My lip curls in disgust. “So who did you have to kill to get this job?”
“I barely had to kill anyone,” she says with a weak shrug. “Filipe Montoya was already an old man when I met him. His sons were the only ones who I knew would contest me when I took over after his death, so I set them against each other, and they took care of that problem themselves.” She sighs. “Anyway, I do apologize, my darling, but it absolutely stinks in here, and I have tickets to the theater tonight, so if you wouldn’t mind getting on your knees, I’d like to get this over with.”
I look over her shoulder. Where are the rest of my men?
Felicity tracks my gaze. “Oh, I wouldn’t expect your men to burst through and save you,” she says. “Kevin Lynch and his men have them shored up on the other side of the house. They’re just awaiting my word.” She grins. “Kevin is such a little darling, isn’t he? I’ve found mob bosses to be terribly malleable. It’s the ego, I think.” She sighs. “Anyway, it has been lovely to catch up, but I’m afraid I must insist—” She steps closer, expression souring. “Get on your fucking knees.”
My jaw tightens, and I begin to slowly lower, mind whirring as I try to think my way out of this.
Before my knees touch the ground, Clara screams and bursts out of her chair with more speed than I would have given her credit for. She rugby tackles Felicity to the ground, giving Mirko and me the opening we need to take out her backup.
The small house fills with the sound of gunshots as Dom and his men start attacking the forces at the other side of the house. Only a moment after we have dispatched Felicity’s two thugs, more appear. I barely have time to wrench Clara away from where she is wrestling with Felicity on the ground and dart out the back door.
“Fall back!” I hear Mirko call from inside. “We got her!”
I load Clara into the back of my SUV and wait outside, gun drawn, in case I need to cover the retreat.
Men start to flood out of the house. Dom is propping up one of his men, who has received a bullet wound to the thigh, but otherwise they all seem more or less unhurt. We pile into our vehicles and hit the road, tires squealing against the pavement.
I look to the back seat as Mirko navigates the narrow streets. Clara is wedged between Gio and Peter, and she looks impossibly small.
“Are you hurt?” I ask.
Clara glares at me through narrowed green eyes. “I’m fine,” she mutters.
“You could at least pretend to be a little more grateful for the rescue,” I reply irritably.
“You could be a little more grateful for me saving your ass back there,” she snaps. “For the record, I wouldn’t have needed rescuing if you hadn’t pulled Alexis into this whole nightmare. She and the people she cares about are in danger every day because of you, and yet you’ve spent the last month moping around and refusing to talk to her because your feelings are hurt!”
My lips flatten. Next to me, Mirko’s mouth pricks up in a smile.
“I would watch how you speak to me,” I warn in a cold voice, though to be honest, I’m a little impressed at her feistiness. It makes sense that Alexis would choose someone like her as a best friend.
Clara huffs a sigh and leans back into the seat. “Whatever. Where are we going?”
“Alexis’ apartment building,” I tell her. “It’s the safest place for you to be right now, and she will want to see that you’re safe with her own eyes. A doctor will meet you there to check you out.”
“You’re not coming?” she asks, cocking a brow.
“No.” I untwist and face the front, indicating that the conversation is over. Not that Clara takes the hint.
“You should take me up yourself,” Clara says. “You’ll get loads of brownie points, and it could be a good way for you guys to start repairing the damage in your relationship.”
“I won’t be joining you.”
“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” Clara complains. “Just come in and see Alexis. See your son.”
I badly want to. I can picture Alexis’ face shining with relief, the gratitude that would send her crashing into my arms. She is going to be so happy to see that her best friend is safe. Clara is right; that moment could be the catalyst for us to reconcile.
But I can’t. Especially now that Clara has all but ordered me into the apartment. I can’t be seen being ordered around by anyone, never mind a recovering addict from outside the Family.
“Clara, if you know what’s good for you, you will shut the fuck up,” I growl in a way that makes it clear the matter is not up for discussion.
Blessedly, Clara doesn’t say another word.
10
Alexis
I have just finished putting Harry down for a nap and am about to grab a snack and head off for a nap myself when the two guards standing in my living room stiffen, listening intently to their earpieces.
I pause in front of Angelo, pleased that I demanded he be reassigned to my personal guard. I stare him down as he finishes listening to whatever orders are being piped into his ear. He waves me off like an annoying fly, mouth bent into a smile, but I simply wave back at him.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Shh!” he hisses.
“Don’t shh me!”
Angelo narrows his eyes and keeps listening, then nods to the other guard, who goes to stand by the front door.
“What is it?” I repeat anxiously.
“Calm down,” he says. “You have a visitor.”
My heart suddenly slams into the back of my ribs. A visitor? It must be Gabriel. Debbie wouldn’t drop by unannounced, and there’s certainly nobody else who would visit me out of the blue. I tried calling Clara a couple of times this morning and still haven’t been able to reach her, so I know she’s still MIA.
I race over to the hall mirror and check myself over. I’m so glad I decided to shower this morning. Being locked inside with nothing to do and only my guards for company has made the idea of marinating in my own filth more tempting with every day. I give my hair a quick flip, and when I turn around, Angelo’s lips are pressed together in a barely suppressed smile.
“Stop it,” I snap. “I’ve only had your ugly mug to look at for over a week now. Excuse me for getting excited.”
Angelo’s mug is far from ugly, and he knows it. He gasps and flings a hand over his heart in mock distress. I stick my tongue out at him.
The front door flings open, and my best friend staggers through, supported by one of the guards in the hall. I take in her haggard appearance, the split lip caked with dried blood, the stringy mats of curls on her head, and the sight of it all is enough to make me want to cry.
But then Clara grins. “Are you going to come give me a hug or not?”
I race over and wrap my arms around her frail form, shaking with relief. She smells awful, and she feels skinnier than ever, but she’s here. She’s alive. The guard holding her backs away, and I guide her to the sofa.
“Where the hell have you been?” I ask.
“A yoga retreat,” Clara deadpans.
“I’m serious.”
Angelo appears in front of us with a big glass of water and hands it to Clara. She looks up, smiling appreciatively. Only I think there’s a little something more than appreciation in her smile.