Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Saverio

T he doorbell rings just as I’m fixing a mid-morning snack after a particularly strenuous physio session that knocked me back a whole day’s worth of calories and left my knee aching.

If the guards didn’t call to announce the visitor, it must be someone I know.

I make my way to the front door with the help of the crutches. When I look at the screen on the alarm panel, I clench my jaw.

While deactivating the alarm and opening the door, I count to ten. Mary Brennan, my mother-in-law, stands on the porch wearing a peachy smile and a flowery dress. Her hair is brushed, and her eyes are circled with thick blue eyeliner.

“Jesus Christ,” she exclaims with a hand on her heart. “You look as if your face has been through a blender.”

“Thanks,” I say, my smile wry.

At least she’s honest, unlike everyone else who avoids commenting on my rearranged features.

She scrunches up her forehead, leaning closer and studying me through squinted eyes. “Must hurt like a bitch. You’re lucky it’s only on the one side.”

My tone is brusque. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my granddaughter,” she says, smiling wider.

All she manages to achieve with that fake smile is to look like one of those fucking scary dolls with the grimaces.

I look up and down the road. “How did you get here?”

She blows out a puff of air. “I took a taxi. What’s with the fucking interrogation?”

“With what money?”

“Jesus.” She throws her arms in the air. “I got a job.”

I raise a brow.

“What?” she says, pulling her shoulders up to her ears. “Do you think I can’t keep a job? I cleaned up nice. Look at me.” She brushes her palms over her dress. “I’m fucking decent. I have the right to take a taxi and visit my daughter just like any fucking one of the hoity toity assholes living on this street.”

It’s difficult not to laugh in her face. “What kind of job?”

“Uh, typing.”

I narrow my eyes. “Is that so?”

“Did typing in my day.” She wiggles her shoulders. “It’s the only valuable thing I learned in that fucked-up school for delinquents.”

“Now you suddenly want to see Anya.”

“And her baby. What’s her name again?”

“I don’t think so, Mary.”

She pulls herself to her full height. “You can’t tell me I don’t have the right to see my own fucking child.”

“Yes, I can.” I climb down the step, forcing her to backtrack. “You escaped from the center with no word to us in weeks. Now you show up here and pretend to care about your daughter when you’ve never given a shit about Anya or what’s best for her.”

“I came here straight from the center, but Anya threw me out like trash. Wouldn’t even give me a fucking place to crash.”

That’s news to me. Then again, things were crazy when Anya came home from the hospital and I was still in the ICU. Those days were hectic for all of us. Mary showing up here must’ve been an inconsequential piece of information that got lost in the worry of the bigger scheme of things.

“She did the right thing,” I say.

Clenching her fists, she spits the words at me. “You’re a fucking dog.”

“What do you really want, Mary?”

“Told ya.” She licks her lips. “I wanna see my kid.”

Now that she’s not trying so hard to pretend to be decent , her unpolished accent is back.

“Do you expect me to believe that?” I say. “Don’t fucking waste my time.”

She looks away, her facade dropping when she faces me again. “I need a little money to see me over. Just until next month. I’ll pay it back. I swear.”

My answer is curt. “No.”

“I’m family,” she exclaims. “You can’t turn me away.”

“Fucking watch me.”

“Are you going to kick me out on the street?”

I’m pretty sure Anya would’ve offered her mother a fair deal. It’s only right I do the same.

“I’m going to be honest with you, Mary. I don’t like you, and people I don’t like don’t do too well around me. They don’t end up in a good place, so here’s what I suggest. Leave the name and number of your employer, and I’ll look in on him. If you have a job as you say, I want to see your rental contract and where you’re living. If you stay sober and clean, I’ll upgrade you to a nicer apartment. I’ll pay a portion of your bills only if you prove you can hang on to that typing job. We’ll see about visiting with Anya. I’ll let her decide.”

“What’s with the checking up as if I’m a kid and not a fucking grown ass woman?”

“Let’s face it. You haven’t acted like an adult for most of your life.”

