Page 11

Chapter 11

Vito

I texted Eden ahead to reserve my table, even though most people know not to sit at it. Yes, it's pathetic, but it gives me a surge of pleasure to interact with her and know that I'm in her phone.

Gilly's is busy when I arrive, and I wave off Meg, one of the waitstaff. I'll go up to the bar to get my drink; I'll take any opportunity to interact with Eden that I can get.

Massimo is talking to Eden at the bar, freshly showered and in a new suit. My phone rings before I can leave my table to get my drink. Seeing its Creed, I push my impatience to talk to Eden down and answer.

"Hey, baby brother."

"You sound happy, Vito."

Scanning the barroom, I settle into a chair; my eyes sweep over Eden but don't stop on her. "It's been a good day, considering."

"Any luck?"

I know what he's asking about: the Czech mafia soldier we intercepted.

"Your feet are firmly on the other side of the line," I remind him.

"You know why I want to know," he growls.

Creed chose not to be part of the criminal parts of our world, but he's still interested in stopping human trafficking in our territory. He's especially invested because of what Sophie was rescued from.

Images of finding Tahlia Voss—the dead, abused woman in the trunk of Havel's car—makes my seethe, and swallow down my fury. "He was low-level and had nothing to share."

Gilly's is a secure place and is swept for bugs religiously, but I still keep some anonymity to my words. Creed understands what I mean, and he sighs heavily.

"Look, Creed. Shut this out. Focus on Triple S and bask in her sweetness. Remind yourself of the goodness in your life."

"You going soft on me, Vito?"

I'm not going soft, but I witnessed something last night when we were all at our parents' estate for dinner. Creed, thinking he had Sophie alone, had his hand splayed over her belly, looking at it in wonder, then he kissed her gently, still cupping her stomach. I didn't let them know I had accidentally stumbled upon their private, intimate moment, and I keep my mouth shut now, too.

If I'm right, there will be an announcement soon about a new little Santoro, and Creed doesn't need to worry about this dark shit.

I hear Creed softly say, 'Angel,' and know he's talking to Sophie. This reaffirms my resolve that Creed should not worry about this. He has a world of light and good now.

"Give Triple S a kiss from her favorite brother-in-law."

"Will do. See you soon."

As I hang up, I think again of Creed's expression last night as he held Sophie's stomach. I'm happy for my baby brother, and I'll love being an uncle. However, the thought of being a father makes me shudder. I've never had any urge to be one nor can I picture myself as one.

There's more pressure on Massimo to marry and produce heirs as the Don, but he doesn't have any plans for the near future. For a while, Mamma was a bit wedding-crazed, trying to play matchmaker for us boys, but Babbo stopped those painful and useless dinners. Daughters-in-law and grandbabies are all Gina Santoro wants, though. So, if Creed and Sophie start popping out babies, that will at least keep Mamma content for a bit.

I stand, my eyes moving over Eden without stopping, but I drink in every detail. Massimo shifts, and I eye him as I approach.

The topic of marriage and babies is on my mind as I regard my oldest brother. He might not marry for love, but for alliance and strengthening our family. He won't buck it if he needs to marry for business purposes, which is common in our world. Massimo is also strategic and cunning, and I know he'll choose well.

Stepping to Massimo's side, I look at Eden with hooded eyes. My face is unreadable, shielding the intense and dirty thoughts that rush forth now that she's right in front of me. She's close enough to touch; I can smell the faint coconut of her shampoo. My cock hardens, and I adjust my jacket to cover the bulge straining in my jeans.

Eden bends down to reach for my bottle of preferred bourbon. It pleases me that she's anticipating my needs. Although I'm disappointed I don't get to tell her to bend over—that has become my favorite pastime.

Massimo turns to me. "I was updating Ed from the Chamber's latest meeting."

It isn't lost on me that everyone in the bar—staff included—refers to Eden as Ed. I, on the other hand, refuse to.

She pours me a generous tumbler of my bourbon, looking at me with her indifferent expression, completely unaffected by me—which is a mindfuck and should deflate my dick because she's clearly not interested. She pushes the tumbler to me.

The woman is fucking gorgeous.

Hazel eyes, a sharp, angled jawline, and full lips. They get me every single time.

She wears a loose AC/DC T-shirt, but it doesn't hide her magnificent tits that could bring a grown man to his knees. She never dresses to accentuate her body; however, with her rack, and her hourglass figure with those curvy hips and perky ass, it's hard to disguise. She reminds me of Gloria from that TV show, but without the fancy clothes. Eden always wears dark shirts and either jeans or combat pants. Always a pair of flat, thick-treaded boots.

I put the money on the counter for the bourbon. Seeing Hugo walk in, I add more. "Can I also get Hugo's tequila, Eden?"

