In fact, I felt more protected now than I had in the last seven months.
“I hate this,” Smoke had promised, his voice low over the phone. “I’m sending some of my boys to help you with the bed.”
“No, you’re not. We can manage.”
There’d been three of his boys roaming the halls of our apartments and two outside Carelli’s since the night Dino was shot. Unmarked SUVs were camped out near the restaurant and at his parent’s building. Two were parked in front and at the back of mine and two more sat in the park on the edge of town.
The protection, Smoke reasoned, was necessary, though he wouldn’t say why. Still, that didn’t mean I wanted his men inside my home.
“You stay with Dino,” I’d told him, on the verge of asking him what he’d wanted to talk to me about. That conversation had never happened after we had sex on his desk and there hadn’t been time since, but everything about Smoke had changed from how often he called to the tone of his voice.
I had no idea why.
“I can help with the bed when I get back,” he said through a yawn. His cadence was raspy, like he hadn’t had anything to drink in a while.
A quick laugh moved from my throat, nearly waking Mateo as he slept next to me on the bed. “Vi’s nerves can’t handle the wait. I’ll get your brothers to help.”
“You’re a brave woman, bella…” Another yawn and Smoke cleared his throat. “And beautiful.”
“Now I know you’re sleep deprived.”
“Just honest and…hell. I miss you.”
“Fuck you, it is a dowel, asshole.”
The loud, obnoxious bickering brought me out of my thoughts, and I dropped my shoulders, glaring at the two Carelli brothers as they fought over the mess in the center of my living room.
“Who the hell paints a wooden dowel black? The shit is this?” Dante picked up the offending piece and glared at it.
The two men ignored me when I shushed them, pointing to my back bedroom where Mateo lay sleeping.
“Whatever jackass built this thing…I swear to Madonna…”
“Hey!” I told Dante, snapping my fingers… “Keep your voice down.” Grabbing the instructions from Dario, I sat in the middle of the mess, jerking the piece from his hand before he could stop me. “If it’s such a drama, forget about the whole thing. I’ll figure this out myself.”
Dario’s long, amazed whistle sent a wave of irritation up my spine and I jerked a glare at him, ignoring the grin that broke across his face as he and Dante leaned back against the sofa. They were silent, letting me scan the instructions, but I still spotted the glances they gave each other out of the corner of my eye.
“If you’re gonna talk about me,” I told Dante, when he gestured at me, his shoulders shaking at something Dante mouthed back, “then be a man and say it out loud.”
“Okay. Sorry,” he said, his tone amused. He pointed to the metal pin near my foot, jerking his hands back up in surrender when I glared at him. “Just trying to be helpful. Jesus…you still…you know? All moony and sad over our big brother? Jesus, he’ll be back on Saturday. Pathetic.”
That earned him a slug to the shoulder from Dario and a frown from me. “Mind your business,” I warned him. Then, realizing what I might have inadvertently admitted, regrouped. “And I don’t moon over anybody.”
“No? Okay…okay, I know you don’t.”
They went on in silence, letting me work, separating the dowels—which were gray, not black, from the pins, and organizing the mess they’d made of the bed parts before I could figure out in what order to start. The chirps and clicks from Dario’s phone irritated me as the man busied himself on his cell, same as always, but not as much as the exaggerated yawning noises Dante made as he stretched out, ignoring his brother while he kicked his foot away from him.
“Oh…” Dante finally said, distracting me as I squinted at the confusing instructions. The man nudged me with his elbow, and I swatted him away. But, that idiot was persistent. “I get you now…” He smiled as he nodded to the mantel above my electric fireplace. “That’s why you’re not mooning. Look at that, D,” he told Dario and the man followed the jerk of his brother’s chin to the bouquet of flowers in the vase next to the framed picture of Mateo and me from Easter. “You already got a replacement?”
They’d come yesterday. Glass vase with a pink bow wrapped around the center and the thickest, largest red roses I’d ever seen. No card. No professions of missing me. Just beautiful red roses in an elegant vase.
I guessed he was being subtle.
When Smoke didn’t mention the flowers in his calls, I decided not to either. Despite how different he’d acted in the past two weeks, I still wasn’t sure what had changed for him. My being sick, maybe? Both of us admitting we mattered to each other? With Smoke, who knew, and because I wasn’t sure how the conversation he wanted to have would go, I decided to let him take the lead.
“You are nosey bastards, aren’t you?” I said, feeling my face heat.
“Shit…look at her cheeks,” Dario said, pulling his attention away from his phone to grin at me. “Maggie, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush before. It looks good on you.”
“Chooch,” Dante told his brother, slapping his arm. “That’s our brother’s…woman…”
“I’m not anyone’s property, pendejo,” I interrupted, dropping the instructions. I waved Dante off, moving from the floor to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.
“She’s not wrong.” Dario’s voice was low, quiet, but I could make out every word and see how he moved, standing in front of his brother, how he dusted off his jeans and tucked his cell into his pocket.
The counter was at my back as I drank, and all those thoughts I’d had the second I found the roses resting in front of my door converged. There was too much hope and stupid damn wonder wrapped up in what they could mean. But something like this? A romantic gesture? That wasn’t Smoke’s style. He was smooth. He was dominate. Dios, he was sexy as hell, but he wasn’t romantic. Not out in the open. Not when anyone could see.
“He needs to make a move,” Dario told his brother, and from the reflection of the microwave, I spotted the man standing in front of the vase, his head tilted as he looked over the flowers.
“Well that shit will never happen,” Dante said, shaking his head, and I turned, shooting him a frown.
“Why?”
Dante wasn’t as beautiful as Smoke. Neither of them was, but, at least Dario could still have any woman he wanted. There was a lot he kept to himself, but those eyes—dark and haunted, spoke volumes. And when he gave me that sad, reluctant smile, half-regret, half-pity, I realized he likely used the sad, vulnerable look to his advantage.
When I focused on his face, irritated when Dante wouldn’t answer me, Dario exhaled, rubbing his neck before he spoke. “It’s not my place,” he finally said, shrugging like he would keep whatever he thought to himself.
“Say what you’re thinking,” I told him, moving away from the counter.
That sad grin dropped to nothing, beccoming an expression that reminded me of a man analyzing his next step. Dario had spent years playing a game of natural selection. Only the strongest survived prison. Each step, each thought had to be considered. Each move had to be rationalized. He hadn’t lost that nature. I doubted he ever would.