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“The restaurant’s got someone you’re going to want to question.” I walk out of the kitchen, not wanting Journey to hear the rest of this conversation. It pains me to walk away from the woman I think about constantly, attempting to save her from the fucking Russian who has a hard-on for not only my territory but my wife.
“You secure?” I ask before continuing the conversation. I didn’t pay attention to the number that popped up on my screen when Angelo first called. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; the only thing I was trying to do was hurry the conversation along, and clearly, that isn’t happening.
“Yes, boss,” he replies.
“Good, tell me what you have, and make it fast before my wife burns the fucking house down,” I grumble. Journey isn’t much of a cook, never has been, and at the rate our lives are going, probably never will be either. It’s why I make sure Lucia, the housekeeper, ensures there’s food in the fridge that’s easy to throw in the oven to heat up, or my mamma will come over and bring food by the carload.
“Trouble in paradise. I remember those days. Take my advice: apologize. It doesn’t matter if you did something wrong or not, pride has no room in a marriage,” Angelo offers before going on about the subject he called me for originally. “Anyways, didn’t get the right-hand man but got someone better than we have all along. He’s in the back currently, refusing to talk. I figure he will for you.” Glad Angelo kept it short and didn’t go into details, something that was drilled into our heads at an early age. Lately, though, it seems people have slacked on a lot of things. At the rate shit is going down, the only solid thing we got is laundering our money through Wylder’s hotel and casino.
“Calling Enzo now. See you shortly.” I hang up the phone as I walk back towards the kitchen. Angelo is right. Journey deserves an apology. Shit, she deserves ten times more than that, and I’m going to give her all that and more after I see who Angelo has at our famiglia restaurant. We have warehouses, but that’s not where we like to play. We prefer the back of the real homemade Italian-style building, the smells of garlic and sauce simmering in the background, the music drowning out what needs to be drowned out when we take them to a location that looks like a butchering area. And once I get my hands on Petrov, that’s exactly what I’ll be doing, using the cleaver to cut off each of his fingers one by one until he’s no longer able to write or type up his sick and demented notes he’s leaving all over town. Then I’ll cut out his tongue, taking the time to serrate it, seeing how he doesn’t know how to be a real man and sit down for a meeting. It’s the least I can do. I won’t stop until he’s bleeding, unconscious. Only then will I take him out to the desert, an area owned by us where no one monitors our comings and goings. A shell corporation is on the paperwork. I’ll dig a hole by my goddamn self and bury him in a shallow grave, leaving his head above sand. The vultures will do their job, waking him up to peck his eyeballs out of him. A cruel way to die, but fuck with what’s mine, and mi famiglia fuck back harder every single time.
“Journey, I’m leaving. I shouldn’t take long, and then we’ll talk, okay?” My eyes are glued to the phone while I’m scrolling until I find Enzo’s number. I never saving any of the names because you never know with whom or where your phone will end up at any given time.
“Journey?” I ask again, phone to my ear, looking at the kitchen. There’s nothing there; the counters are clean, the gnocchi she was making is put away. There’s not a single trace of my wife.
“Boss,” Enzo answers in my ear, sounding as tired as I feel.
“Time to go. Meet me in the garage.” I walk around, looking into the living room, the downstairs bathroom she uses when down here, and even checking the laundry room. There’s still no sign of Journey. I return to the kitchen, where I see a piece of paper on the kitchen counter. My gut sinks thinking that Petrov or one of his men made it inside here, where Journey could have been taken with me being none the fucking wiser.
I pick up the note, see it’s in Journey’s handwriting, and breathe a sigh of relief, until I’m reading it that is.
Nico,
I can’t do this with you right now. Every day it’s the same. Nothing is ever going to change. I was a fool to think this marriage would actually work. Since you’re working tonight, I may as well, too.
All my love,
Journey
“Jesus Christ, get over here and get someone on Journey. She’s at her condo,” I demand into the phone before I hit the end button and pocket the note, knowing I’m going to have to make things right. Tonight. After I drink something to calm the storm swirling inside me and dealing with fucking Petrov and his men he pawns off for his dirty work.
TWENTY-TWO
Journey
“I don’t know,Delaney. I’m pretty sure it’s over before it really started.” I somehow managed to drive back to my condo. I didn’t need to do anything for work but was desperately seeking a place to get away. Nico’s home consumed my mind, my body, my heart. It was hard to breathe without feeling him surround me, and that was the last thing I needed or wanted tonight. How I made it here without Enzo or one of his guys, I don’t know. I also don’t even recall driving to my place, taking the elevator to my floor, or walking down the short hallway, sliding the key in my door, and making it to where I’m currently at now. I guess heartache and working on autopilot will do that to you.
“Oh doll, I don’t think that’s the case. You might need to beat him upside the head with a wooden spoon if he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass.” The glass of wine I poured isn’t touching the way I’m feeling. Straight liquor probably would have been smarter, but there was no way I’d be going after that tonight just in case I decide to drive home.
“You are not wrong. I think Nico is putting my brother to shame in the workaholic department. Delaney, it’s not like the working bothers me. I get it, completely and totally. The not talking to me, that’s where I draw the line. Not even a phone call or text anymore. I may as well be living in that huge house by myself.” I’ve yet to decide what I’m going to do with Nico. He seemed willing to spend time with me earlier, and I shut him down. Then, when his phone rang, all I saw was red.
“I think you should give him a break tonight. Stay at the condo, take a hot bath, bundle yourself in your ugly sweats. Yes, I said those words. One day, I’ll throw away the ratty things.” Delaney spent the night here a few times, saw what I was wearing the next morning, and visibly shuddered at the atrocities. It doesn’t matter, though, because staying warm is all I care about. I’m cold during the day, but at night is when I literally freeze, an issue I’ve had ever since childhood.
“You wouldn’t dare.” I fake my disdain that he’d suggest tossing them.
“I would and I will. Anyway, like I was saying, take the night, sleep on it, try one more time to talk, and if things are the same, well, I guess that’s your answer.” Delaney is giving me great advice. My mind goes to all the wedding preparations going on, a dress that I actually like. Thankfully, both moms were okay with what I picked out. Their dresses were a completely different story. The flowers, food, decorations, those were the items I had no problem foisting off on the two devious twins of mothers Nico and I have.
“You’re right. Thank you for listening to me.” The clock on the cable box says it’s still early. May as well take a hot bath in the garden tub and try to get some sleep.
“I’m always here. If you need me in the middle of the night, my phone will be right beside me. Same goes for tomorrow.” Poor Delaney. His ears are probably bleeding from all the whining I’ve done today.
“So much, same, always. Love you, Lane.” I use the nickname I gave him long ago.
“Love you, Journey, forever.” My best friend is the absolute best even if he does threaten my prized sweat collection. We hang up after that, and I decide to move into the bathroom and relax, highly doubting I’ll be heading back to Nico’s. I swerve into the kitchen to top off my wine. I’m ready to crawl into myself, leaving everything where it lands, and focus on shutting my overthinking self down.
TWENTY-THREE
Nico