“Fucking cruel,” she whines. “You think you’re better than me?” She stabs a finger on her chest. “You’re standing there with your minced meat face and tellin’ me that I’m not good enough for your fancy house and my Goodie Two Shoes daughter?”

“I’m telling you to take the chance I’m giving you, a chance you don’t deserve, and to get the hell out of my sight before I do something I definitely won’t regret. Killing you will bring me much joy, so don’t give me a reason.”

A car pulls through the gates. Dante.

Mary waves a finger at me. “You’re going to regret this. Mark my words, mister.” Spinning on her heel, she shoots over her shoulder, “Go to fucking hell.” She marches past Dante who’s gotten out of his car and is climbing the porch steps. “You don’t know who you’re dealin’ with. You’ll crawl in front of me, beggin’ me when I’m through with you.”

“Who’s that?” Dante asks, staring after Mary.

“Anya’s mother,” I say through gritted teeth.

He looks at me. “What?”

“Yeah. They’re nothing alike.”

“Anya is worried about her. She’ll be relieved to know she’s not dead.”

“Believe me, it would’ve been better for everyone if she were.”

Scratching his head, he follows me inside. “We need to talk. But if you first want to call Anya with the news about her mother?—”

I stop at his tone. “It can wait. What’s going on?”

“You better take another look at that plan I suggested and soon.” He pauses, holding my gaze with a seriousness I don’t often see on his face. “I have the inventory and the video.”

I go still. “Elena said she came to us willingly?” I have to admit, I never believed Elena would agree to something like that.

“She did more.” He looks me straight in the eye. “She confessed that Raphael launched the attack. That’s why he didn’t take her to the wedding. She didn’t know what he was planning until it was too late.”

Fuck.

I take a moment to digest that. If this is true, Dante is right. We have a chance at doing it his way and actually winning.

“Elena will be gone by next week,” he says. “We need to strike straight after.”

Still shocked that he managed to get that video, I ask, “How did you do it?”

He simply stands there without answering.

“Dante?” I say, tilting my head, getting a feeling he’s about to tell me something I’m not going to like.

“I didn’t get the video,” he says.

We face each other, the air between us thick with dark foreboding.

And then he drops the bomb. “Anya did.”

I blink as if it will magically clear the confusion in my head. Turning my good ear toward him, I ask in a measured tone, “What did you say?”

“Look, you guys need to talk. All I know is that Anya gave me Raphael’s inventory as well as the video. We don’t have to go into a fight blindly. May as well use the confusion when he discovers Elena is gone to our advantage. But our window of opportunity is small. That means we’ve got to focus.” His gaze pierces mine. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The logical side of my brain still functions. He’s saying I have to put my emotions aside and focus on being a soldier. For now. That the war takes priority. That my anger with my treasure for doing something ridiculously dangerous behind my back will have to wait. That Anya can’t be the center of my attention in the present moment if we’re to use this limited scope of time to slay the enemy who nearly destroyed me and just as nearly killed my wife.

I latch on to that, on to the knowledge that Anya and Claire will only ever be safe if Raphael Morelli is out of the picture. And this may be our only chance of cutting his whole organization to the ground and walking away with our lives.

Donning that figurative military hat takes everything I’ve got and then some. It takes more than willpower not to go to After Dark and demand an explanation from my wife. All I want to do is punish her. Because what she did leaves me frozen to my core.

“Focus,” Dante says, his voice serious. “Don’t let everything that Anya risked go to waste.”

I pull myself together with difficulty, forcing myself to focus like he said because he’s right. “What guarantee do we have the inventory is authentic?”

“Anya matched it against the payment record that came with the inventory.”

“What if they have more? What if Anya’s informant—” Fuck, I go cold just thinking about the risk she took. “—only has a part of the inventory?”

“She got your computer whiz to hack into the account using the banking information on the proof of payment. No other big transactions were made from that account. The payments for the weapons were split into smaller amounts and sent via offshore accounts. They thought they were careful, but Anya is a genius.”

I’m going to pull that woman over my knee and paddle her ass.

“Come,” I say, indicating my study. “We have to change tactics.”