Page 54 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

I adjust the phone between my ear and shoulder to prevent it from slipping and flip the thinly cut top sirloin in the pan. “Out of the question.”

Pietro sighs on the other side of the line. He’s getting too comfortable as one of my lieutenants. I’m gonna have to deal with his laissez-faire attitude, and soon.

“We’ve been dealing with the Vipers for more than a decade. Jackson is reliable. He’ll pay,” he protests.

“Full payment is always upon delivery. No exceptions. No money, no product.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’re not running a charity. If his gang can’t come up with what they owe for the coke, the shipment will be offered to another party. He doesn’t like the way I do things, he can go fuck himself.”

“Shouldn’t you be in a better mood, considering you’ve been off for a week?”

“Oh yeah, I’m out of commission for a measly five days and everything turns up unicorns and fucking rainbows.

Like one of our trucks being stopped at the border when it should have sailed right through,” I snap.

“And us losing out on the warehouse lease deal because the goddamned contracts didn’t get signed in time.

Oh, and how about Carmelo managing to piss off Wang with one of his asinine jokes.

Now the Triad is threatening to boot us out of Chinatown.

That storage facility has been a pain in my ass for months, and now it seems we’re back to where we started!

” I throw the spatula into the sink, breaking a couple of glasses inside.

“I’ll be in the office in two hours to go over the latest contracts with the boss.

First, I need to smooth out this fuckup with Wang. ”

Pietro clears his throat. “Uh, security has been informed that you’re not allowed inside. Mandatory sick leave, per Don Ajello’s orders.”

“They can try keeping me out, but you might want to warn them that I’m not in the mood .” I cut the call and toss my phone to the counter.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

I twist around to find Tara leaning on the breakfast bar, arms crossed over her chest.

“Decided to show your face at last, huh?” I bark.

This house is big, but I never considered it so large as to make it possible for my wife to dodge me for days on end. Especially since we’re sleeping in bedrooms that share a fucking wall. She’s been avoiding me, staying away like I’m a harbinger of death.

At least Greta had not deserted me. She made me meals and brought them up to my room several times a day, along with a newspaper for me every morning.

But as much as I appreciate my housekeeper’s efforts, there were times when I wasn’t sure if it was pneumonia or her cooking that was doing me in.

Somehow, her food was worse than ever. Her soups have been bland and flavorless.

Barely edible, actually. But regardless, I ate them whenever I woke up and found a steaming bowl on my writing table.

“Get back into your bed, DeVille.” Tara jerks her head in the direction of the stairs.

“Worried I’ll get you sick?” I lean my butt on the kitchen counter and take a big bite of my steak sandwich. “No need. According to Dr. Google, once the fever is gone, pneumonia is no longer contagious.”

“Good to know. You’re still not leaving. Your actual doctor said no work for at least a week.”

“Concerned about my long-term health, gattina ?” My eyebrow lifts. “No need to pretend. We both know where you stand. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear,” I growl, slamming the plate with my half-eaten sandwich on the counter beside me. Whatever appetite I had is gone.

As I move past Tara on my way to the front door, I catch a faint strawberry scent. It knocks something loose inside me. A vision of my wife lifting a glass of water to my lips flashes through my mind for the briefest second. Open your mouth. Drink. I shake my head, pushing away the vagrant thought.

Imagine that, me vulnerable and needing someone’s help. Depending on another person for life’s basics, like food and water. It’s almost laughable.

For almost half of my existence, I’ve been on my own.

Not alone, but certainly self-sufficient.

I had no choice and young sisters to care for.

At barely twenty, I became their parent.

Did I know what I was doing? Fuck no, but that didn’t matter.

They were my responsibility. My only family.

My reason to stay alive, to keep going, when giving up would have been an easier task.

How many times have I heard someone say I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you ?

Hard? No one has a damn clue. It wasn’t about looking after my sisters’ needs.

Providing food, shelter, and clothing. It wasn’t about keeping them healthy and safe, about teaching them to be decent human beings.

All those things I’d do again and again. Every day of my life, if I had to.

Tough? Yes. But hard?

Hard was living the life I was born into.

Constantly fearing for the fate of my baby sisters should something happen to me.

That terror was ever-present and bone-chilling.

