“You’re done,” I tell him. “Both of you. Get the fuck off my island.”
Neither says anything for a moment, then finally Tommy speaks.“Vin, this isn’t a negotiable situation at this point. To blow them off now puts everyone at risk—”
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
Tommy and Matti exchange a look as I grab the half empty bottle of whiskey.
“The funeral, Vin.” Tommy is talking to me like I’m fucking slow. “You have to set the date. And you have to call Ronan. That’s it.”
“Fine,” I say. The word comes out as empty as the bottles on the desk. “Set the date.”
Matti exhales hard. “Do you want to be the boss, Vin?” he asks quietly.
Do I want to be boss? No. Not if it means being without Sophie.
“I am the fucking boss,” I snap at him, rubbing a hand over my face. “Now get out.”
“If you’re the boss, then act like it.” Matti stands and straightens his jacket, then steps out, leaving me and Tommy alone.
Tommy looks at me for a long moment. “You’re going to be okay,” he says.
I scoff. “You say that like you already know a path out of this, but are going to let me figure it out on my own. If you know how to fix this, please, fucking enlighten me.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t have enough information to offer you a plan. But if you want to share more details with me as yourconsigliere, I could probably help.”
I look down at the floor, staring at the designs in the carpet. There are no details that dig me out of a marriage I don’t want into a life with a woman I need.
“Get. The fuck. Out.”
By the time I settle back in the chair, broken glass at my feet, I’m alone.
16
SOPHIE
The Arsenal is running like a machine, everything falling into place perfectly. The kitchen staff rhythmically preps what we need between the lunch and dinner sittings. The wait staff moves between tables, cleaning and refilling stations, so that the dining room looks beautiful.
I can step in and out of the kitchen as needed, and even spend time in my office managing back end issues. It’s a relief after years of trying to run the whole thing by myself.
I’m at the pass-through window, going over tonight’s specials board when Marco pokes his head in.
“There’s a man at the hostess stand asking for you.”
I don’t look up from my notes. “Tell him we don’t open for dinner until five.”
“He says he knows you. He looks a little… rough.”
Rough? Frowning, I follow Marco out to the dining room, wiping my hands on my apron. But if I were given 100 chances, I never would have guessed—
“Hey, Sophie.”
“Rocco.” I stop a few feet away from him. The last time I saw him, he was aggressive and physical. I’m not sure what to expect.
Rocco’s arms hang by his sides, phone in hand. He’s got a lot of nervous energy. He glances around the dining room and up at the loft bar approvingly. “You’ve done really good with the place.”
“Thank you.” I wait.
He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to corral his energy and focus. “I know I was a dick.”
