Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Saverio

“ H ey, grumpy.”

A can of beer smacks me on the chest.

I grunt, catching it before it hits the floor.

Nicole stands in the door, holding another can in her hand.

“The fuck, Cole?” I grumble. “Are you trying to break my ribs?”

She steps gingerly over the threshold in her high heels. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’re not that easy to break.”

Rubbing the aching spot on my breastbone, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

She plops down on a chair and crosses her ankles on my desk before cracking open the beer she scavenged from my fridge. “You asked me to come over, remember?”

“I asked you to call me,” I rectify in a dry tone.

Slurping the foam that boils over the rim, she watches me with a shrewd gaze. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“Always.” I set the beer aside. “But not when I’m busy.”

I get up and lean my weight on my cane to limp over to the wet bar. After this morning’s workout, I need a stronger drink.

“You’re always busy, and so am I,” Nicole says. “So you better not waste my time.”

I pour a brandy. “I told you to pick up the phone, not to drive out here.”

When I struggle back to my desk with the glass in my hand, Nicole juts her chin toward the cane. “It’s way too early for that. You should be in a wheelchair or at the very least on crutches.”

My laugh is wry. “You sound like my physio.”

“Maybe you should listen to him.”

I sit back and sip my drink, enjoying the vanilla and burnt caramel flavors on my tongue. “I need your help.”

“You and Anya both,” she says, tipping back the can and taking a long swallow.

“Anya?” My attention sharpens. “What does my wife want?”

“She wants me to promise I’ll pump you full of anesthetic and stitch you up every time you’re unlucky enough to get nicked in a fight.”

That makes me laugh, not just a flat laugh that I have to force from my chest but a genuine guffaw that somehow makes me feel lighter.

Nicole points at me, can in the hand. “You don’t laugh like that. That’s not the Saverio De Luca I know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know what you’re getting at. Anya makes me happy.”

That shrewd gaze intensifies as she takes another sip. “Does she?”

Not wanting to discuss our relationship with my doctor friend, I say, “Anya’s birthday is coming up.”

Nicole raises a brow. “That, right there, mister, scores you ten points. I’m glad you’re telling me. I don’t want to be the dumb bitch who didn’t get her a gift.”

“I need your help to organize a party.”

At party, her eyes grow large. “Ooh.” She swings her feet to the floor and sits ramrod straight in her chair. “What kind of party?”

“Something fancy with all the bells and whistles.” I hesitate. “I don’t think Anya’s ever had a birthday party.”

“So you want to make it special for her,” she says, making a puppy face. “What did you have a mind?”

“It’ll have to be here. It’s easier to control the security. After what happened, I’m not taking risks.”

“Mm.” She wipes foam from her mouth. “Makes sense. Go on.”

“I want to keep it a surprise, but we may need to put up a gazebo in the backyard. I can take Anya and Claire out for a day in the mountains while the preparations take place. That’s why I need you.”

“A gazebo, huh? How many people are you inviting?”

“The usual. You lot and the After Dark crowd.”

“I already like it. What else?”

“Good food, champagne, lots of pretty flowers, a band?—”

“A band?” she exclaims.

“Yes. You know.” I raise an eyebrow. “Music.”

“Music?” she parrots. “Why?”

I adjust the eyepatch, hiding my expression behind my hand.

“I’m just surprised,” she says when I don’t reply. “I didn’t take you for the band kind of type.”

“I want to dance with my wife, Cole,” I admit. “I never had a chance at our wedding.”

“Oh, Sav.” She tilts her head, giving me a compassionate look. “That’s the reason for the cane, isn’t it? That’s why you’re pushing yourself so hard.”

Relenting, I say, “Pretty much.” I take another swig of brandy. “I won’t be able to walk normally by April, but I want to hold Anya in my arms on the dance floor without a fucking cane between us.”

“Okay.” She shifts to the edge of her seat. “I’m going to go against my better medical judgment and tell you to work the hell out of that cane. I’m close to tears now, and you know I never cry.”

“Please, spare me.”

Suddenly all business, she asks, “What’s the date?”

“The eighteenth.”

She slams her can on the desk and jumps to her feet. “Fuck. We have a lot to do before then. What’s your budget?”

“Money isn’t an issue.”

Technically, it is, but I want to do this for Anya. She deserves it. I can put some of the money from the sale of the Corvette that I was going to spend on extra weapons aside.

“Wait.” Nicole holds up a hand. “The dress code is formal, right? How are you going to get her into an evening gown without spilling the beans?”

“I’ll let Livy in on the plan. We’ll come up with an excuse.”

“Good.” Nicole rounds the desk and plants a kiss on my cheek. “I’ll see you later, gator.” She clacks her way to the door and turns on the threshold. “Expect a lot of emails from me. We have shit to look at and shit to approve.”

“Got it,” I say to her back with a grin when she waltzes from the room.

While Nicole leaves to arrange my wife’s twenty-fifth birthday party, I throw myself into doing what I do best, which is strategizing.

I study Raphael’s comings and goings as I’m sure he studies mine. I know his money pickup routine. He changes it often, playing it safe, but the kickbacks have to be collected each month. His men go around his territory on a rotation basis, visiting clubs and businesses every other week. That’s where and when we’ll strike.

I’m tying down the dates when my phone buzzes next to my laptop. I glance at the screen. It’s Dante. He’s doing a great job of running the business with Anya while I’m scheming the downfall of the Morellis.

I swipe the button to answer, putting the phone on speaker. “Dante?”

“You’re going to want to hear this.”

His tone gives me pause. Snatching up the phone, I press it against my ear. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Anya.”

Every muscle in my body tenses, my fighting instinct to protect her already kicking in. “What happened?”

“She just walked into After Dark with four bags full of money.”

She did what?

My brain is getting ahead of me, going through a list of things she could’ve sold, which doesn’t add up to much besides her car.

“How much money?” I ask, my brain telling me there must be some confusion.

“Five million,” Dante says, knocking off my socks. “In hundred-dollar bills.”