Page 110 of Saxon

"It is also my personal estimation, as worthless as it may be to you, that giving him the assignment you did, for the reasons you did, was a strategic miscalculation, and he saved you from making a terrible error."

"Pardon?" Now his voice is seductive, oily.

I squeeze her hand. "Terra. Stop."

She ignores me. "I hear the warning in your voice, Mr. Jean-Paul. But have you really thought about what would have happened had Saxon gone through with his orders?"

"I've thought of little else, my dear."

"He may have been an artist at what he did, but…what guarantee do you have that her family would have assumed it was the Morenos? What assurances do you have that the Morenos couldn't have proven it wasn't them? I think what would have been the more likely outcome—and this is just me conjecturing—is that they would have compared notes, seen the Ca—seen your organization's signature all over it, and then you'd have been faced with a fight against both families combined. And while that was going on, the rest, the little guys that survive on the scraps after you big sharks are done, they'd have been nibbling at your borders, looking for weak spots. And they'd have found them because all your resources would have been devoted to fending off two enemies at once."

Jean-Paul is silent for a long time. "I see." He taps his spoon against his bowl. "Any other insights to share?"

She shrugs, smiles. "Nope. I'll leave the business to you men."

Jean-Paul arches an eyebrow. "Business?"

"Well, sure. You didn't think we waltzed in here without an ace in the hole, did you? You think we'd crash your party just for funsies?"

Jean-Paul turns his gaze to me. "They may be on the inside, but she has quite a pair of big brass ones, as you Americans so crassly put it."

"No shit," I mumble.

"Your ace in the hole, then." He resumes eating his dessert.

I pick at the prime rib—for appearances. I'm shitting myself, on the inside. "I have a way to solve your issue with Mr. Carmichael and his overzealous vendetta against me." Pause, for effect. "You'd also stand to gain an ally instead of keeping an enemy—an ally who could help you get rid of the Morenos for good. Something that benefits you both."

A frown at me. “Mr. Carmichael…why does he hate you?"

I shrug. "Fuck if I know, sir. Never met the asshole, far as I know."

"Well, he hates you."

I shrug. "He can get in line. Lotta people hate me. Once upon a time, I'd have faced off with him and ended it that way. But I'm a changed man. I don't kill anymore. But he is a thorn in my side so this benefits me, too."

Jean-Paul regards me, his expression opaque. After a minute, he nods. "Very well. Let's retire to my salon." He rises elegantly and smoothly, dabbing his lips with a napkin. "Come."

Terra freezes, a spoonful of crème brûleé in her mouth. She swallows it. "Me too?" She asks, around the mouthful.

Jean-Paul smiles at her with paternal affection. "Of course, my dear. I am relying on your advice to avoid any further tactical errors."

She blanches. "Sir, I wasn't implying—"

He cuts over her. "I know what you were and were not implying. I believe you are one hundred percent correct in your assessment. I am not perfect. Only almost." He grabs his bowl and spoon. "Bring the crème brûleé, if you please."

Terra snags her bowl, the tureen, and her glass of whiskey, which she hasn't had even a quarter of, the smart girl.

Jean-Paul waves at her. "Leave the cheap swill, darling. We'll have the good stuff in my salon." Sal-AWW

When Terra looks confused, I touch her glass. "He means this."

"Oh." She sets it down, and I see her hand shaking like a leaf.

"Breathe," I whisper.

"Did I fuck up?" She sounds on the verge of crying. "Is he going to do unpleasant things to us?"

"No, honey. I don't think so. Just breathe and keep doing exactly what you're doing." I rest my hand on the bare small of her back, guiding her after Jean-Paul.