by Lux Miller
“I’m sure she’d much rather be earning her keep doing something useful, rather than listening to your thinly veiled attempts at getting her to bang you. Alpha male machismo works for some men, but on you, it just seems desperate and pathetic. If you aren’t able to fulfill our wishes, I’ll just call Luca to make other arrangements.”
TWENTY-TWO
Several uneventful weeks have passed since Noemi dropped the bombshell of the century on the family. Dante has been out of the house more than he’s been in it, and I suspect it has to do with a certain redhead. He’ll neither deny it or confirm it, though. Mum has definitely been the word.
Kyle returned to duty a couple days after his inappropriate relationship with Noemi was revealed. I suspect that he and Noemi had planned to keep it quiet indefinitely, but Mother Nature had other plans. Plans that involve Noemi being nearly ten weeks pregnant, meaning that Kyle succeeded in doing the single-handedly dumbest thing he’s ever done during the week of her birthday, if not the very night when I caught the two of them fucking.
Luca’s still angry over the whole situation, but upon my insistence, he’s backed off from chewing the pair of them out every chance he gets. To be honest, I think he’s more pissed off at Noemi than Kyle. He went on and on about how she knew better than to fuck around with an associate. He seems to be more angry that it was Kyle than the fact that she’s pregnant, although his sister carrying his associate’s child is probably the icing on the pissed-off cake.
He confided in private to me that he’s also mad at himself for not seeing it sooner. For letting Kyle sneak in under his radar and deflower his baby sister. Of course, me telling him that that ship sailed a long time ago, and Kyle wasn’t the captain, didn’t help his guilt. Reminding him that Dante lost his virginity at the age of fourteen, and me reminding him that I lost my own at fifteen settles him slightly. The one thing I don’t point out is that he himself was going to be a father at sixteen, but even without being told, I know that the entire topic of Mandy and their unborn son is taboo.
Luca left early this morning to take care of business matters, and Dante never came home last night, so I assume he’s probably met up with Luca onsite on whatever run they’re handling today. The entire underworld has been in upheaval since Parker’s arrest. The few men of his that weren’t arrested are scrambling to pledge loyalty somewhere else. And very few are being accepted.
The rate at which bodies are showing up all across the Crescent City is alarming, but what’s even more unsettling is the fact that the police department doesn’t seem to be too interested in arresting a killer. Every time another corpse is found, the police assure the public at large that the body belongs to a drug dealer or trafficker, and that there isn’t a rise in crime happening in the city. It’s just the underbelly of New Orleans keeping house. Those with the power decide who lives and dies, and I have a heavy suspicion that the man with the list is my husband.
I look up from the bed where I’ve been reading away the morning. Am I imagining things, or did I just hear a super soft knock on the door? Shrugging, I avert my eyes back to the flickering screen of the smartphone that Luca demanded I keep with me at all times, following my abduction. I can’t say I was too terribly put out, because it’s top of the line and nice to be able to contact my husband during the day. Not that he responds much, but he does try to send an emoji or two when he isn’t busy breaking bad.
It helps to remind me that somewhere under his bristling broodiness, he’s still a man. A man that, despite his reputation as a brute, has real feelings outside of the pair of businesses that have made him a household name in New Orleans. He’s both a benevolent benefactor that donates money to hospitals and colleges, (and yes, we paid back every dime of what we borrowed from the charity art sale to get him bonded out of jail plus an additional twenty-five thousand dollar donation), and a crime lord vigilante that’s hell-bent on outsmarting the drug cartels that threaten the city he calls home.
This time, the knocking on the door is unmistakable. I toss my phone onto the bed and roll off, groaning as I stand and stretch. I’ve become lazy lately, and I can tell that the rich, Italian food is catching up with my lack of exercise. All of my clothes still fit, but they won’t for much longer if I don’t start working off some of the calories Bianca keeps feeding me. There’s no telling an Italian woman ‘no,’ especially when only one, or none of her sons makes it to the dinner table.
I stumble over to the door and swing it open. I was fully expecting to see Noemi standing there. She’s been a little green the last few days, and her doctor suspects it’s the morning sickness catching up with her. She’s usually fine by late morning, though. But it isn’t Noemi that greets me at the door. It’s a pair of people, neither of whom I was expecting.
One is a familiar face, and one I haven’t seen in nearly long enough. “Royce!” I dive through the doorway and into his arms. He barely has a chance to shift the handful of hangers to his other hand before I collide into him. He chuckles and wraps his arm around me, tugging me against his body. “Well hello there, beautiful!”
He pokes his head over my shoulder at the pouty, brunette woman who looks like she could lift me over her head with one arm. “Told you she’d care more about me.” He sticks his tongue out at the woman, who rolls her eyes.
She turns her gaze to me and offers a hand. “I’m Amie. I’ll be taking over for Mike as your shadow-guard for the foreseeable future since he’s, well…”
I raise one eyebrow, keeping both of my hands at my side. Before she can finish her statement, I answer for her, “Incarcerated?”
