Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Saverio

N ow that I’ve broken the ice and everyone has stared to their hearts’ content, I return to work in the office at After Dark. I exchange my sweatpants and jeans for my habitual suits, and it’s good to feel almost human again.

Anya and Dante were right. The men needed to see me. They needed reassurance that their comrades will be avenged and that I’m capable of leading them to victory when we go up against the Morellis. Everyone seems relieved that I’m back, so much so that I agree to hang around for drinks after work.

When Livy’s day shift at the bar comes to an end and she and Anya leave with Claire, escorted by a small army of course, I have a round with Dante and the guys who aren’t on duty. The music is pumping, and the club is fuller than it’s been of late. At least that’s what everyone tells me because I haven’t been here to witness the decline for myself.

Slowly but surely, the dust is settling after the attack. Raphael is still being a fucker, threatening my suppliers with their families’ lives if they sell alcohol to me, but Dante got a couple of local companies on board. We’ll weaken the Morellis little by little until we’re not only back where we started but worth double our annual turnover.

The men dissipate to the private lounge for a game of darts and to continue their celebration in privacy. I stay at the lower bar, observing the patrons and thinking about changes. When Luigi died, I inherited his half of the shares, which makes me the sole owner of After Dark. It was the agreement we signed in which Rachele was handed over as a part of the package deal. Now that Luigi is gone, I can make changes and do renovations. The first things that will go are those tacky portraits that are a cross between vulgarity and artistry. Unlike Luigi, my taste in art isn’t vulgar.

“Another one, boss?” the barman, Roy, asks.

Sliding onto one of the barstools at the counter, I shake my head. “I’ve got a workout early tomorrow morning.”

He pours a glass of water and puts it in front of me. “It looks weird if you sit at the bar without a drink in your hands.”

My lips quirk. “Not if you’re the owner.”

“How is it?” He chucks a dishcloth over his shoulder and crosses his arms. “The physio?”

“Physiotherapists are demons straight from hell. They love to torture people, and they do it with a smile. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

He chuckles. “In that case, I want one myself.”

“Masochistic much?”

“Submissive.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Actively looking for a sadistic dominatrix.”

“Maybe you should try a sex club, but if I hear of someone, I’ll let you know.”

“Much appreciated, boss,” he teases.

The elevator doors open. A tall bulk of a man with graying sideburns enters. He wears a black shirt under an expensive charcoal-gray suit with even more expensive shoes. A thick gold chain hangs around his neck. The man behind him is dressed in gray too, but this one is a guard.

I narrow my gaze at Benson Bennett, my spine going stiff and my body tensing in the way it does when my fighting instinct kicks in.

Adjusting his cuffs, he looks around the room. His silver eyes are observant. Intelligent. He takes everything in at a glance, from the security on the floor to the willing single females.

When he moves forward, the guard at his heel follows. He weaves across the floor and makes his way to the bar.

Choosing the spot next to me, he leans his elbows on the counter and shoots a polished smile at Roy. “Your best scotch, neat.”

I study his profile—the straight, hawk-like nose and sharp jaw. The crinkles at the corner of his eye are a giveaway of his age. Other than that, he looks like a man in the prime of his life. Maybe a little over his prime but definitely in the most powerful phase of his life. He carries himself like a man who amassed power and fortune, a man who can have anything he wants. Except for my wife. And if that’s why he’s here, to accuse Anya of cheating, I’ll be forced to gun him down right here in front of all these witnesses.

He drums his fingers on the counter, drawing my attention to the gold ring with the coat of arms on his forefinger. It’s either a family crest or a gang emblem. I’ve never been interested enough in him to find out.

Turning my way, he crosses his ankles. His stance is both casual and arrogant. “Mr. De Luca, I presume.”

I laugh, sipping my water, wishing it was something stronger after all. “It’s hard to get that one wrong.”

He points a finger at my face. “You mean the eyepatch.”

I don’t validate that with a response.

“Congratulations on your wife’s victory. She has extraordinary luck.”

I hold his eyes squarely. “She does.”

“A remarkable woman.” He takes the drink Roy puts on the counter and lifts it to his lips. “Beautiful too. And a body that begs to be worshipped.”

