“What?” she asked.
“I know I was an ass last night,” I said, forcing the words from my mouth. “And I need to make up for it. So, give me your advice on how.”
Her mouth parted in surprise. “You want my advice?”
“What do I do? Olivia is sleeping and I don’t want to wake her. But I need to do something before I come back tonight.”
Iris frowned and rested her chin on her palm. “Well, I don’t know exactly what you did, but as long as you didn’t do anything…really bad, I would say flowers and jewelry might help.”
“Really bad?”
“Duran made it seem like maybe you…hurt her,” Iris said hesitantly. “I don’t think I believe that. You’re in love with her. And I don’t think you would do that to any woman anyway.”
Had she thought I had forced myself on my wife? The thought turned my stomach and a sick sensation rose. It took me a moment to compose myself, ensuring my face remained completely blank.
“I would never do anything to Olivia against her will or hurt her,” I said. “I behaved…badly, said some things I didn’t mean, but I didn’t harm her.”
“Well, send her flowers, write her a note. If you really mean it, make it expensive,” Iris said, turning back to her laptop. “And say you’re sorry in person too. That means a lot.”
An hour later, I sat down at my desk in my office with my phone to my ear. I called my assistant, a slender, graying woman who had worked as my secretary for the last ten years. She handled any small, personal tasks and ran errands for my legitimate businesses. She answered on the first ring, her voice prompt and formal.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked.
“Can you have some flowers sent to my wife?”
If she was surprised by my unusual request, she didn’t show it. “How many flowers, sir? And what kind?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I don’t know. Maybe three hundred white roses? Or maybe that’s not enough…. Just have them make up some bouquets until they have about a thousand stems total. And I want to send something else…maybe a necklace.”
“I’ll pick something out,” she said. In the background I could hear her pen scratching. “What does she like?”
“I…well, her engagement ring is a diamond on white gold, so something to match.”
“Alright, sir, when would you like this delivered?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Would you like a card with a message?”
I paused, considering it for a moment. Every part of me wanted to just ignore this whole thing and sweep it under the rug as I usually did when I offended someone close. After all, she was my wife and she answered to me, not the other way around. Any man in the outfit would have backed me up on that. But, I fucking loved this woman, despite my best attempts not to, and the fact that I had hurt her pained me.
“Just tell her I’m sorry.”
“Of course, sir,” she said, completely professional. “I’ll have it sent to Mrs. Esposito right away. Also, I was just about to call you this morning. Mr. Salah is in town and he requested to meet you and the other Mr. Esposito for lunch.”
I checked my watch. “Alright, thank you.”
Ahmed Salah was a close family friend of both Duran and I. He was a talented made man, originally from Cairo, Egypt, where my father had often taken us on business trips when Duran and I were young. At the age of nineteen, Ahmed had saved Romano’s life during a shootout and in return, Romano had made him the first non-Italian made man. Despite this, Ahmed’s loyalty remained to Duran and I and he’d agreed to aid in our coup.
He hadn’t left Egypt for several months, but during his honeymoon in Cairo, Duran had made plans for Ahmed to join us for New Year’s Eve. We needed him if we were going to take down the capo. Ahmed was an excellent marksman and he knew the weapons he worked with better than any soldier under my or Viktor’s command.
I took the Tesla out to join Ahmed and Duran at one of our clubs. I knew we were meeting there for security purposes, but it felt strange to be in a place I so strongly associated with my bachelor days. When I stepped through the doors, a slender, blonde woman greeted me and took my coat. She wore a short, black leather skirt and a lace brassiere that showed faint traces of her nipples. Before, the sight would have gotten me hard, but now it did nothing. Olivia had ruined me for all other women.
Ahmed sat with Duran in the far corner of the room. There was already a bottle of wine at the table and a platter of fresh espresso. As I approached, Ahmed stood, unfurling his tall body, and shook my hand warmly. He looked good, windswept and healthy, his dark eyes alight.
“Ahmed went and got married,” Duran said. “Didn’t bother to tell us.”
“It wasn’t planned,” said Ahmed. “She’s pregnant and she didn’t want to have the baby out of wedlock. Adriana’s oddly traditional about certain things.”