“He’s lying low for the moment. We must have really shocked him at the club. He wasn’t expecting the attack. Fuck, we nearly had him.” I stab a letter opener into the pockmarked surface of my desk. The anger at watching Yannis scurry away down that secret passageway in his club, cock dangling from his open zipper, makes me mad as hell.
“He’ll be planning something.”
“Undoubtedly,” I agree. “There’s a chance that the attack on the club forced the Italians and the Greeks closer together.”
“Close enough to pose a real threat to us?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It depends on how they decide to attack.”
“Well, if it comes down to it, the Bratva has your back.”
I smile. “I know that, Phoenix. And I appreciate it. But your father has bailed us out of enough scrapes. We’ll handle this on our own.”
I can sense that Phoenix likes the sound of that. It can’t be easy having a living legend as a father. I can relate.
“Maybe I should come back to the city. Handle this shit myself.”
“No,” Phoenix barks immediately. “That’s not necessary. I’ve got this handled.”
I pause, realizing that I actually want Phoenix to handle this—for purely selfish reasons. I want to stay here.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. If anything new pops up, I’ll let you know.”
“You better.”
After I hang up, I stare out the windows that overlook the blackened ocean. I don’t know why the thought of leaving Renata weighs on me. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t want to face the truth.
But I do need to decide what to do with her. Am I using her to draw out her brother? Or am I going to protect her like I’ve protected so many women before her?
Is she a victim? Or is she every bit the Lombardi bastard her brother is?
I can’t quite decide.
But I have seen the fight in her. She’s been broken down and beaten. There’s a darkness in her past that she’s desperate to bury at any cost. She let it slip in that conversation we had in her room, but I saw the open wounds she’s still nursing.
Sometimes, strength is just a mask to hide the scars left by the demons we can’t get rid of.
A soft knock comes at my door. “Enter.”
Aisling walks in and meets my eyes with a smile.
“Sit,” I tell her, gesturing to the chair in front of my desk.
She sits down confidently. She’s not like some of the other maids I’ve employed. She’s whip-smart, shrewd, and observant. Her talents have come in handy many times over the years. Now more so than ever.
“Well?”
“I just checked on her,” she answers. “She was dreaming. Screaming in her sleep, tossing around on the floor.”
I try not to look too upset about that. I have noticed the nightmares, though. I’ve watched Renata sleep enough to know that she has them frequently. “Did you speak to her?”
“Not this time,” Aisling says. “She seemed out of sorts when she finally did wake up. I don’t think she even noticed that I had the partition open an inch. She did…”
I lean forward. “Did what?”
“She did seem to think someone was in the room with her. Someone that meant her harm.”