“Can I tip someone?” I ask, eyes bright.
He studies me. “No.”
I sulk. “But why not? They might think I’m rude.”
“When would you need to tip someone, little deer?”
“When…” I look across at HJ for help, but he shrugs.Thanks.“When I get room service!”
Clay opens a menu, one that doesn’t match the others. “No one expects you to tip them. I do it—handsomely, I might add.” He points to items, Marc’s eyes following along, and then he shuts the menu.
Marc disappears with it.
So, we aren’t eating out of ‘troughs’?
But that’s part of the fun!
Little deer steps, Fawn.
“They serve you,” Clay says, smooth and deep. “Because they should, because it is their job, because it pleases me. If you have to tip them, I will not be pleased.”
I smile up at him. He’s so dark and intimidating and powerful. “Everyone wants to pleaseyou, Sir. People hold their breath when you enter a room,” I tease. “There must be so many casualties.”
HJ clears his throat to stifle a chuckle.
Clay’s gaze softens for the barest moment, roaming my face. “As long asyoubreathe.”
There he is…
The man underneath.
We eat breakfast, à la cartenotbuffet, but I pop up to the bain-maries to get a blueberry muffin each for Luca and Ash, and a cup of apple juice. I fed them before we left the penthouse, but they enjoy picking at food now that they can stomach solids.
While we eat and talk, I’m reminded of why he is being smooth and serious, Clay Butcher this morning. Something happened while I slept last night. I know it was gruesome.
The purpose of his visit is to evaluate how suitable the hotel is for the Family. I know that much. Servers asking for credit cards up front might not be well received—flustered and no eye contact might be seen as rude. Clay is the most dangerous man in the city, but his punishments and power aren’t wielded aimlessly. Are they? Is he usually mean? I don’t know what the other Dons are like, whether they are cruel or calculated, or… Well, I suppose I don’t really know what the Don, Clay Butcher, is truly like when I’m not around. When I’m not a soft spot in his resolve.
Is he ruthless?
Would he havefired her?
Or worse?
I know the businessman, the fiancé, the lover, the father, the man, even the mayor. And those versions of him still send shivers down my spine and heat between my thighs.
My eyes glide to his knuckles.
“Little deer.”
I stare at them, broken and bruised. “Are you okay, Sir?” My eyes lift to his. “Whatever happened, are you alright? It frightens me to think you might leave during the night, while I sleep, and may not return.”
Ash starts to scream when Luca smacks him across the head with his koala, so Clay unbuckles his youngest—by a minute—lifting him from his seat and holding him against his chest, and… I sigh.Look at them.
My heart balloons.
As I watch them together, I decide not to press for details about last night. Luca doesn’t see the Don of Cosa Nostra. He sees his dad. I see Sir, Clay, my everything.
“I never want to frighten you, sweet girl.” He holds our little boy, one huge, tattooed hand supporting a tiny back while the other lifts an espresso to his lips—wearing fatherhood so comfortably. “Just because you came here, does not mean my business stops.”
