Raoul rolls his eyes, tossing the cigar aside as he straightens and then stands. Water cascades down his naked body as he reaches for a black toweling robe nearby.
“Fine. I can see you lot will screw up my whole day if we don’t sort this shit out.”
“Baby…” The blonde pouts.
“Wait for me in my room, sweetcheeks,” he aims over his shoulder at her as the three of us move back inside. “Actually, it’s time for her to leave,” he says under his breath to us. “I'm not sure how she ended up sticking around anyhow.”
“A naked blonde in your hot tub? You have to ask how that happened? You probably asked her, you goddamn idiot.” Dario has stopped in the kitchen, clearing one of the countertops of the debris of what appears to have been a pretty wild party. There’s a gleaming chrome coffee machine that’s been shoved into a corner, and within minutes, Dario has it gurgling, the scent of espresso filling the air. “This place is a goddamn mess!”
“Cut me some slack. It was my birthday party!”
I drag a tall bar stool up to the counter and sit.
“Your birthday’s not for two months,” I point out.
“I’m in training.” Raoul slides onto one beside me, reaching for one of the little silver cups Dario is holding out.
“How’re the babies?” I ask him. It’s been a few days since I last saw Dario. He’s been bouncing back and forth between New York and Vegas, keeping an eye on Nikki while he’s at it.
“Doing better,” he mutters. “No thanks to that woman of yours.”
I set my jaw, not bothering to tell him yet again that she’s not my woman. In my heart, it’s true. And Andy’s antics have been leaving more than me unsettled. Her best friend’s due date is looming, and the woman’s barely left her bed since this shit started. The stress of it all, combined with the pair of little Caraldis she’s carrying, have wrought havoc with her blood pressure.
“I’m glad to hear that. This will be over soon, and we can go back to setting our lives on track.” Although I say the words firmly, I’m unsure if I’m feeling as confident as I sound.
“Which is precisely why I’m in this place dealing with Hugh Heffner over here rather than at home with my woman.” Dario scowls, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’s the next step?” he says over the brim of his cup.
“We’re bringing Reed into the mix,” I tell him, and his brows shoot up. Raoul and I have discussed this at length. At first, I couldn’t believe he’d go for it either.
“That showdown was bad for business,” Raoul mutters. “Now that Whitlock’s got the Irish on board, I’m taking too many hits. I lost a good man in that club that night.”
I feel guilt swirl, but I know he doesn’t hold it against me. It’s the world they chose to live in, after all.
“Tommy McErlane’s a fucking rabid dog,” Raoul continues. “His men are tough. If I’m pitting my guys against them, I’d rather let Reed bring his team in as a buffer. Let the Feds get involved – they can take Mark down.” Dario tilts his head, considering Raoul’s words. He’s making a lot of sense. The kid adds, “We’re used to war, but I don’t see any point in taking more risks than necessary.”
“Sounds smart.” Dario is nodding. “Reed’s team is already investigating him, after all. How’s that panning out?” He looks at me.
“I’ve shared what I can with them…without getting your names involved.” I glance from one to the other. It goes without saying, but I need to reassure them, regardless. “He’s building up a tidy case between what we’ve found with our digging and his own investigations. Whitlock will be wrapped up in a tidy little parcel by the end of it all.”
“And McErlane?” Dario looks at Raoul, who shrugs.
“Man’s a closed book. No doubt he’s dirty…” he grimaces, “but who isn’t? It’s just a matter of proving it. The fucker plays smart. Keeps his cards close to his chest. Only thing I’ve found out is that he has no son to take over from him. Just a daughter he’s got hidden away someplace. Seems the Irish take that shit seriously.”
“Unlike the Italians?” I say ironically. “Though I doubt you have that problem. I bet you’ve fathered an entire lost generation by now.”
Raoul sets his cup down abruptly and turns dark, enraged eyes toward me.
“Never!” he spits. “I would never do that to a child!”
I sit back slightly, suitably mollified. I know he grew up hard. Illegitimate son of a gang lord who spent his life trying to prove himself. Well, he’s done that, all right.
“I’m sorry,” I say. For a second, he continues to glare, and then the shutters come down, and he’s all snarky attitude again.
“You’re just jealous because your swimmers probably all need Zimmer frames by now.”
“Get lost, kid! I’m barely five years older than you. This grandad shit is getting tired.”
“Make that closer to seven. And of course, grandad’s tired.” He winks at me.
