door a moment later. “Come inside and take a seat.”

She does as instructed. My wife sits with her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, like she’s done a thousand times before. But today she’s gazing straight into my eyes with a lot more confidence than I remember.

“You snore,” she says.

I go very still and narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I heard it last night. You snore.”

“I don’t snore. You must’ve heard the neighbor.”

“Sounded like a chainsaw was cutting down a tree in your room.”

My jaw twitches. “Is that how you normally talk to your boss?”

She shrugs and glances at her nails. I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Not normally.”

“Just because we’re engaged, you think you can behave differently?”

“IknowI can.” That smile finally breaks through. “What’ll you do? Fire me?” She crosses her legs, totally at ease, and leans back. I glance at her thigh and feel a slight ripple in my chest. “You’re still going to pay me no matter what.”

I take a moment to recalibrate.

She’s absolutely correct. I could fire her—and frankly, I really should—but it’s not like she’d be out of my life forever. I’d still find her at home making a mess of things and lounging around the house.

I’ve been patient. The girl lost her best friend. But my god, I don’t think she knows how to close a drawer to save her life.It’s madness. She treats them like shelves with walls. Drives me insane.

For the past two years, Casey’s been a loyal and competent employee. She’s been smart, hardworking, and polite. This is the first time she’s ever talked to me with anything but professionalism and respect.

I’m not sure I like it.