Amie nods and drops her hand to her side without shaking mine, narrowing her eyes at me. “Indeed. I suspect that your husband has already programmed my number into your phone, although he apparently failed to warn you about my arrival. I’ll stay out of your way, but I’ll be in the shadows, staying hidden and proactively providing for your safety… as a shadow-guard should.”
Without another word, Amie slips out into the hallway, and I stare after her in surprise. Did She-Ra just take a dig at Mike and Kyle for getting too close? Granted, she’s right, but one could just as easily argue that Mike went to jail protecting Luca as much as protecting me. Kyle, I can’t speak for… what he did was completely against protocol, and he’s lucky to still have his balls… fuck, his life for that matter.
But here we are, down two shadow-guards since Luca has reassigned Kyle into his personal guard. Despite Noemi’s protests, I suspect it actually has a lot more to do with business matters than a personal vendetta, though I wouldn’t put it past Luca to exact his revenge passive-aggressively.
I’m jerked out of my thoughts, literally, as Royce gives me a proper shake to get my attention. “Earth to Emily… this is Spaceship FaBu… Are you ready to get your socks knocked off?”
I pull back slightly and glance down at my bare feet, then back up at him. He rolls his eyes and waves a hand around in the air. “Oh, you know what I mean! I’ve been sent to make you something for tonight. Isn’t it exciting?!?”
I raise one eyebrow and look at him curiously, shaking my head slightly. “Not surprised that I’m the last to know, as usual, but isn’t what exciting?”
Royce gasps and pushes past me, marching into the bedroom. He takes one look at the massive crate in the corner and stops dead. His eyes widen to saucers as he turns to look at me. “When did you get that? And what’s its purpose?”
He looks at me suggestively, and I shake my head, laughing. “Oh God, no Royce! It isn’t for roleplaying or whatever other kinky shit you’re thinking about. It’s for Boss.”
Royce tosses the bundle of hangers onto the bed and stalks over to it. “What’s a Boss?”
A grin twists my lips as I push past him to the crate. I open the door and make a sharp, high-pitched whistle to call him. The ball of fluff tucked away in the corner of the crate stirs, and his head pops up with a yip. Royce freezes as Boss totters out of the crate and bounds over to him
, plopping himself down on Royce’s shoes as he looks up at him and cocks his head to the side.
I laugh, “That’s a Boss.”
Royce stares down at Boss and shakes his head. “That’s a pip-squeak. He wouldn’t scare a gutter rat. He’s an adorable little critter. But why the huge crate?”
I walk over to him and Royce and kneel down beside Boss, scratching between his ears. “Because he won’t stay this size forever. Six months from now, he’ll be almost as big as me.”
Royce looks slightly alarmed. “So, it’s not a dog, then?”
I shrug. “He’s part dog… and part wolf. Now, quit stalling and tell me why you’re here.”
Royce shrugs nonchalantly. “Can’t an old friend visit when he finds out you ran off and married Luca but didn’t even bother to contact me for a dress? I was heartbroken to imagine what you must have worn. I’m sure it was gorgeous, but bah… I wanted to dress you.”
Giggling, I shake my head at Royce. “First of all, you could have called to yell at me about that. Secondly, I wore short shorts and flip flops for our wedding.”
Royce gasps, a horrified look on his face. “Whaaaaaat?!?”
I hold both hands up, and his eyes dart straight to the rose gold band encircling my left ring finger. “It was a courthouse thing, Royce. He was lucky he wasn’t in prison orange. But he did have a fancy government-issued anklet.”
Royce’s nose wrinkles. “The most beautiful woman I know marries the hottest man in New Orleans with millions of dollars at their disposal, and you got married… in flip flops… at the courthouse. Oh baby girl, find me a fan… I’m not going to make it…”
He fans his face dramatically, and I can’t help but laugh. “Royce, quit being a drama queen! Luca hinted that sometime in the future, we might try to have a real ceremony for everyone, and I promise that I’ll get that dress from no other, okay? You and I both know you didn’t come here to pout about that, though. Spill it… why did Luca call you?”
Royce frowns. “It hurts my feelings that you think I only came here because the Boss told me to, but you’re too smart for your own good. I’d have visited sooner, but truthfully, I’ve been a bit preoccupied myself. I started taking some business courses at Loyola’s College of Business. Been mostly taking night classes, but it has been faaaaaaascinating to learn the ropes. But that’s neither here nor there. The Boss needs you dressed to impress tonight, and he knew I wouldn’t let him down.”
I tilt my head and give Royce a look. “And why do I need to dress to impress tonight?”
Royce smirks and steeples his finger together, his face twisting into a villainous expression. “Because it’s the Boss’s birthday, and he wants to show you off at his private party tonight.”
I raise an eyebrow and glare at Royce. He shrugs his shoulders as I stare him down. I take one step toward him, scowling, and he holds both hands up in surrender. “It’s a very exclusive guest list. So exclusive, in fact, that I hear there are a dozen security firms contracted to cover the swanky bar Luca rented out for the night.”
