We stared at each other for a minute or two, until Burgess asked if I was still on the line.
“Have one of the men bring me the package,” I said. “Now. And a copy of the video from the bar.”
Romeo’s security company kept an eye on the bar, along with Burgess’s gym.
“Sure. Sure.” He hesitated. His breath blew heavy against the receiver. “You should get the police involved in this. I don’t like the feel of it.”
“You are the police,” I said.
“Not anymore.”
“Once a cop, always a cop,” I said. “Good enough for me.”
“I’ll ask around. Show some friends the video. See if he comes up.”
I thanked him, then spoke the next words with a conviction that surpassed the law. “I’ll take care of it.”
* * *
It was a known fact. If an adversary had grievances with a member of the Faustifamiglia,they would research his wife before anyone else.
The Faustis were known for treating their women well, and if the man truly loved his wife, she could become a weak spot in his armor. Even if for honor alone.
Few had attempted to wake the sleeping monster that would rise in defense of our love and honor, bloody thirsty and ready for the kill.
My wife was the target of a new obsession.
Scarlett stared at me for a beat after I hung up with Burgess. She shook her head, breaking the connection, and told me she was going to get Mia ready for bed. I promised to join her after I made a phone call.
It didn’t take long for me to call Donato, fill him in on the situation, and then dismiss Nino from bedtime duty. Mia was well past ready for sleep, not even enjoying her bath as she usually did. Scarlett fussed over her, kissed her, slathered her with lavender lotion, dressed her in soft pajamas, fed her, and then rocked her to sleep.
She didn’t say a word to me after.
I stood in the doorway separating our room from the bathroom, watching as she took a bath, but also keeping an eye on Mia. Whether Scarlett had felt what had transpired over the wire, or caught snippets of the conversation, I wasn’t too sure. I decided to give her some time.
She brushed her teeth a lot longer than usual. Then she took a seat in front of her vanity, clad in only a silk robe, bubbles of floral scented water still running along her flawless skin. I sat on the bed, watching her through the mirror.
Brushing the knots out of her wavy hair, the shorter strands rising around her like short strokes of lightning, she hypnotized me into a stare.
“Is he dead?” she asked, placing down the brush, picking up some type of cream in a jar.
Nemours, she had meant.
“Is he? You would know better than me.”
“No,” she said, dabbing white spots of the cream on her face, then rubbing it in. “I don’t think so.”
Ruby yawned, turning in circles until I thought she’d get dizzy, before she plopped down in her bed. She rested her face on her paws, licked her lips three times, then shut her eyes.
“I—I hate feeling this way, Brando.”
“Talk to me,” I whispered.
“I hate feeling hate. I hate having to choose to fight when all I want is peace. The man is like a lamprey! Sucking, sucking, until no blood is left.” She set the jar down carefully, almost like it took everything in her not to slam it down. She picked up another, slathering more on her palms, beginning the ritual of spreading it on her arms and legs. “But it’s not him this time, is it?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “From the little Burgess could tell me, it doesn’t sound like him. Same box. Just presented differently.”
“My name, a red rose, cause of death filled in on the tag?”