Massimo looks sharply at me calling her that, and Eden's full lips pull into a frown, but neither of them calls me on my bullshit. Grabbing the drinks, I incline my head in thanks and join Hugo sitting at my table.

" Gracias, amigo. " He taps his glass against mine.

As part of the Chamber, we each have areas we control and don't step on each other's toes. If you want weapons, you come through me; if you want cars—to buy or move stolen ones—you go through the Saints. Drugs are the Triads and the Fire Clan. The Havoc Guardians have taken a big role in providing 'clean-up' services after the regular contractor got himself and his second-in-command killed. There's power in providing that service because you know where all the bodies are buried, literally.

We each have other monopolies, and we collaborate often, which is why I'm meeting with Hugo tonight. We've been helping the Saints strike against a shit-bag gang—the Mambo Posse—trying to push into the city.

Hugo sips his tequila. "Is the route cut off?"

He's asking if the weapons procurement to the Mambo Posse has been demobilized.

"It is for the city and California, but I can't control if they're getting weapons from elsewhere."

Weapons are the biggest part of the illegal parts of our empire, along with money laundering. Our role in the drug trade is to allow our ports and shipping routes along the West Coast to be used by those moving and distributing the product.

Hugo frowns but nods. "Dom wants this capped immediately."

I lean back in my chair, keeping my posture relaxed. The Saints may be a partner member in the Chamber and an ally, but that doesn't mean I trust them blindly. Nor do they give me any marching orders.

Hugo realizes how his comment could be taken. "That wasn't a comment for you. Sorry." He scrubs his hand over the scar that runs down the right side of his face.

Word on the street, is that his scorned ex-wife had taken a broken bottle to her dear husband while he was passed out and then fled.

"This isn't like ticking a checkbox on a list, Hugo. Taking out a rival threat requires planning, strategy, and, unfortunately, patience."

"I know." He sighs, then tosses back his tequila. "It's hard not to be reactive when being pressured."

"I can understand that." And I do; we're feeling the pressure as enemies test our strength with the change in leadership. "However, there won't be many openings, so we need to be strategic."

He nods and stands. "Are you coming to the races tomorrow night?"

The Saints run illegal street racing. Tomorrow's race is like an audition for drivers—anyone who impresses Dom and Hugo can run with them exclusively and heist cars. You could heist cars on your own in the city; however, you always needed to tithe some of the earnings to the Saints. But if you were a heist team endorsed by the Saints, it was a different arrangement and came with more perks—just like being an employee with benefits rather than an independent contractor. The criminal world does have similarities to the civilian business world.

"Having a competitor like you to beat always makes the show much more fun."

I chuckle and shake my head. "Sorry. Busy."

I'll be here, secretly drinking in my fill of Eden.

"Suit yourself." He shrugs. "I'll be in touch if I find out anything about your Czech-roach problem and who they might be allying with. Adios, amigo ."

I watch him go. He's short and lean, but one of the toughest fighters I have encountered. But it doesn't take long until I'm back watching Eden with hooded eyes as she mixes drinks for Meg and Andre's orders. She always works the late shift and closes up.

The memory of Aiken lying in a pool of his blood, eyes open and vacant, slams into my head like a grenade exploding.

Sweat coats my skin as I think of Eden meeting that same fate.

The Chamber continues investigating and trying to find Aiken's murderer, as have Gus and I. I haven't approached Eden to discuss it again since that first night. Instead, I let Gus be the go-between, but we've found jackshit.

Eden's laugh carries over the music, snapping my attention from the gruesome, worrying thoughts of her.

Seeing her alive and well across the barroom eases my tension.

Hearing her laugh is a novelty. She's often coolly detached and unreadable as she enforces neutral-appropriate boundaries.

I wonder if she realizes how similar she is to Aiken—set apart, neutral to the point of detached, but underneath, there's a heart. Eden may not exude the same passion that Aiken had for running this place, but she gives a shit about Gilly's purpose and about the staff.

When she took over, she made some changes. According to Gus, those included paying the staff more and adding sick leave benefits, on top of the other benefits. Gus is sure she isn't paying herself a wage. When he pushed her about it, she said Aiken left her enough to live on.

The other change that Eden is a tiger about enforcing is the rule that no one touches her staff. Aiken had the same rule, which makes sense, given the neutrality that Gilly's plays, but Eden is fierce about enforcing it. In the early days, I thoroughly enjoyed watching her bringing out her bat, threatening to bust some idiot's balls who thought he could get away with shit.

