“I’m not that easy to kill.” I wave at the gate. “Want to let me in?”
“I apologize, but I have to check with the don first.”
“Do what you need to do.”
Hammer smooths a hand down his dress shirt and disappears inside the security booth. He comes back out less than a minute later. “Go ahead. It’s good to have you back.”
I give him a humorless smile. I’m not convinced Rafe won’t kill me on sight.
His instructions to me were simple—stay the fuck away from here. I’m about to throw a wrench into whatever working relationship he and Ferraro have established since I left.
Maybe I should be worried, but instead, I’m just numb. It’s like I left my will to live back at the penthouse, inside those mesmerizing blue eyes.
Well, I won’t need to keep going through the motions for much longer. All I’ve got to do is make sure Rafe hears me out and promises to take care of Blake before he pulls the trigger.
I park the car outside the front door and make my way inside the sprawling mansion where I’ve had many dinners and spent many late nights. Before Rafe married Cleo, we’d have dinner together at least twice a week. His virtuoso cook, Luca, made us the best fucking osso buco on the continent. Veal shanks slowly braised in sauce, served over saffron risotto, and paired with the perfect bottle of wine.
We’d shoot the shit the whole night, starting with work talk and then progressing into more personal territory. When Rafe was still engaged to Gemma, Cleo’s sister, I used those nights to needle him about the fact that he had a habit of checking out the wrong sister. He’d kick me out when I annoyed him enough.
I pause inside the foyer as a nostalgic smile tugs on my lips. I didn’t think I’d ever be inside these walls again.
For a moment, I stand there and absorb it all. It hasn’t changed. Not the round table with the vase of fresh flowers. Not the Renaissance paintings on the walls. Not even the small waiting area where I’d often sit and wait for Rafe to emerge.
The sound of approaching footsteps reaches my ears.
I recognize those too.
By the time my old boss appears, my smile’s been put away.
Rafe looks the same as ever. Shiny black hair, clean-shaven face, and a tailored shirt that hides most of his tattoos. I guess he’s had no reason to change. It’s only been six months, and for most people, that’s nothing, but I’ve traveled through purgatory, heaven, and hell in that short amount of time.
His expression is neutral, but his eyes widen slightly as he takes me in. “Nero.”
I spread my arms wide before letting them fall heavily to my sides. “Surprise.”
A flicker of what might be a smile appears on his lips.
Rafe rarely smiles. The sight of that small movement makes me clench my fists against the sudden onslaught of emotions. A wrench twists inside my guts.
He fucked up my life, but I’ve still missed the damn bastard.
Apparently, he shares the sentiment, because he does something completely unexpected. He crosses the room and pulls me into a tight embrace.
A choked laugh escapes me as I slap his back a few times. “My God, Cleo really did a number on you. Look at you, expressing all these emotions.”
He ruffles my hair, the way he did when we were teenagers running around New York together, doing everything we could to prove our worth to our fathers. It’s so familiar yet so uncharacteristic of adult Rafe that it makes my throat tighten with emotion.
He pulls away, and for a moment, his blue eyes dance with unmistakable fondness. They’re lighter than Blake’s, but they still remind me of her.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I shrug. “Things kind of went to shit.”
“Let’s go sit down.”
He leads me into the living room and walks over to the bar cart. There are a dozen bottles, but he picks out Macallan 15. He splashes some of the amber liquid into two crystal tumblers, hands one to me, and motions at the sofa.
The house is quiet. “Is Cleo around?”
