Page 52 of Heaven Help Me

“Valentina,” Bettina snaps with her cool efficiency that made her the Mafia Maven.

My eyes fly open, now fully awake. My heart hammers like it always does when Bettina turns her attention my way. She’s always demanded excellence from those around her, and I’ve always turned myself inside out to give it to her. She adopted me, after all. I owe her.

“Good morning,” I reply, pushing myself up to a seated position with my back to the headboard. Damn. Every muscle in my body is sore. Being on my feet for twelve hours straight yesterday isn’t for the weak.

“Things here are more extensive than originally thought. Your replacement let things get a little slack.”

There’s judgement in her tone, so much so I flinch, even though I’m not the one she’s referencing.

“That’s not good,” I say weakly.

“If you want things done right, you have to do it yourself.” She sniffs loudly into the phone, echoing a similar thought to the one I was having leading up to the Battle of the Boutiques. “Any further escalation there?”

I shake my head. “No. Haven’t seen the sedan or the man since.”

“Keep your guard up regardless. You’ll be there another month at least.”

My mouth pops open. Another month? At the beginning of all this, Bettina had inferred it would only be a few weeks, two months at most. Things really must be complicated if she needs another month to wrestle back control.

“Oh. Okay.”

The idea of staying in Heaven longer rolls around in my brain. It was a shocking idea at first, but now it sounds quite nice. I can go to a football game. Feel the harsh summer heat and humidity start to fade into a mild fall of leaves turning colors.

More time with Deuce.

Bettina’s still talking, but I miss the first half as I envision Deuce taking me for a drive to see the autumn leaves. I tune back in when she drops another bomb.

“When you come back, I want you to take charge again.”

“No. Bettina, no.” I swing my legs out of bed and stand, wincing as my feet scream at me to stay off them. “I don’t want to.”

There’s a charged silence on the other end of the phone. I realize with a growing sense of dread that I’ve never told Bettina no. Everything she’s asked me to do over the years, I’ve done.

But I don’t want to do that.

I retired for a reason. Until I get a handle on these panic attacks, I can’t risk having one at an inopportune time and endangering people’s lives. Plus, the idea of returning to that life is starting to feel more and more like hell. Now that I’ve had a glimpse of a normal life here in Heaven, I don’t want to return to all that.

“We’ll speak about this later. In the meantime, I’ll handle things here. Like I always do.”

Bettina hangs up on me before I can thank her or give her reasons as to why my return is not a good idea. I stare at the phone in my hand and then flop back on the bed. That was way too much drama for this early in the morning.

“Knock, knock.”

Deuce’s voice has my eyes opening again. He pushes open the door, dressed in boxers and nothing else. He’s a sight to behold. It hits me with striking clarity that he’s wasted his life modeling suits when he should have been an underwear model.

“My eyes are up here,” he says with a playful tone.

My gaze snaps up to his face and away from everything else I was ogling. He’s smirking at me, well aware the effect he has on women. He’s also holding a tray and the scent of pancakes and bacon hits my nose. My stomach growls as I sit up.

“Please tell me that’s for me.”

His smirk turns to a real smile as he sets the tray down on the bed and climbs on top of the comforter. The tray is covered in plates and food and even a single yellow rose in a bud vase. “I thought we could have breakfast in bed and celebrate a job well done yesterday.”

I snatch a piece of bacon off the plate and munch on it. The salty goodness hits my tongue and my eyes slide shut to savor it. “Oh my God.”

“Almost as good as that orgasm I gave you in the storage room, amiright?”

My eyes fly open again and I chuck the bacon at Deuce’s head. He roars with laughter and deflects the flying breakfast meat, which makes the edges of my mouth tip up despite myself.