Clenching my hand on the counter, I scrutinize him. Maybe he didn’t come here to make accusations. Maybe he came in the hope of catching a glimpse of my wife.

My wife.

“Anya already left,” I say, studying him closely.

“Pity.” He takes a sip and watches me from over the rim of his glass. “She intrigues me. Like any good opponent who’s worth his salt, I did a check on her before the game, and I was…” he smiles, “…let’s just say pleasantly surprised.”

I see green in a flash. If he’s here for my wife, I’m going to break his straight nose so badly it’ll be crooked for the rest of his life. Then I’m going to make sure he wears an eyepatch like me.

“In fact,” the fucker continues, “your wife is so good on the eye I made her an indecent proposal.”

That’s it. Forget about green or red. I see fucking black. I reach for the knife I carry under my jacket because I’m going to skin this cocksucker alive.

“Before you stab me with that knife,” he says, looking pointedly at where my hand disappeared, “she rejected the offer. Told me she was married and wouldn’t consider cheating.”

Good for Anya. My chest swells at how loyal she is, but my anger is a long way from being abated.

I shouldn’t ask. The answer is probably going to unhinge me. But I can’t help myself. “What did you offer her?”

“To triple her winnings if she won.” His mouth curves up in the corner. “If she lost, I would’ve won myself one night between her legs.”

I’m going to blow my top. I feel it in the violence that bubbles to the surface. What matters though is that Anya refused. She chose to be faithful to me over fifteen million dollars plus the loan she owed. And she knew she was going to cheat and win. But it’s the principle that matters, and that makes me the proudest, luckiest, happiest bastard alive. It’s the only reason I don’t gut the slime ball in front of me.

Fine, Anya impressed him. Hell, she impressed the fuck out of me too, not just for pulling off a scheme like that but mostly for not gambling with our marital vows. However, if he thinks he stands a chance at stealing her, I’ll make what I’ll do to him pretty damn clear.

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask in a clipped voice.

“I’m not going to lie. I was hoping to see her.”

“I’m going to tell you this only once. Stay away from my wife if you value your life.”

“Oh, I value my life.” He puts his scotch aside. “There’s no arguing that.”

“Then what are you still doing here?”

He stares out over the dance floor. “Tell me, Mr. De Luca, what do you see when you look at your wife?”

If he’s going to say he sees a woman who seems innocent and sweet when, under the surface, she’s a daredevil with a genius for numbers and a talent for reading cards, I’m definitely burying my knife in his eyeball.

I watch him from under my lashes. “What do you see?”

“I see a woman who’ll do anything for her family, a woman who’s willing to risk everything to save her husband. Women like that are scarce. If I ever meet one, I’ll be sure to hold on to her.”

“Oh, I’m holding on to her.” I nail him with a look. “She’s not on the market, and she’ll never be.”

“If you ever change your mind, I’m the first in line. Your woman has guts and integrity. She’s loyal. I like that. More than that, those are qualities I respect.”

He takes a bill from his pocket, but I hold up a hand.

“The drink is on the house,” I say, a warning riding on my words. “But don’t make a habit of hanging around places where you may run into my wife.”

“Point taken.” He puts his money away. “Tell your ladybug I say hi.”

He has a nickname for her? Like some term of endearment?

“Ladybug?” I ask, simmering with jealous rage.

“That’s what I christened her for her luck. Those cute little beetles do bring luck, didn’t you know?”

“Yes,” I drawl. “Anya has always been my lucky charm.”

“Please convey my greetings, and tell her if she ever needs a favor, I’m at her disposal.”

With a slight bow, he takes his leave.

Motherfucker.

I feel like punching him. Killing him. I know what it feels like when your wife sneaks around with other men behind your back. Rachele taught me that painful lesson. But Anya said no. And that’s a huge fucking deal. If she only did it because she wanted to boast about being the faithful wife on the surface, she would’ve told me. On the contrary, she kept quiet about Bennett’s sick proposal. Because she did it for the right reasons. She rejected all that money because she made a vow on our wedding day, a vow she very much intends to keep. For that, I can only admire the hell out of her. And I can no longer pretend I don’t trust her.