Page 12 of His Pretty Little Duet
Ignoring her statement, I kiss her on the cheek, inhaling her perfume, a scent straight from Chanel's limited-edition range,I'm sure. “You look beautiful. Are you staying for the meeting about the girl?"
The girl...
Dual-coloured eyes.
Too pretty.
Too eager to drop to her knees as if coached how to please me...
“I'm available for the first half of the day, then I have five senators from Indonesia to meet for lunch and show around Connolly, remember? Your less than reputable Indonesian associates? That is unless the Lord Mayor himself wishes to accompany them around?” She smiles, her mauve painted lips curving teasingly. “I hear Mr Kampa leans more towards your brand of company.”
I stroll off towards the foyer, talking as I go. “Bronson would say it's because I’m so pretty. Show them the cable bridge. I'll be checking in on the warehouse, and then I'll be at the club to meet them this evening."
“Well, it’s a good thing you have your dutiful wife to oversee everything before you make your appearance."
I halt mid-step, spinning to face her, realisation finally gripping hold of me. “Are you feeling unappreciated?”
She glances to the side, a little action that offers much insight into the softer layers beneath her composed exterior. I see a lot of myself in her. A lot of Jimmy too. She is the most powerful woman in the city, but her power only holds weight because it is bound to my own. And I often forget how much she needs my appreciation, especially since losing her father. Knowing we dethroned him has cut into her sense of place in our organisation. His existence and our marriage are the only claims she ever had to this legacy; Aurora isn't the blood of the Family. This, I never cared about, but she does. There isn't a slither ofFamily blood in the name Storm and what dismay that causes my perfect wife.
My confidant.
We share a life of servitude. Me to theCosa Nostra.She to me. It's all she has ever known, but without me, she's out —her and her sisters. Deported to Sicily where the Don can keep an eye on them, as he did their father.
I would never take this legacy from her. We share it. That is what we agreed to decades ago, and I trust no one more than her.
“A little,” she admits through pursed lips.
I take easy steps towards her, stopping so close she has to crane her neck to catch my gaze as I scan her smooth olive skin and large whiskey-hued eyes. She’s stunning. “The past year has not been easy. I know. I’m very proud of how you have handled it. I’m very proud ofyou,”I say, and her gaze drops under mine.
Pulling herself together, she regards my words with feigned indifference, but the satisfied softening of her body can’t be veiled. I continue, “If you ever need me for anything, you know you need just ask, don’t you?”
"I need you to sleep,” she deflects. "I worry about you."
I grin. “What a waste of your time."
Turning, I make a note of her mood. She clearly needs a little more attention than I can provide at this point. I take the tiled steps to the fourth floor instead of utilising the lift, eager to stretch out my muscles with the incline. The sun from the east floods the side of the house, inviting its warmth and a view of the horizon and gardens. I’m certain it was Jimmy’s way of showcasing his wealth. An addition for guests of the parties he often held. On the contrary, to showcaseThe Family’swealth. Such terminological inexactitude sealed his death sentence.
In my suite, I drag my gaze over the beautiful redhead sprawled out naked on top of my black silk bedding. She may wake to join me when she hears the spray, although she indulgedin a few too many wines with Aurora last night before I ordered her to sober up, so perhaps she's in a deep alcohol sleep,again.
It's not often I allow her to sleep in my room, but last night, after seeing that sweet teenage girl so willingly drop to her knees, I needed more attention. Aurora, of course, didn't care less that I monopolised our shared woman for the night.
Removing my jeans, I walk into the marble shower and wash the guilt from my skin. Massaging my taut muscles, I release the tension in my thighs, among other places.
After dressing in a charcoal two-piece suit, I stare at myself in the mirror, fixing my tie with a silver clip. Scowling at the blue eyes staring back at me, I move away from him before self-indulgent bullshit ghosts into my mind and the lingering image of my brother, beaten and bloody, changes the course of this day. Such thoughts should stay in the basement. I brush the lapel of my jacket, straighten, and casually stride down the hallway.
I enter Jimmy’s office—my office—and head straight for the cabinet, finding a small smile for my impending company.
Within seconds,good man, there is a knock at my door. "Whiskey, Marius?” I ask as invitation to enter. Preparing two despite having no answer, I pour generously.
He walks in. “No, it’s a bit early?—"
Cutting him off, I set the glass down as he sits before moving around to my wing-back chair. He accepts the whiskey, of course.
Taking a seat, I lean back, lift my calf to my knee, and sip the liquor. “It is never too early. What have you found out about our little Fawn?"
He dips down below the desk before pulling out a file as thick as the damn bible, and my forehead tightens immediately at its ominous presence. Marius runs his hands through his sparse greying hair, a habitual movement, I imagine, as he has so little left to muse.
He flicks through the file, and I nurse my glass in wait. “Well, I got the results back and found her," he confirms. "Her name is Fawn Eva Harlow. She is eighteen. SheisNerrock's daughter, Mr Butcher. There was a lot to work through, though. More than I had time for last night, but she lived with her mother, hippy type, living in a caravan. Then she was moved into foster care."
