Page 72 of The Boss

He’s a crazed murderer…and a patient leader who trains the woman trying to destroy him, talks baby talk to his dogs and spends time with every new recruit during their first maintenance shift, I learned the other day.

A lot of the men like to hang out in the garage, a six bay outbuilding with a bodyshop inside. There they play music, drink beers and fix the clan’s cars. And, they talk.

I learned the cars all have iPads in them. It’s information I’ve filed away as leverage. When the time is right I may risk telling Vix so she can hack one, but it will be hard for me to find the right occasion and gift to send her—and write a coded note to go with it—that won’t seem suspicious.

I also learned Quinn comes in to change oil, check air filters, test armor panels and whatever else newbies are asked to do in their first few weeks on the compound. A job so far beneath his pay grade it disgusts me a little bit.

“Anyway, I’m calling you for a specific purpose. Which one of my dresses do you think is most likely to make him break?”

“Dresses?”

“Yeah, did you hear Zeno is coming into Boston today? And like a dozen others from my family. I guess the Russians are closing in and Dad sent some extra hands to help. Tonight is their welcome party.”

“The Russians?” She asks, sounding weirdly interested in mafia business rather than my quest for the perfect outfit.

“Yes, war over one warehouse on the Sound. It’s Quinn’s but it’s close to Volotov territory and I guess they want it. Or at least don’t want him to have it.”

“So they’re going to attack?”

“Yes, but not the warehouse. They’ve been tracking his safe houses and Quinn, if your people are listening to this call A) perverts. B) thank you for finally seeing me as the threat that I am and C) your men’s mouths run like leaky faucets in the garage. Shooting the shit and then just casually dropping sensitive intel. Tell them to tighten up. Seriously, it’s embarrassing for you.”

“Um, uh,” Ellie stammers at the thought of my husband listening in.

“Relax, El, he’s got meetings all day long at his Back Bay today,” I raise my voice and look to invisible cameras in the ceiling that may or may not exist, “Another tidbit I learned while hidingin the garage!”Ellie makes a gasp-laugh sound so I decide to put her out of her misery. “Quick, which one of my cocktail dresses? The dark green with the straps? The deep red with the v or the short gold one or...”

“No, that leather one you wore at Zeno’s birthday a couple years ago.”

I smile, “Yes! I forgot about that one. You were scandalized. As were all my aunts and cousins. It’s perfect. Alright, I love you, I’ve got to go.”

“I love you too, and Lu?”

“Hm?”

“Be careful, okay? A party with a bunch of the strongest Italians and Irish together in Boston, seems like a good target for the Russians to me.”

“I will, but the party is here on the compound. This place is a fortress, the front is like a castle and the back is wooded for hours with men randomly patrolling all over. We’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she says, unconvinced.

We say our goodbyes and I get ready slowly, taking my time with each detail. I make sure my hair is straight as a board and so silky I can almost see my reflection in the strands. I put on my best primer before applying simple make up. The leather cocktail dress is a statement all its own so I don’t go overboard with my blush, highlight, contour or eye shadow, but the black liner needs to be thick and fierce to match the vibe.

I add shimmery body blur all over my arms and legs to help bring out what’s left of my deep summer tan. We’re squarely into fall now but I’m still Italian.

I put on the dress and a sexy pair of leather thigh-high boots. I spritz my perfume and add simple gold hoop earrings to match my simple gold wedding band.

Then, because I’m me, I grab a knife and holster it on my inner thigh.

I don’t plan to try anything tonight but I like knowing I could, if I wanted.

And it pisses me off that Quinn just lets me have knives. As if I couldn’t seriously injure him if I tired? I could maybe even kill him at this point, I’d have the element of surprise. If my knife was hidden and I got close enough during one of our training matches, I could definitely nick his carotid artery. He’d lose so much blood he’d at least be laid up in Seamus’s care for weeks. Could maybe even put him in a coma.

None of that sounds very appealing to me now, though.

A thought I push away as I head down the stairs.

Tonight is about one thing and one thing only:

I am going to get my husband to fuck me.