Page 21 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)

TWENTY

Olivia

I t feels good getting back to work.

There's a pep in my step as Roman leads me out to the car. Apparently, he's my bodyguard and driver.

Is it weird that I saw a criminal shoot someone, and now I'm being pampered and chauffeured? I try not to think too hard about it.

The door chimes as I step into the bar. One look around, and I freeze on the spot.

Gone is the worn-out floor, replaced with gleaming hardwood that catches the morning light.

The bar top shines, refinished to its original glory, and fresh paint brightens the walls.

Even the ancient ceiling fans have been replaced with wrought-iron fixtures that match the bar's aesthetic.

"How?" I don't mean it as a question to Roman, more like my internal monologue coming to life as I try to figure out how it's possible that Sam did everything on my list, plus some, in two days?

"Impressive, right?" Roman leans against the doorframe, his bulk taking up most of the space. "Boss had crews working through the night."

It doesn't escape me that he casually refers to Sam as boss. But I guess that makes sense, since all these men work for him.

"I didn't think he'd actually do all this." I run my hand along the smooth bar top, remembering how I'd pointed out every flaw to Sam.

Roman chuckles. "You'll learn that when the boss says something, he means it."

I roll my eyes, but can't hide my smile.

"I'm going to check on my grandfather." Surprisingly, Roman doesn't follow as I take the stairs two at a time. The familiar creak of the top step welcomes me home.

"Good morning!" a cheerful voice greets me as I enter the apartment. Kelly, the nurse Sam hired, stands in the kitchen, wearing blue scrubs.

"Hi." I extend my hand. "I'm Olivia. I'm sorry I didn't really take the time to talk to you the other day. Things were…"

"Hectic." Kelly smiles warmly. "Don't worry about it. Your grandfather is such a sweetheart. We had breakfast, and I've got him settled."

"How's he doing this morning?"

"Confused, but calm. Let's sit."

I follow Kelly into the kitchen, watching as she moves around the space with practiced ease. She grabs a mug from the cabinet — the chipped blue one that's been there since before I was born.

"Coffee?" she asks, already reaching for the pot.

"Please. I could use it."

Steam rises as she pours the dark liquid, the rich aroma filling the small kitchen. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Both," I admit. "I like it sweet."

Kelly slides the mug across the counter to me, and I wrap my hands around it, savoring the warmth.

"You know," she says, leaning against the counter, "I've been a home nurse for fifteen years, and this is one of my favorite placements."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? Even with all the confusion?"

"Especially with that." Her eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles.

"Your grandfather has such beautiful stories when he slips into the past. Yesterday, he told me all about meeting your grandmother at a dance.

The way his face lit up..." She shakes her head.

"That's why I do this job. Those moments of pure joy. "

Something loosens in my chest, a knot I didn't realize was there.

"I've been so worried about him," I confess. "Trying to run the bar and take care of him at the same time...it's been overwhelming."

Kelly reaches across the counter and pats my hand. "That's why I'm here. You don't have to do it all alone anymore."

I take a sip of coffee to hide the sudden burn of tears. "Thank you. I mean it."

"He's proud of you, you know. Even in his confusion, he talks about his granddaughter taking over the family business. Says you've got grit."

A laugh bubbles up through the tightness in my throat. "Grit. That sounds like him."

For the first time since I arrived in New Orleans, I feel like I can breathe properly. Like someone's lifted a fifty-pound weight off my shoulders.

I spend the afternoon admiring the new fixtures in the bar and organizing another decade’s worth of records. I'm in the middle of ensuring all the new dishes are clean when Roman decides to start up a conversion.

"You know," Roman says, settling onto a barstool, "my nonna had dementia too. Used to spend hours just sitting with her, telling her the same stories over and over."

I pause in my inspection of the new glassware. Roman and I haven't spoken much since Sam assigned him as my babysitter. For most of the day, I've thought of him as a large and silent shadow. His admission surprises me.

"Really? How did you handle it?" I set down the glass and move closer to him.

"Some days were harder than others. But those moments when she'd look at me and really see me? Worth everything."

My throat tightens. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean."

For some reason, I didn't expect Sam's minions to have lives outside of their duties to him. Hearing Roman speak of his grandmother tugs at my heart.

“He’s not a bad guy, ya know.”

“Who?”

“Sam,” Roman answers. “He made sure my grandmother was taken care of. Paid for the best memory care facility, and when she passed, he paid for her tomb in Lafayette. He takes care of his people.”

Roman’s words and the weight of his sincerity tugs at my chest. I nod, no words forming in my mouth to reply. Is that true? Is the boss of the New Orleans mob actually a good person? My mother would scoff if she heard my internal monologue right now.

I look around the bar, taking in all the changes Sam made once again. Everything’s perfect.

He did everything on my list, plus more.

I can’t shake the feeling that he heard me when I said this place was important to me.

He said he wanted to help me…and he did.

The image of Rhett comes to mind unwillingly and a comparison chart forms in my brain.

Rhett didn’t hear me. And he surely didn’t do things like this to make me happy.

How is it possible that a criminal is treating me better than my ex-fiancé?

I stop overthinking it. Instead, I pull out my phone and snap a picture of the renovated space. Before I can stop myself, I send it to Sam.