Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 633(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 422(@300wpm)
Smiling as if he hasn’t just told me he’d keep me in a cage if I go against his wishes, he asks, “What do you need? Want me to get you some dry clothes? A hairbrush?”
“I’ve got everything in my bag.”
Remembering where I keep it, he takes it from the desk drawer and gives it to me. He smooths his own hair back with his palms as he watches me fix my make-up.
When I’ve applied lipstick, he asks, “Ready?”
As ready as I can be.
“Anya.”
His serious tone alarms me. I clip my bag closed and give him my attention.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?” he says.
If that’s his way of thanking me for getting the money, I’ll take it. “Thank you.”
He offers me his arm, his stance regal as he looks at me. “Let’s get Claire and go home.”
People jump to attention when we walk onto the gallery. The men stare at Saverio with slack jaws.
He leads me into the lounge where Dante sits on the sofa, bouncing Claire on his lap. A Disney princess movie plays on the television.
“Put the money in the safe,” Saverio says, reaching for Claire. “Drinks are on the house. Tell the men we have reason to celebrate.”
Dante searches my eyes. “Yes, boss.”
I don’t smile at him. I’m still angry that he called Saverio behind my back, not that I can fault that. Saverio is his boss after all.
“Where’s Livy?” I ask.
“Manning the bar,” Dante says. “I think she’s one step ahead of you. The celebratory drinks are already flowing, and just for your information, so are the rumors about where Anya got that money. The story is already turning into an urban legend.”
“Great,” Saverio mumbles under his breath as he kisses the top of Claire’s head before putting her in her car seat. After strapping her in, he hands me the seat. “You better take her. I don’t want to risk it down the stairs with the cane.”
Claire makes a cooing noise and kicks her sturdy little legs when I give her her favorite rattle.
It’s been a long, stressful day, and all I want is to go home, have a shower and maybe a snack, and crawl into bed.
“I’ll drop Livy off later,” Dante says. “She seems to be in a party mood.”
Saverio guides me along the gallery with his hand on the small of my back. The men step aside for us to pass. As we walk through the club side by side, the smell of champagne on our skins a reminder of our complicity in the secret we share, the men pat my shoulder, offering quiet acceptance. I see the way they look at me, with respect, and I know. I’m no longer simply a bookkeeper or Saverio’s wife.
I’m one of them.
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Saverio
* * *
Now that I’ve broken the ice and everyone has stared to their hearts’ content, I return to work in the office at After Dark. I exchange my sweatpants and jeans for my habitual suits, and it’s good to feel almost human again.
Anya and Dante were right. The men needed to see me. They needed reassurance that their comrades will be avenged and that I’m capable of leading them to victory when we go up against the Morellis. Everyone seems relieved that I’m back, so much so that I agree to hang around for drinks after work.
When Livy’s day shift at the bar comes to an end and she and Anya leave with Claire, escorted by a small army of course, I have a round with Dante and the guys who aren’t on duty. The music is pumping, and the club is fuller than it’s been of late. At least that’s what everyone tells me because I haven’t been here to witness the decline for myself.
Slowly but surely, the dust is settling after the attack. Raphael is still being a fucker, threatening my suppliers with their families’ lives if they sell alcohol to me, but Dante got a couple of local companies on board. We’ll weaken the Morellis little by little until we’re not only back where we started but worth double our annual turnover.
The men dissipate to the private lounge for a game of darts and to continue their celebration in privacy. I stay at the lower bar, observing the patrons and thinking about changes. When Luigi died, I inherited his half of the shares, which makes me the sole owner of After Dark. It was the agreement we signed in which Rachele was handed over as a part of the package deal. Now that Luigi is gone, I can make changes and do renovations. The first things that will go are those tacky portraits that are a cross between vulgarity and artistry. Unlike Luigi, my taste in art isn’t vulgar.
“Another one, boss?” the barman, Roy, asks.
Sliding onto one of the barstools at the counter, I shake my head. “I’ve got a workout early tomorrow morning.”