When we get back, I shower and then have Big Tony drive me to our waterfront condominium office building. The four-story building, made of concrete and mirrored glass windows, was a bargain my father snagged ten years ago after a major hurricane left it damaged.
Caelian’s office is on the bottom floor. I stroll past the elevators and through the double oak doors that are standing open. He sits behind a sleek modern black desk, his blinds closed to the water view behind him. His dark eyes are focused behind his wire-rim glasses, glued to the monitor.
I fallinto one of the black leather chairs in front of his desk and wait for his attention.
Caelian is myconsigliereand one of the smartest fuckers in our outfit. He’s got an accounting degree so is in charge of the money flow, but he’s also a genius with computers. He handles any cybersecurity or electronic coverup needs.
Eventually, he leans back in the chair, folds his large hands over his stomach, and blinks at me. “What’s up?”
“Did you get a chance to check out that list of port authority guys on Zerilli’s payroll?”
He removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. “I’m about halfway through. So far no red flags.”
That makes things more difficult. “All right. I’m taking Gunnar over to check out the docks tonight. The Bratva have a shipment coming in.”
He slips his glasses back on. “Guns?”
“Supposedly.” I shrug. “The last three have been.”
“But you’re not convinced?”
I shake my head. “The Commission doesn’t act on rumors. They believe the Bratva are trafficking, so I just need to get the proof.”
He leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Santino’s been trying for the last nine months. Come upwith nothing.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledge. “But Santino’s not me.” I stand. “One more thing." I hesitate. “I need you to find everything you can on Lennon Kelly.”
His brow quirks up. “Yes, I saw her at the Vault.” Then he frowns. “Are you sure that’s wise, Cousin?”
I shrug. I’m not sure of anything. Except this insatiable need to know what her life is like now. If she’s happy. Maybe if she’s happy I can truly let her go. “No. Do it anyway.”
“Do you want to know if there’s a man in her life?” His tone is part teasing and part warning.
“No,” I growl.Fuck.“Yes.”
I leave before I can see the disappointment in his eyes.
Chapter 7
Lennon
Sweat is burning my eyes and dripping off my face as I stand in the hot yoga class in Warrior One pose. It’s eight in the morning after my night indulging in self-pity and margaritas with Sloane. I could’ve skipped class but why waste an opportunity to punish myself?
“Warrior two,” the twenty-year-old smiling blonde masochist says.
We all shift poses in synchronized obedience. She’s not sweating. She’s glistening and I want to kick her. I tilt my head to keep another drop of sweat from rolling into my eye. No, I want to kick myself.
I dreamed about Sandro last night. At first, it was a great dream, us on the beach building a sandcastle as big as a house. He added a room for a kid, and I asked how he knew I was pregnant.
What the actual fuck, brain?
But then, as all dreams from psychological scars do, it morphed quickly into a nightmare.
Giada was there in her wedding gown, and she was as big as the house. Her feet were the size of Volkswagens as she began to stomp and kick our house, sending sand flying into my mouth and nose, suffocating me.
I woke up screaming into my pillow… apparently doing a good job of suffocatingmyself.Which is probably a pretty good metaphor for how I’m creating my own suffering. No need for deep psychoanalysis there.
An hour later I’m stretched out on my mat inShavasana, regretting many life choices. Also, making myself a promise to banish Sandro from my thoughts. I’ll never have to see him again after all. I’m sure I’ll have to avoid the news for a while around their wedding. I can just imagine the circus Giada is going to want the event to be. An extravagant, expensive circus.
