“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.
“Sure, but I’m telling you now, none will be up to scratch.” She wanders to the door, leaving me smiling behind her. That’s a given, really. “I’ve made stew for dinner,” she goes on. “A big one to go round. Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”
“Thanks, Mum.”
She shuts the door, and I take myself to the desk, sitting in the chair. And so it begins. I scan the surface. Nothing’s moved. The gold letter opener still sits precisely to the right, the leather-bound writing pad to the left. I pull a drawer open. Breathe in. Swallow.
Reaching in, I pull out the framed photograph of Pops and position it by the letter opener. This is how I remember him. My hero. Tanned, smiling, a cigar ready to pull on. Thick, silver hair and a malevolent twinkle in his shrewd eyes. Not the emaciated, weak, helpless old man who left me three years ago. I can’t help but think that he’s smiling right now. Smug. Cheering me on. Satisfied that I’m back here, in this chair, ready to command my troops and take back what was always his.
Miami.
Respect.
Fear.
I exhale and rest back, stroking over my Cupid’s bow, lost in thought. I’ve gone full circle. And I know deep down in my heart now that I’m back, there will be no out until all threats, all enemies, old and new, are eliminated. That’ll take time. I swallow, looking at Pops. The enemy never dies. Which means this isn’t a temporary trip. I know that deep down. And I think Rose does too.
I’m yanked from my sobering conclusions when the office door opens and Brad walks in. He closes it behind him. Assesses me at the desk. In the chair. “We’re reforming,” I say before he can ask what the plan is. Although he knows. Of course he knows. There’s only one reason I’d come back to Miami, and missing him isn’t it. But I have missed him. My right-hand man. My best friend. My cousin.
“And there’s me enjoying the quiet life,” he quips, going to the drinks cabinet and taking a bottle of Scotch with two glasses before pulling out the chair opposite and dropping into it.
“Quiet? You had an attempt on your life.”
He smiles, setting the tumblers down and pouring. “You worried about me?”
I reach across the desk and take a drink. “Maybe.”
He grins. “And now you’re here.”
“And now I’m here,” I muse, rolling the glass across my bottom lip. “I’ve told Esther to have all blades removed from the house.”
His eyes narrow, and I see a watered-down version of my own anger. “That bad?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I’m covering all my bases.”
“What do I tell the men?” He reaches for his stubble and smooths down the roughness, a sign that no razors in the house isn’t a problem for him. “Those who shave,” he adds.
“If they object, tell them I’ll happily give them a cutthroat shave.” I pick up the letter opener and turn it in my grasp, my head tilted.
Brad laughs lightly. “Fuck me, Danny. Here’s me thinking a woman and a quiet life has tamed you.”
“Monsters can’t be tamed, Brad.” I can feel the dormant evil rising. “But they can hibernate and resurface more powerful.” I’m ready to wreak havoc on this town. I’m ready to take it back and maintain my position, because I’ve had a fast lesson on what the alternative is.
And I’m not ready to die.
“Tell me about the men,” I say, sipping my drink rather than knocking it back. “The new ones. You trust them?”
“Nolan’s a street kid. Or was. He’s young but keen.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-one. Obviously angry, but that only fuels his thirst for blood. Good instinct, too.”
I smile. “Remember when we were twenty-one?”
Brad snorts. “I remember whores and a fast lesson in what Uncle Carlo deemed acceptable levels of indulgence.”
I laugh, and it’s rich and happy. I recall the incident with perfect clarity. Pops couldn’t locate Brad. I knew exactly where he was, where he had been for two days straight. The wrath of my father was something any man should avoid, even his son. Plus, I could never lie to that man. So I ratted Brad out, and Pops dragged him out of that hotel room and put a gun to his head, a firm reminder that women cloud your judgment. Brad didn’t hold it against me. I know he would have done the same. “So what does Nolan do for you at the club?” I ask.
“Heads up security. He has a good eye for a troublemaker, if you know what I mean.”
I hum, thoughtful. Not a bad position for a twenty-one-year-old lad. “And he’s proved his loyalty how?”
Brad smiles. “You’re not the only one with good instincts around here.”
“Answer my question,” I order. I’m trusting Brad. He’s one of the only men I ever will, but I’ve been gone a long time and my instincts feel rusty.
“He’s an orphan. Got no one. No place in this world.” He knocks back his drink. “Now he’s got a place, and I know a man who appreciates it.” He points his glass at me. “As do you, Danny.”
I can’t argue with that. I was an orphan. Had no one. Then I had Carlo Black. “The others. Tell me about them all.”
“Ringo, Len, and Bud couldn’t take my call quickly enough. They’re back with bells on. Turner and Dick have set up life on the West Coast. They’re done.”
I can’t blame them. “Definitely retired?” I ask. Brad knows exactly what I’m getting at. Trust no one, and don’t trust a man when he says he’s done in this world.
“Definitely. I had Len and Bud tail them for a while.”
“And the other newbies?”
Brad works through another few men, all new, all with stories. And all to be trusted. That’s fine, I’ll accept it for now, but trust only comes from being earnt. I’ll reserve judgment in the meantime. “All sensitive information remains between me, you, and the old men for now. The new guys know what they need to know. Got it?”
He nods. “And what about The Enigma?” He tops up his drink and takes a cool, casual sip.
“What about him?”
“What does he get to know?”
“Everything.”
“You trust him?”
“I trust him,” I reply, looking up as the man himself wanders in. “Your ears must be burning.”
James closes the door and shakes Brad’s hand before pulling out the chair next to him. “Wondering if I can be trusted? Whether I’ll turn you over.” His blue eyes glisten with amusement. “I’m trusting you and your men with Beau. She’s staying here while we hunt down the boogieman. I’d appreciate the same sentiment.”