I grip my glass tighter. “I don’t fall.”
“Then why are you here, discussing feelings like a lovesick teenager?” Adrian’s tone is mocking. “She’s changing you.”
I check my phone as it buzzes again—fifth time in an hour. Caruso.
We need to talk about that smell, Dawson. Health department’s getting involved now.
I text back with calmly.
Already addressed. New plumbing was installed yesterday.
His response is immediate:
Not good enough. Inspection tomorrow, 2 PM.
Fuck.
I slide my phone across the table. “Caruso’s breathing down my neck. Inspection tomorrow at two.”
Adrian glances at the message, his expression hardening. “What exactly does he suspect?”
“Enough to be dangerous. That water main break exposed more than it should have. The new plumbing bought me time, but he’s not backing down.”
“Then we need to remove him from the equation,” Adrian says, like he’s discussing removing an impurity from chocolate. “Permanently.”
I shake my head. “We can’t. He’s too high profile—head of the neighborhood association, city council connections, monthly column in the Tribune. He’s practically a local celebrity.”
“We’ve handled prominent targets before.”
“Not like this.” I knock back the rest of my whiskey. “Reynolds is already causing waves. Did you see this morning’s headlines? ‘Missing Councilman Investigation Intensifies.’ They’re interviewing his secretary, his wife, everyone.”
Adrian frowns. “I thought we covered that thoroughly.”
“We did. The private flight to the Caymans is on record, his passport was scanned at customs. The offshore account we set up has exactly the amount missing from those redevelopment funds. Even planted evidence of his mistress meeting him there.” I run a hand through my hair. “It’s holding for now, but add Caruso to the mix? Two prominent locals vanishing in the same month? It’s too suspicious, even for Chicago.”
Adrian contemplates this, tapping his finger against his wineglass. “What about an accident, then? Gas leak? Brake failure?”
“It would still draw attention, exactly what we don’t need right now.” I stare at my empty glass, wishing it would refill itself. “And my basement isn’t exactly ready for visitors.”
Adrian drains his wine. “Let’s check the basement,” he suggests, voice dropping lower. “See exactly what we’re dealing with.”
I signal for the check, leaving too much cash on the table in my urgency to leave.
Twenty minutes later, we’re descending the stairs at The Blue Room, the club silent and empty above us. The wine cellar’s soft lighting casts everything in a warm amber glow that belies what lies beyond it.
I unlock the panel at the back of the wine cellar, revealing the narrow corridor that leads to my gallery.
“Fuck,” I mutter, the mingled smell of chemicals and decay hitting us immediately. “The new ventilation system isn’t working properly.”
Adrian steps past me into the dim passageway. “Even I can smell it. If Caruso gets this far...”
We both know what that means. Game over.
“What if we seal it completely?” Adrian suggests, running his fingers along the edge of the panel. “Build it into the wall overnight?”
I shake my head. “Too permanent. I need regular access.” I pace the wine cellar, considering our options. “The next shipment of Bordeaux arrives today. Eight cases.”
Adrian watches me, understanding forming in his eyes. “Temporary blockade.”
