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“Now I know Carlo Black had you well educated, Danny.” She cocks me a wry smile, and I roll my eyes. What is it with smart-mouthed women in my life? “I like serving you,” she finally says.
I lay the towel over the arm of the couch, settling back. “I don’t want you serving me. Those days are gone.” The days when she pandered to my every whim, picked up after me, cleaned up my mess. It was Esther’s way of trying to make up for leaving me with her piece of shit boyfriend who beat and raped me before Carlo found me on the streets of London. It was my way of punishing her but at the same time having her in my life.
“Are they?” she asks, reaching for my hand and holding it in both of hers. “I don’t like this, Danny.”
“Me neither,” I admit, moving in closer to her, adding my hand to the bundle of limbs. “I’ll be okay.” I cock her a crooked grin. She doesn’t appreciate it. “I might be back in Miami, Mum, I might be ready and prepared to kill, but I’m not prepared to have you waiting on me, or anyone else for that matter.”
“I like—”
“I won’t have it.” It’s non-negotiable. She is not here as a slave, not anymore. She’s here because she’s my mother. She’s here because I love her dearly.
“I want to look after you,” she says quietly, giving me imploring eyes. “I’ve been here the past three years in between visits to St. Lucia, and I’ve enjoyed my time keeping everything sparkly and clean. It’s given me a purpose, to look out for you, even if you weren’t here. But now you are. What else am I going to do with my time?” She pulls one hand away and indicates down her body. “There’s only so much yoga and shopping a woman can do. Only so many cakes I can bake.”
She needs a purpose. A job hasn’t been necessary, and it only just hits me how lonely she must have been. Flush with cash and time, but incredibly lonely. And that makes me feel like shit. She’s not glad I’m back in Miami. But she’s glad I’m here. I need to find a balance for us—one that eases my conscience and gives Esther the purpose she needs. “Let me get a housekeeper,” I say, and she starts to shake her head. “Listen to me,” I order. “I’m not having you mopping up the mess of endless men around here. And believe it or not, I’ve become quite domesticated recently.” She laughs, and I recoil, offended. “What’s so funny?”
Chuckling, she reaches for my scarred cheek and cups it, looking at me fondly. “My sweet boy.”
I’m a mafia boss coming out or retirement, for Christ’s sake. But I let her have her moment. “The housekeeper is non-negotiable.” I give her a look that dares her to object. “If you want to cook, fair enough. If you want to do some gardening, great. Take care of the dogs, feed them, but I draw the line at washing laundry and cleaning bathrooms.” My lips straighten, forming a warning line. “That’s the end of the discussion.” I take her hand away from my face. “Moving on.”
“To what?”
“Rose.”
“Oh,” she breathes, withdrawing. “She’s not happy.”
“Understatement of the fucking century.” I reach for my jaw, stroking across my bristle.
Mum’s lips purse, and I one hundred percent know what she’s going to say. “She’ll be scared, Danny. After everything you two have been through, the last place she’d want to be is here. Surely you can understand that.”
“Of course I understand.” But I also need to exact damage control. I get up and go to the cabinet, pouring a Scotch. I feel like I’m setting the bar with this drink. “I need you to keep an eye on her when I’m not here.” Esther knows what I’m talking about. “I want all razors, blades, anything she can use to harm herself, gone.” I knock back my drink. I know my wife too well, and at the moment that’s an unfortunate advantage to have. Because it bends my mind, and I need to keep my mind straight. Ignorance really is bliss. I can’t be ignorant. I need to keep my eye on the ball where my wife is concerned, and I need my mum to help me do that. I should speak to Beau too. Those two will undoubtedly be spending lots of time together.
Mum’s silence speaks volumes, and I turn to find she’s now standing. “Rose wants us to get married again.”
Understandably, she looks confused. “Why?”
“I don’t know. She wants a big, fancy wedding.”
“When?”
“I’ll let you know,” I muse, thinking hard. “It’ll keep her busy.”
“While you’re busy,” she says, collecting that fucking tea towel, her expression knowing.
“Since you’re so fussy about the mansion,” I say, waving my empty around in the air. “I thought you might like to hire the help. You can do the interviewing.” Because I’ve not got time between killing many men and pacifying two women.
