“I love you, Dimitri Petretti. Your fierceness, your craziness, your protectiveness. I love it all… as will your children.”
26
Dimitri
Ishoot Rocco a warning look, wordlessly suggesting he keep his riling comment in his mouth or risk losing some teeth. I’m not sneaking out of Roxanne’s room at five in the morning because I’m ashamed we treated India’s guest bedroom as if it’s a brothel. I didn’t unyieldingly pound my cock into Roxanne’s mouth to lower her moans. I love how out of control she is in the bedroom. She forever puts everyone first,exceptwhen we’re messing the sheets. There, nothing but chasing the next thrill is on her mind.
The same can be said for me, except I’m not seeking the quick, unenjoyable releases I sought before Roxanne stormed into my life. I want all the shit that comes before it. The flickers in her eyes, the scent of her sweat-slicked skin, her little declarations of love I had no clue I’d crave more than the drugs that regularly tracked through my veins as a teen. They thrill me even more than knowing Rimi finally got what was coming to him.
He chirped like a bird, tattled like the rat he is, yet, he’s still dead. Killed by my hands under the watchful eye of Henry Gottle, the now rightful boss of all bosses. He came to the plate for me like no one else has in this industry. It earned him both my respect and my backing.
Forever willing to test my patience, Rocco ignores my unvoiced threat. “Your sneaking around is making me feel dirty.” He shivers like someone just walked over his grave. “Do you mind if I borrow your shower again so I can wash off the funk? I promise to get undressed in the bathroom this time around.”
I close Roxanne’s door harder than intended before sliding out a key from my pocket and slotting it into the lock. I asked Rocco to come here so Roxanne wouldn’t wake up alone in a foreign place, with her head still a little murky about what happened yesterday, not to make himself fucking comfortable.
I’d stay myself if I didn’t want to offer Fien the same level of comfort. She didn’t cry when I held her for the first time last night, but her wish to stay in my arms ended the instant India attempted to leave the room.
I’m keen to change that.
I don’t want to be a hero, but I do want to be the man my daughter runs to when she’s in trouble.
“Make sure Roxanne has something to eat when she wakes. She needs to recoup her energy.”
I’m not bragging, Roxanne’s moans could be heard two states over, I’m just—all right, maybe I am bragging. I’ll fluff out my feathers and strut like a peacock if it gives Rocco the hint to fuck off. He played his hand. I won his chips. He isn’t ready for round two.
“And stay out of her room.” I thrust the key for Roxanne’s room into Rocco’s palm with more force than what is needed, hopeful it will get my message across. “Smith may not be watching, but he’s always listening.”
Like a perfectly-timed skit—or perhaps a sick fucking pervert—Smith’s voice booms out of both Rocco and my cell phones not even a second later. “Fuckin’ oath I am.” His voice has the same springy edge Rocco and mine has.
Victory has a way of making the toughest men sound soft and the weakest men sound strong.
Once our joint laughter has settled, Smith clears the humor from his voice before adding, “When you’ve finished settling Fien, Ollie has been buzzing you most of the morning. I told him you didn’t want to be disturbed, but he said it was important.”
“Is it about Fien?” When a hum of rejection vibrates out of my cell, I ask, “Roxanne?”
“No.” I can’t tell if Smith’s sigh is in frustration or humor. It may be a combination of both. “But she is the reason he didn’t get a chance to assess Roxanne yesterday.”
It takes me replaying what he said through my head three times before my brain finally clicks on. I’m so fucking high on the good shit money can’t buy, I completely forgot my wife is holed up in a hospital bed downstairs, so unwell, she couldn’t have any visitors last night. Not even our daughter.
“Tell Ollie I’ll be down as soon as I can.”
Acting ignorant to the regret in my tone, Smith replies, “On it,” before he disconnects our connection.
“Don’t bother,” I say to Rocco when he attempts to tell me I have nothing to be regretful about.
Guilt is eating me alive, but it has nothing to do with Roxanne. She put her life on the line for a child she had never met—mychild. I’ll never feel guilty about relaying how much that meant to me, and don’t get me started on the fact she loves me, or I may never leave this room.
“Just make sure she eats, okay? I’ll handle the rest.”
With my mood uneased, it takes me a little longer to reach Fien’s room than my travels last night when I headed in the opposite direction. Once I was assured Fien was settled and safe, I practically sprinted for Roxanne’s room, my race only slowing when I discovered someone had locked her door.
Rocco assured me it wasn’t him, but he was determined to find out who it was.
It’s fortunate the keys in this residence openallthe locks, or my wish to join Roxanne in the shower would have been thwarted by me kicking down her door.
The guilt I was experiencing only minutes ago pummels back into me when the creak of Fien’s door is gobbled up by someone singing a lullaby. I don’t recognize the words since they’re foreign, but their flow is oddly similar to “Hush Little Baby.” It seems like the type of nursery rhyme you’d sing if a baby was upset.
My intuition is proven right when my glance into Fien’s crib comes up empty. She isn’t curled into the corner of the wooden crib she’s a couple of months too big for, she’s resting on India’s chest, her breathing in sync to the gentle rocks India does in an antique rocking chair.
