“No. The guy we caught had nothing useful to say. He’s a tweaker who barely knows his fucking name.”
On top of dealing with Luka’s overdose, someone stole a shipment of product last night. I suspect the thief knew my attention would be elsewhere. It’s a fucking mess.
The DEA has been all over our asses after an anonymous tip, and it’s only thanks to the huge sums of cash I pay into the chief of police’s pension plan that we’re in the clear.
Yet another reason for me to wind down that side of the business and focus on the casino hotels. They make us more than enough money, and as time goes on, the risks I incur dealing with the cartel are not worth the reward.
Not that my father agrees. If he had his way, we’d be trafficking a lot more than drugs.
“Did you get rid of the evidence?” I ask.
“Yeah. I took care of it personally this time.”
“Good.”
We don’t need any more inconvenient bodies floating into the harbor.
“You should get some sleep,” I tell him.In his own bed. Luka’s being kept in overnight for observation, as his vitals are still sluggish, but he’s out of danger, so I forced my wife to come home. She fought like hell to stay with Luka, but he could barely keep his eyes open.
No doubt she’s adding this to her list of reasons to hate me, but I don’t care. We’re all running on empty, and she’s better off here. I promised her that Kane or I would take her back there in the morning. She wanted to argue, but I shut it down, and the moment we arrived back here, she stormed off to her room.
“I want to go back over the camera footage from the bar,” Kane says, scrubbing his jaw. “In case I missed something. And I also need to talk to Matteo about increasing security around Fina.”
I nod. He makes a good point. He leaves my office a few minutes later, and I sit for a while, staring into space.
It’s dawning on me that I’m a selfish bastard. I should have left Chiara alone. As my wife, she’s a target for anyone who wants to hurt me.
It’s late, but even though my eyes are gritty as hell and I can barely string a coherent thought together, I bypass my room and walk down the corridor toward hers. When I checked the camera, she was asleep, but I need to be sure, so I ease the door open and peer in.
It’s dark, moonlight seeping through the half-open blinds, the only illumination. The dog is curled up in a tight ball at the end of the bed. She lifts her head when she sees me but makes no sound.
There’s no sign of Felix. I assume someone let him outside. The book I bought from Amazon says cats are nocturnal and like to hunt at night, which explains why I wake to find dead rodents in my shoes most mornings.
The only visible sign Chiara’s in bed is a cloud of blonde hair on the pillow. Even though I know she’d hate me being in here, Istep into the room. The sound of her soft breathing reassures me she’s safe.
Just as I reach the bed, she stirs and kicks her legs, disturbing the dog, who hops off and moves over to the bed I bought her. A small, muffled whimper has me leaning over the bed.
She must be having a nightmare.
“No, stop…” Another soft whimper, and I can’t stand it anymore.
I reach out and stroke her exposed arm, desperate to comfort her. Her skin is soft as velvet, warm under my fingers, but there’s no response to my touch; she’s locked in her nightmare.
“No, please, no!”
Whatever she’s dreaming about, it’s not good. If I could step into her nightmare and eviscerate whoever is hurting her, I would, so I do the only thing I can think of that might help.
When we were children, Fina had nightmares. Our father kept to his own wing of our house, so he never heard her. But our rooms were adjoined, so her whimpers and cries always woke me up.
I’d crawl into bed with her, wrap my arms around her small body, and sing the lullaby my mother sang to me when I was small. On some subconscious level, Fina must have recognized that lullaby because she always quietened when she heard it.
Chiara doesn’t wake when I slide under the covers next to her. I pull her into my arms, teasing her hair away from her face. Her brow scrunches as she settles against my chest, and her whimpers die away.
I hum the lullaby, and Chiara’s breathing slows. She relaxes in my arms. I shouldn’t stay. She’d be furious if she knew I was in her bed, but she’s so warm and soft in my arms, I can’t bring myself to move.
Just a few minutes, I think.
25
