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“I understand. You've had plenty on your plate, and I take it everything turned out as well as it could?”
“We're home safe and sound, and with the exception of a few sutures to my side, all is well.”
“I'm glad to hear it.” He clears his throat, then takes a prolonged pause while I wait to see what this is really about. It wouldn't be like him to call and see how I'm doing. No, we don't do that type of thing in my line of work. He wants something, or at least has something he feels he needs to share with me. I won't prod him. Let him be the one to make the moves.
“I'm in the neighborhood and wondered if you had a few minutes for a one-on-one. Understandable if you aren't. I know you're getting things back in order, so if it doesn't work, maybe we can choose another day?”
I close my eyes, clenching my hand into a fist. “Not at all. As I said, all is well. You're more than welcome to stop by.”
“Great. Ten minutes, work?”
“I'll be waiting.” What choice do I have? If I say no, it's as good as admitting any weakness, and the worst thing you can do is let someone know when you're weak, even if you really are. Besides, I want to keep this relationship warm and friendly. I might end up needing him somewhere down the line and can't afford to alienate an ally with so many loose ends.
I'm pulling on my suit jacket when Romero's footsteps echo down the hall. He stops short on rounding my doorway, sizing me up. “What did I miss?”
“Why do you assume you missed anything?”
“You're in 'meeting mode'.” I raise my brow, and he continues, “Call it an energy that fills the air.”
“Costello's on his way over. He called a minute ago. He wants to have a conversation in person. What it's about, I don't know.” I pretend not to notice the sour expression he gives me, instead nodding to the small, brown box he holds in one hand. “Tell me that isn't what I think it is.”
“Let me explain.”
“This had better be good, because I can't come up with many reasons why you would bring my ex-wife's ashes into this house. You were supposed to leave them there to be disposed of, or did you forget that part?” I crane my neck, peering behind him.
His jaw ticks, irritation bubbling to the surface, though that's the thing about Romero: he's smart enough to take a breath before responding. “I wanted to give Tatum the chance to decide whether she wants them.”
“You're fucking with me, right?”
He blinks, his expression unmoving. “Would you rather tell her the ashes were lost and there's no hope of getting them back? I have to wonder if you even discussed this with her. Does she know her mother was cremated?”
“Alright, fine, you win. But it's damn morbid, if you ask me.”
“That's your opinion,” he reminds me. “She might not feel the same, and if she doesn't want them, she can… I don't know, scatter them or whatever it is people do. She deserves to have a choice in the matter. She wasn't a great mom, but she was her mom, nonetheless.”
How does he manage to make me feel like an asshole when it comes to my own child? The pride I need to swallow comes damn close to choking me before I mutter, “You're right. I didn't think about it. All the bad blood between us… Amanda hasn't been much more than an enemy for a long time, you know that.”
“And you know you don't need to explain anything to me. I've been here through all of it.”
Note to self: have a discussion with my daughter about the remains of her late mother. I'm sure this will be easy for both of us.
When Henry calls from the front gate to alert me to Sebastian's arrival, Romero makes a point of going to his office. “You're not going to sit out the entire meeting, are you?” I call out.
“No. I'm setting these somewhere safe.” And something tells me Romero is in no hurry to meet up with him, anyway. I've never known him to be so openly averse to any of our associates. Normally he's cold, emotionless. Although, lately, he's shown more and more of the boy he was back when I first took him in.
He does have a point, though. I don't need a box of ashes on my desk when Sebastian walks in. I'd rather they not be in my house, at all, honestly. I'm not about to develop a soft spot for the woman now that she's dead, especially when she caused me nothing but misery till the very end.
It sounds cruel, but she got what was coming to her. I can stifle my true feelings for Tatum's sake, but when I'm away from her, there's no pretending Amanda was more than a waste of oxygen.
Pushing out of my chair, I walk to the entrance to greet my guest, walking as smoothly and quickly as possible. The last thing I want to give off is the impression of weakness—maybe it's childish or makes me a stereotype, but I'll be damned if I slow down or show discomfort. Especially in front of some cocky young kid.
I've opened the front door and am stepping out onto the brick patio when Sebastian's car pulls around the courtyard. As before, he is not alone, his driver remaining behind the wheel while two guards exit the vehicle, scanning the area from behind their sunglasses despite the severely overcast skies.
It's a show of power that I give zero fucks about. Sebastian emerges, raising his own sunglasses before lifting a hand in greeting.
“It's good to see you,” I greet, offering a firm handshake before ushering him into the house. “Especially under better circumstances.” Thunder rumbles in the distance, signaling an oncoming storm. “We'd better get inside before the sky opens.”
“I'm glad everything turned out alright. Your daughter's okay? And Bianca?”