Immediately, I feel my blood run cold. Luca hates bars. Especially after I forced him to sober up by dumping all his liquor. He says just being in a bar makes him want to drink and that it all tastes like horse piss and makes him do and say things that aren’t who he is. If he’s willingly rented out a bar, it likely means three things:
He wanted somewhere that wouldn’t blip on the map of anyone else. And he’s not aiming to cross his worlds. So, unless Luca has suddenly run dry on cash, which I know he hasn’t, this has to do with the mafia. Which means…
With the recent spate of traitors among his men, he’s likely courting outside of his current employ to run something dangerous. Which also means…
He and Dante are planning something big enough that they didn’t want me, Noemi, or Bianca to find out about it, yet Luca is ballsy enough to bring me to the event under the guise of it being his birthday.
Wait… is it his birthday? I’ve known it’s sometime in the summer, just not exactly when. I walk over to the bed and grab my phone off the bed and quickly send a text to Luca. It’s a simple happy birthday wish, but it’s me going for broke here. If he slips up his cover story, it’ll be in his first reply. Instead, right on cue, my phone screen flashes with a message from him. Just as mine was, it’s short and simple and it came through too fast for it to be contrived.
Luca: Thanks, baby. I hope Royce is putting together something beautiful for you. I can’t wait to see it.
I groan and drop my phone onto the bed, then turn back to Royce and shake my head. “I guess your wish is my command.” I drop into a low, exaggerated bow, and it catches Royce off guard.
He giggles in his soft, tinkling laugh and my worries vaporize. “That’s what I’m supposed to say. First, you steal my Barresi… and then you steal my line!”
His statement catches me off guard, but the look on Royce’s face tells me it was no joke. Shit, I wonder how long he’s had the hots for Luca. I knew he found him attractive, but truthfully, there’s not many people that don’t. The man is gorgeous. I just didn’t realize that Royce wanted a piece. Which makes me wonder… if maybe there’s more to the story.
“Royce… have you and Luca ever—” Royce shakes his head rapidly, his cheeks flushing. “Oh God, no, Emily. I didn’t even make it to the dock before that ship sailed. I’ve seen Luca drunk out of his mind, and he’s always preferred pussy. I don’t think there’s enough alcohol in the world to make him want all this fabulousness.”
I nod, only half-convinced. Luca may have never reciprocated the feelings, but I’ve a suspicion that Royce still holds a candle for him. He knows it’ll always be one-sided, but he seems to have accepted that. My new mission in life is to find Royce a man. Tall, dark, and dangerous shouldn’t be too hard to find in New Orleans.
Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I point to the bed at the pile of fabrics. “Pick your poison…”
TWENTY-THREE
By now, I know that I should just blindly trust Royce. He has impeccable taste, and with that one exception that we never speak of, has never steered me wrong. But damn if I don’t feel overexposed and underdressed right now. Despite my initial assumption that this birthday party was strictly a cover for family business, the number of women here sporting high-end designer gowns is daunting. From the amount of bling dripping from their ears, necks, and wrists, you’d think this was an Oscars after party or a reception gala for the Met Ball.
I step through the glass doors of the Hotel Monteleone, thankful that Royce agreed to dress in his Sunday best to join me for the horse and pony show. This party is even more elaborate than I’d originally thought, so I’m glad I’m not flying solo while on the hunt for my husband. I don’t even know what he’s going to be wearing, but if the rest of the people here are any indication, I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb in my woefully casual outfit.
Okay, it’s not casual in the least, but compared to the gowns worth thousands sheathing the bodies of some of New Orleans’ wealthiest women, I feel unremarkable in my white lace playsuit. The fabric of the bodice clings to my modest curves like a second skin, then flows easily around my hips where it culminates in lace shorts that would flirt with disaster if I bent over.
Of course, Royce has ensured through strategically placed stitches that everything will stay covered and in its proper place. It’s what he does. The sheer lace sleeves and carefully placed pearl details around the legs of the shorts do elevate the piece from summer chic, but the whispers that rise up behind me as Royce and I walk past leave no doubts that people are talking.
The hushed murmurs that echo off the walls of the ornate hotel may also have a lot to do with the intricate rose gold wedding band that encircles my finger. With the exception of Luca’s trial, this is the first time I’ve worn it in public, and people are talking. I have no doubt that tomorrow morning’s publications will feature at least one story about it. There will also likely be quite a b
it of speculation on what the ring means. Is Luca Barresi engaged? Married? Trolling the wealthy women of the city? Is New Orleans’ most eligible bachelor really off the market for good?
Royce nudges me with a smirk, “Honey, quit walking like you’re afraid somebody is going to jump out and say ‘boo.’ You look beautiful, as always, and they’re just jealous. The women are jealous of you, because everyone can see from the way Luca looks at you, that he’s tapping that ass regularly. And the men are jealous for the same reason.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Royce, I swear… you have a silver tongue and know just what to say to make a girl feel good about herself when she’s seriously doubting her entire existence.”
Royce snorts and lets go of my arm. He stops walking and lets me get several steps ahead of him. I stop and turn back to look at him, “Uh uh, sir. You agreed we’d do this whole grand entrance thing together. Can’t have Cinderella without my fairy god brother…”
