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“Which is a game,” Theo said. “And I don’t play games.”
“Then we wait for them to contact us,” I said. “In the meantime, we find an alternative. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find something better than the partnership with the Colombians.”
Theo rubbed his jawline. “That gives me an idea.”
“Let’s hear it.” I could go for a cigar right now. It would be perfect in this evening chill.
“We pursue an alternative, whether it works or not, and when the Colombians come back to us, we say we’ve already found a new supplier. The only reason we would take them back is if they offered a better price. And then we bring them back to their original fee.”
I released a short laugh. “Fuck, that would be hilarious.”
“And stupid,” Dante said. “You just said you don’t play games.”
“They made their power move,” Theo said. “And I’ll make mine.”
“If that happens, we should just take the deal,” Dante said. “Get back to our old lives.”
“These guys would have killed you if Axel hadn’t shown up.” Theo sat up and pivoted in his chair, staring down Dante on the other side of me. “Did you ever think of that? That they would have tortured you until they got everything they wanted and then killed you? They would have raped and knocked up your daughter with a Colombian baby?—”
“Don’t.” Dante looked at the bonfire, his face so hard all the veins in his temple and neck popped out. “Fucking don’t…” His fingers tightened into a closed fist before he rested it against his lips.
I turned to Theo and shook my head slightly, telling him to back off because I could feel Dante’s agony through the air, feel his combustive rage and his profound terror.
Theo listened and gave a nod. “They crossed you. And you should make them pay, Dante.”
When I walked in the door, it was nearly two in the morning—but she was wide awake.
On the couch in her little silk shorts and one of my t-shirts, she looked exhausted from staying awake long past her bedtime, but she also looked happier than I’d ever seen her. Relief swept across her eyes, and she took a deep breath as she finally allowed her body to relax. “I’m so happy you’re home.” She left the couch and came to me, diving into my chest like it was a mattress and a pillow.
My arms circled her, and I held her close to me, my hand sliding up the baggy shirt to feel her skin against my fingertips. I held her there for a long time, letting her rest her cheek against my chest for as long as she needed.
She pulled away. “My father’s okay?”
I nodded.
She breathed another sigh of relief. “How did it go?”
She’d decided to leave the business, so I wouldn’t concern her with the details that didn’t matter. “Fine. Did you make me something?”
“Do you ever think about anything besides my cooking?”
“Oh, baby,” I said with a grin. “You know what else of yours I think about…”
She dropped her look, her cheeks immediately flushing like tomatoes ripe on the vine. “I made you chicken fricassee. It’s a French stew.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“It’s in the fridge downstairs,” she said. “Take a shower, and I’ll have it ready for you.”
“Wow, it’s nice having a wife.”
She smirked as she headed for the door. “Be back soon.”
I took a quick shower and scrubbed my hair dry with a towel before I pulled on a clean pair of shorts and walked into the dining room.
She had the bowl of stew on the table, the steam rising to the ceiling. She sat quietly, still looking tired but relaxed.
I sat across from her. “Go to bed, baby. You don’t need to stay up with me.”