I lean back in my chair, covertly watching Eden, envisioning all the inappropriate definitely-not-neutral things I want to do to her with that bat. As she talks with Andre, she full on smiles. I struggle not to stare, because she's so fucking radiantly beautiful right now. She rarely smiles, and I feel a stab of violent jealousy because I want to be the one making her smile.

She laughs again at whatever Andre says, but it's abruptly cut off, as she narrows her eyes, looking across the barroom.

Normally, her face is a closed-off, impassive mask. But a crack occurs, and rage covers her face as she stalks out from behind the bar, fisting her bat.

My eyes track to her intended target. My jaw clenches.

Cutt.

He's a member of the Havoc Guardians and Ash Dexter's piece-of-shit cousin.

He's bad news, especially when he's high on coke. And based on the pile of cocaine on the table, he's fucking wired.

He's breaking two of Eden's rules—doing drugs on the premises and manhandling her staff.

Meg is white-faced as Cutt refuses to let her off his lap. He reaches around to slide his hand up her shirt.

Damn idiot .

I suspect Ash doesn't care much for his cousin, but Cutt's father and the old boys in the MC would make waves if Ash outed him without just cause. Politics are alive and well in this world.

Cutt knows the rules, though; he's just an arrogant piece of shit.

Ambrose and two more security staff move to intervene and rescue Meg, but seeing Eden, they fall back. Since day one, Eden has shown that she can handle herself; she doesn't need a man or anyone else to fight her battles.

No one else moves to intervene. This is between her and Cutt; we don't pick sides here. Plus, this is Eden's place—she can enforce the rules and is well within her rights.

My cock swells even more. She handles everything like a badass boss bitch.

As soon as Eden reaches the table, she hits the bat on the table, making powder fly.

Someone turns down the music.

"Fucking bitch! That's hundreds of dollars' worth of coke," Cutt snarls and stands abruptly, making Meg fall to the floor.

Ambrose is there instantly, but only to help Meg off the floor and move her away, leaving Eden to deal with this how she wants.

Eden doesn't back down, even though Cutt's twitchy hand hovers over the knife in his belt. "Does this look like a betrothal or a trap house to you? Get the fuck out of my bar."

Cutt's fingers close over the hilt of his knife, but he has enough presence of mind not to draw.

Eden looks completely unconcerned as she sweeps the remaining coke off the table and drags her palm down his leather cut. "I said: Get. The. Fuck . Out of my bar."

Cutt's face is bright red, and his bloodshot eyes bore into Eden. He wipes his runny nose with the back of his hand. "Suck my dick, bitch."

She smiles, but it isn't a pleasant smile. It's malicious and filled with confidence and dominance; it's a smile meant to taunt your opponent. I know that smile—I use that same one while I torture my enemies.

If possible, my want for this woman increases another notch. My cock strains and fights against the zipper of my jeans as I watch her.

"What's your name, dickface?"

"Fuck you, bitch," Cutt snarls. Then, like the absolute dipshit fucker he is, he lunges for her.

Eden steps to the side and swings her bat, plowing him in the gut. As he hunches over, gasping and wheezing, she squeezes his jaw, forcing him to look up at her.

He rips his face from her grip. "This isn't neutral behavior, bitch," he gets out with stilted, struggling breaths. "You can't touch me—"

She shoves the end of her bat into his gut. "If I have to repeat my question, I can assure you, you won't like the consequences," she says calmly, the cold edge of threat in her tone. "I'll start with your kneecaps."

"Cutt," he snarls his name at her. "I got my road name because I like to cut people, and I'm going to fucking cut you deep , bitch."

She shakes her head. "Goddamn idiot."

She pulls her phone from the back of her jeans pocket and dials, cocking her head to the side, still standing toe-to-toe with Cutt. "Ash," she says, and Cutt stiffens. "Yeah, I have an asshole here who goes by the stupid-ass name of Cutt. He's touching my staff. Coke sitting on my table. Disrespect oozing…" she trails off, listening, and Cutt's smile blooms like he's victorious. Eden hands him the phone. "Your Prez wants a chat, dickface."

He pales as he listens to what Ash says. Then backs away from Eden, throwing the phone at her. "Bitch."

He and his friend, who had quickly distanced himself from the encounter, quickly leave.

Two staff members come to disinfect the table and vacuum up the coke. Eden immediately goes to Meg and quietly speaks with her, ensuring she's okay. Once she's certain of that, she goes back behind the bar, picking up the drink she had been making, her cool and emotionless expression in place.

I smile inwardly and finish my bourbon. I can't leave yet because I have a raging hard-on.

God-fucking-dammit, I need this woman .

But she's forbidden. Plus, she's completely unaffected by me.

However, I'll stay put because, even without my raging stiff cock, I'm not ready to leave my Garden of Eden.

And I wonder if I ever will be.