It hung above my head like the Sword of Damocles.

I couldn’t shake the dread. What if I ended up in jail?

Or dead? Asya and Sienna might be sent to foster care, or a Cosa Nostra Family member who’d use them for their own selfish needs.

Both options were equally horrific. Both plagued me nonstop.

That fear didn’t lessen until Ajello took over.

It never fully went away, but I knew… Knew without a doubt that Salvatore Ajello would keep my sisters safe if there ever came a day I no longer could.

It didn’t mean I gave up the fight. Didn’t mean that, as they grew older, I didn’t do everything in my power to take care of them.

Often smothering them in the process. Or so both girls recently told me.

Yeah, I get it. I’m far from perfect. But life shapes us into who we are.

In my case, an asshole with a type A personality.

I function on rules, drive, and ambition.

I value structure and stability because they allow me to reach my goals.

I want everything done right and quickly, and often can’t trust others to get that done for me.

Not even when I’m halfway dying of fucking pneumonia.

So no, I don’t need anyone to look after me.

Especially not a spoiled wannabe princess whose middle name should have been Chaos because I never know how she’s going to react or what she’ll say next.

And my foolish desire for her to actually care about my welfare goes against the very fabric of my being.

Which, truthfully, is driving me batshit crazy.

I cross the driveway, heading toward my SUV.

It’s parked in its usual spot, perfectly aligned with the front door in a way that taps into my inescapable need for efficiency.

As I approach, my phone starts ringing in my pocket, but my attention zeros in on my vehicle instead.

I cock my head, trying to figure out what’s wrong with this picture.

The Land Rover is looking a bit tilted in place, sort of like the ground is uneven. But it’s not. So why—

Son. Of. A. Fucking. Bitch!

Both of the tires facing me are flat. Picking up my pace, I walk around the vehicle, confirming that, in fact, all four of the tires are. Crouching next to the driver-side front wheel, I take in the red-handled screwdriver sticking out of the rubber sidewall.

She didn’t!

“Tara!” I yell, spinning around. My gaze collides with my wife’s as she casually leans against the jamb of the front entrance.

“I told you,” she hollers back. “You’re not going anywhere today, DeVille!”

That’s it! I sprint across the driveway, straight to the house. Tara lets out a high-pitched squeal and dashes inside, slamming the door shut behind her. I reach it just in time to hear the deadbolt turn, locking me out.

“I’m gonna wring your neck!” I slam my fist on the wooden surface.

“All I’m trying to do is make sure you follow the doctor’s orders.

” Her voice sounds muffled behind the barrier.

“Chill out. I already made the arrangements for a tow truck. It will be here later today. And you’ll get your SUV with brand-new tires back tomorrow, just in time for Ilaria’s directive for bed rest to come to an end. ”

My forehead furrows. I thought she went stabby just for the sake of riling me up. “You mean, you couldn’t think of another way to keep me in bed besides slashing my tires?”

“I… guess.”

Squeezing my temples, I shake my head. A grin is fighting to come out, distorting my face despite my efforts to hold it at bay. “Tara… I own other cars. But even if I didn’t, how do you think our security guys get to work?”

“I don’t know. Bus?”

“Their cars are parked right beside the gatehouse.”

“Oh,” she sighs.

She sounds so defeated and glum, that I can’t keep it together anymore. I stuff my fist into my mouth to keep my laugh from escaping.

“Yes. Oh ,” I snort, fighting to sound even-keeled. “Open the door.”

“No, I don’t think I should.”

“Please.”

Several beats pass in silence before I hear the unmistakable click of the lock. The door cracks open, but barely five inches.

“What?” Her freckled face peeks through the gap.

I lean down until our eyes are level and touch the tip of my nose to hers. “Don’t fuck with the Land Rover again, Tara. You got me?”

“Don’t expect me to nurse you back to health when your pneumonia returns. Got that , darling?”

“As if you would.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Not even for an extra million in the bank.”

Just as I thought.

My eyes drop to her lips, but the phone in my pocket starts ringing again. It’s the fourth time in the last handful of minutes. I take it out and bring it to my ear. “What is it?”

“You need to get to the Brooklyn construction site,” Nino says, sounding grave. “Like right fucking now.”