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The back of his neck glows red. “It’s important to be prepared. What if Mrs. Phi goes into labor when I’m with her? Though you’ve got nothing to worry about—I remember my training from med school. I can deliver a baby, no problem. I’ve got plastic covers on my car seats too.”
“Francis,” I say in a warning tone. “My wife will not give birth in the backseat of your fucking car!”
“In case, Psycho. You never know.” He sneaks a peek at his phone by pulling it halfway out his pants pocket.
“What’s up with you lately? Something’s off.” I rise up from my desk and move over to my knife collection to play a favorite game of mine—darts with the bluntest of blades. I make my selections and then take position across from the board.
“What’s off? Nothing’s off. Why would you ask if something’s off?” Stitches asks.
“You forget I know your tells? You could hardly stand still during our meeting. You keep checking your phone every ten seconds. You suddenly aren’t that curious about the baby’s name. That neck of yours is bright red. What the fuck’s up with you?”
“If you must know, I’m expecting an important text.”
I throw my first few blades and land within proximity of the bulls eye. “From who?”
“Family.”
“Who in your family? You must have also forgotten I know how small it is. You’ve got an alcoholic uncle, a hermit mother, and a gamer baby brother.”
“A cousin you don’t know about,” Stitches says mysteriously.
But his neck burns an even deeper shade of red, telling me he’s lying.
I drop the subject for the time being. It’s late afternoon and traffic out of Northam is a bitch this time of day. I’ve spent long enough away from my wife and our baby. Throwing the last two knives I’ve selected, I wrap things up in my office.
“Any special plans?” Stitches asks as we walk out and leave Nirvana behind.
Both my brows lift at the sideways glance I give him. “What do you think? Spend some much needed time with my wife.”
* * *
I make it home to more commotion than usual—Sasha and Medjine are on their way out. The staff are collaborating on dinner in the kitchen. My security team for the estate is escorting contractors that have just installed a new state-of-the-art surveillance system.
“How did it go?” I ask Donatelli, one of the members on our estate security team. “Did they get the new system installed?”
“Without a hitch, Psycho. Blue Star knocked it out of the park,” he answers, pointing out one of the cameras. “We’ll have full surveillance of every corner of this home—except your bedroom and the bathrooms, of course. They even finished installing the extra security system in the panic room that connects between your bedroom and the nursery.”
“Good. Tell the Blue Star contractors I’m pleased.”
Some might say I’ve once again gone overboard; I’ve dropped a cool million on a presidential-level security system for my estate that’s so sophisticated it’d be easier to infiltrate Fort Knox than my home.
Complete with an impenetrable, fully stocked and armed panic room for Delphine and our boy.
But you can never be too cautious.
After the things we’ve been through, the many times Delphine has been put in danger, I’m not taking any more fucking chances.
My wife and child will never come into harm’s way.
I find Delphine on the terrace. She’s sitting in one of the rocking chairs with our puppy, Olive, resting at her feet. As I’ve done so many times before, I spend a small moment observing her before she even realizes I’m around.
The spring breeze caresses her tight curls and the loose dress she’s wearing. But even the draped fabric can’t hide the round belly she has. I smirk to myself as it protrudes onto her lap and she runs a soft hand over the swell of it. Her other hand holds the book she’s reading.
I approach at a slow pace, coming up from behind. My hands fall to her shoulders and I bow my head to give her a kiss on her cheek.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
She glances up at me with beautiful, bright brown eyes. “This book about nurturing brain health in your baby. There’s been some interesting research into the science of brain development of newborns during their first year of life.”
