I had the gun trained on a sweating Peter and a woman underneath him. His arms went limp at once, falling on top of her, and she gave a muffledoomf!
Tucking the gun back into my suit, I turned, giving her some privacy.
“Peter,” I said. “The kitchen. Five minutes.”
“Bran—”
I shut the door, cutting him off. Max went in circles, looking up at me and then at the door, anxious to be in the room with Peter and his guest.
Right before the clock ticked five minutes, he came into the kitchen, holding her hand. He was young, but I could tell she was older.
Before he even spoke, I knew the issue. His mother. If she knew what he was up to, she’d have his ass with bruises on it. His Pop, which was what he called Mitch—he called Mick Daddy—wouldn’t give him grief over it. But Violet?
“Sit,” I said, motioning to the chairs across from me.
He hesitated a moment, the woman’s hand jingling in his. “Brando, I’d like to introduce you to Sue Jones. My…my—” He squared his shoulders. “Sue is my fiancé.”
“Funny joke,” I said, laughing, but neither of them did.
A blank look came over Peter’s face, but the woman turned the color of a tomato. She shared the same coloring and features as Jane Jones Stone. There was no doubt they were related somehow.
“No,” he said, getting a firm grip on himself. “It’s not.”
“Sit,” I said once more, turning to face the two empty chairs before me, and he knew I wouldn’t repeat myself again.
He held a chair out for her and she took it, and then he took his place next to her, grabbing for her hand again.
Something close to shock went straight through me.
On Sue’s left hand, third finger, glinted the engagement ring Mick had given to Violet. She had given it to Peter. I didn’t doubt that she’d given it to him with the intentions that he’d use it one day, but this was fucking sudden.
My eyes narrowed against his. “Tell me when this happened.”
He shrugged. “We’ve always known of each other, but with us moving so much—we never got to know each other. We did and here we are.” He turned and smiled at her, and she smiled. “I’m old enough to stay here, even if the rents go back to New York. Sue and I can get married. She’s a bit older.”
“I don’t see anything on fire,” I said—meaning, what was the fucking rush?
“We’re in love,” he said like it was the simplest concept in the world. “Aren’t we?”
He turned to Sue, but she was staring at me. He shook her hand, getting her attention. She flushed and nodded.
He narrowed his eyes for a moment before he cleared his throat. I beat him to the punch.
“What are you going to do? As far as work?”
“Oh, well. I’m going to work offshore. Like you and Pop did. It’s a decent living. Anhonestliving. Seven on. Seven off.”
“I see.” A tired sigh escaped my lips, and I pinched the bridge of my nose to stop the hammer from splitting my skull.
He went to open his mouth to speak, but again, he was drowned out by the sound of the dogs hustling toward the front door. Before my wife even made it to me, a gust of cool air seemed to precede her, followed by the subtle scent of roses and…leather.
Silvio the guard greeted me first before my wife came into the room. She had worn a loose-fitting white t-shirt, jeans with holes, slip on sneakers, her (my) old leather jacket, and a gold watch with bangles around it. Despite the situation, a grin came to my lips at the sight of her.
Lifting her Ray-Bans, she gave me a curious look. She set the sunglasses atop her head, and the curled pieces of her hair fanned out around her head. Then she leaned down and kissed me, letting her cool lips linger on mine for a moment. The taste of chocolate was on my tongue.
“What are you doing home?” I asked her in Italian.
“I was about to ask the same question,” she returned in the same language.
