Page 73 of Juan

“We were just waiting to talk with these two,” Clara answered, jerking her head to him and Amber.

“Make the offer,” Amber said, her enthusiasm pulling a smile from the older woman.

“We’ll put it in tomorrow.”

Mantis looped Clara’s hand over his arm. “Let’s go talk to Monk about what you’d need done. We’re all pretty good at renovations, but he’s the best.”

He and Amber watched the two walk away, Leo excusing himself, too, as Superman waved him over to the horseshoe court.

Juan’s gaze swept the gardens. Marley had joined Kendall and Zoe in with the puppies; Stein and North were studying the trees, deep in conversation about something; Dottie sat with Philly and Callie, basking in the late-afternoon sun. The others stood in groups talking, laughing, nibbling on the plentiful appetizers circulating.

He dropped his gaze to his flute of champagne, then looked at Amber. He traced the lines of her beautiful face as she drank in the scene. Sensing his regard, she turned to him. Their eyes met and held, then together, they smiled.

“To family,” she said again, raising her glass.

He lifted his, touching it to hers. “To family.”

Epilogue Part Two

Toni scanned the Italian restaurant, ignoring the wary looks of the host and the chill of the over-air-conditioned room against her shoulders, bared under her tank top. To call the place upscale was an understatement of epic proportions, but she didn’t give a shit. Food was food. She didn’t doubt she’d enjoy the $200 steak hand-cut from a cow raised on a diet of lush grass while it enjoyed daily massages as much as the next person, but it didn’t impress her. Not much did these days. She didn’t think of herself as jaded so much as enlightened. The world was a really big fucking place: empires, and emperors, rose and fell, disasters wiped out cities, babies were born, satellites were sent to Mars. And yet all of it happened in the blink of a geological eye. All these fancy people enjoying their $1,000 lunches would die like everyone else.

“Can I help you?” the host finally managed to ask.

Her gaze caught on a figure sitting in the back corner, tailored suit, thick dark hair, even darker eyes, $100,000 watch. “No, I’m good,” she said, blowing by him. He called after her, but she ignored him and crossed the restaurant, stomping her combat boots a little harder than necessary.

Halfway to her destination, those deep brown eyes lifted, meeting hers, before flickering to something behind her. Or someone. The terrified host dogging her heels dropped back at the mere flick of the man’s finger.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at the effective display of power.

“Mario,” she said, pulling out a seat and plopping down. His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people calling him anything other than Mr. DeLuca. But while he may wield a cloak of power, she preferred the cloak of surprise. Life was way more interesting if you kept people on their toes.

“Ms. Ewing,” he replied, his baritone voice sliding over her skin.

“Do you practice that?” she asked.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to, but there’s very little I practice.”

She skimmed her gaze over him. Interestingly, she decided she believed him. Mario DeLuca was a sort of do-or-don’t-do kind of guy. Probably one of those babies that just got up and started walking one day.

Taking a picture from her pocket, she slid it across the table. Mario didn’t pick it up, but his gaze dropped.

“Anthony Ely,” she said.

“I’m familiar with his name. Read about his crimes in the paper, of course.”

“Of course. Did you hear he used to beat his wife, too?” Mario’s gaze came up. “Nearly killed her when he found out she was pregnant. Beat her so badly she went into labor, then told her the baby died when she came to a week later.” The news had focused on Anthony’s murder-for-hire scheme, Amber’s lawyer and law enforcement agreeing to keep his crimes against her out of the papers for both Amber’s and Zoe’s sakes.

“He’s a lying sack of shit, of course, and the mother and daughter were recently reunited,” she added.

“He deserves to suffer for that,” Mario said, the only hint of emotion a single tic of his right eye. Toni knew better, though. Knew that Mario had led a brutal and bloody takeover of the family against his father after years of watching his mother suffer at his father’s hands.

“He does. He will. Prison is exactly what the man deserves. The humiliation, the violence, the brutality of it all.”

“Assuming the prosecution is successful.”

She inclined her head, then pulled a file out of her bag. “In case they aren’t, I thought you might find these interesting.”

Mario eyed her, then reached across the table, slid the folder closer, and opened it. His eyes scanned the top sheet. He wouldn’t need to see more than that to know what she’d brought him. Evidence of Anthony’s theft from the DeLuca family.

He closed the folder and looked up, interlacing his fingers on the table in front of him. “What do I owe you for this information?”

Toni smiled. “Nothing. Just thought you’d want to know. You know, in case the prosecution falls apart and he gets off. Unlikely, given the case against him, but just in case.”

Dark eyes held hers. A beat later, he nodded in understanding. “Thank you.”

She flashed him a smile as she rose. A big smile. His eyes narrowed again. She laughed. He may have power and money, and questionable morals, but she enjoyed life. Maybe she shouldn’t have rubbed it in his face, but she didn’t have the willpower, or interest, in resisting. That austere, unflinching expression goaded her.

“Have a good lunch, Mario,” she said, turning and walking away.

“Next time you join me, Ms. Ewing, dress more appropriately.”

She didn’t bother turning around, just flipped him off over her shoulder.

Two steps later, she swore she heard the faint rumblings of a chuckle.