Chapter 30
MAX
Days had gone by, and I’d made no progress with Rosalie. She continued to make things more difficult than they needed to be. I wondered how long she’d keep this up. She was mad, sure, but did she not burn for me the way I burned for her?
I thought about her constantly. I thought about her green eyes. I thought about her pitchy tone. She wouldn’t get out of my damn head, especially at night. Knowing she was just down the hall, a mere twenty paces away, made sleep a cruel joke.
For four hours I’d tossed and turned, the silence interrupted by the ticking Rolex on the bedside table, mocking my insomnia.
Each night, the same battle raged within me. Every muscle screamed for her touch. The desperate urge to crawl into her bed, to burrow my head into her warm body, especially the soft rise and fall of her stomach with each breath, was threatening to drown my willpower.
What if I gave in? Would she hate me? Would she think I was overstepping her boundaries?
It would probably set back my progress with her, and I needed her to trust me if this was going to work.
Around midnight, a ghost of a sound—footsteps, hesitant and quiet—had paused right outside my door. Had she considered knocking? The image of her hand hovering over the doorknob and then slowly withdrawing was a fresh torment.
Did she doubt my intentions more than I thought? Was the trust I so desperately craved still a bridge too far for her to cross?
Finally, with a sigh that spoke volumes, I dragged myself out of bed. The stairs seemed to stretch on forever before I reached the bottom.
I made my way into the kitchen, narrowly dodging yet another monstera leaf. Rosalie’s plants had practically taken over the place, as if she were trying to turn our home into some jungle.
Don’t even get me started on her coffee mugs. The damn woman had one for every mood, every day of the week, maybe even every hour. Floral patterns, motivational quotes, some ridiculously oversized ones.
And the blankets. There were throws on every chair, every couch, even one folded up in the corner “just in case.” As if we lived in the Arctic and not a perfectly heated house. She’d draped them over everything. These soft, knitted things were everywhere.
She had so many things. Like shoes. The shoes.
Dimitri had joked about it, but I hadn’t believed him until I’d seen it with my own eyes.
Six boxes. Six. Each packed to the brim with heels in every possible shade of black, beige, and red, with the occasional sparkle thrown in.
She had enough stilettos to outfit an entire city block.
The damn woman drove me mad. She was everywhere, in every breath I took, in every inch of my space—and somehow, it only made me want her more. My heart burned with the insidious desire for her.
Forcing my attention away from the thought of her, I reached for my phone in the pocket of my suit jacket.
Me
Marina in thirty.
After only a second, I received a message.
Mikhail
It’s four in the morning. No.
Me
Okay, tell me how it feels to have no money in a week—you’re on the Joker’s shit list.
Eventually, Enzo entered through the front door and met me in the living room.
He was like a brother to me. Growing up, he’d always been by Giovanni’s side. He’d been a part of this family from the beginning.
“Enzo, you know the deal. Anything she wants, she gets, yeah? Keep her safe for me.”
“I’ve got her.”
I stepped outside and found Mikhail and Giovanni waiting in the car parked on the street. Sliding into the passenger seat, I greeted them with a grin.
“Morning, sunshines.”
Behind me, Mikhail was busy tossing an assortment of items into the front of the car. Baby wipes. Diapers. Pacifiers. Toy after toy. Giovanni didn’t say anything—he just closed his eyes in frustration and rested his head on the back of the seat.
Much as Giovanni could piss anyone off, he was a good man.
He put his wife and his child before everything—even himself.
He was perceived to be this strong man until it came to his girls.
He was a grown adult who sang children’s rhymes when it got silent and carried three identical pacifiers in his pockets “just in case.”
My sister had changed him in a way I’d never thought possible. Fatherhood was a good look on him. I just hoped he wouldn’t forget about everything that needed to get done.
Giovanni turned his head to me slowly, his look telling me what he was about to say. “Please tell him to leave,” he said, his patience nearing its breaking point.
“Why would you want that? You need me,” Mikhail said with a smug smile.
Giovanni’s eyes widened slightly as he took in a deep breath of air. “The only thing I need from you, Mikhail, is for you to stay silent.”
He knew better than to expect Mikhail to comply easily, but he also understood the necessity of cooperation in this line of work. With a defeated sigh, he leaned forward, rubbing his temples.
But Giovanni wasn’t innocent. He was just as bad as Mikhail. They both gave me a headache.
“Come on—let’s get moving,” I demanded. “The sooner you stop arguing with one another, the sooner you can go your separate ways.”
With that, the car started to move.
It was a twenty-minute drive to the marina from the house, but it seemed to take a lot longer. I was somewhat nervous to show Giovanni the marina since I knew he wouldn’t approve of it.
Using the marina in a different way than the Clarkes was a huge liability.
They were known for reselling American ammunition, shipping it overseas for profit.
The problem was with the cargo: military-grade products.
It inevitably drew unwanted attention. Ricky had learned this the hard way a year ago, when his indiscretions had cost him dearly.
My focus was on a different kind of high-stakes trade: opium.
The profits were astronomical, and I had firsthand experience of just how much money could be made.
Desperation had a price, and it was three hundred a kilo.
The demand was constant, driven by an ever-growing number of people seeking an escape from their reality.
I’d made a conscious decision to stay away from using opium now Rosalie was here. I had a renewed sense of responsibility since it wasn’t just me anymore. I had someone else to think about.
Addiction had been easy to beat—not because of some bullshit inner strength, but because it was never opium I was addicted to. It was her.
Now she was really here, every decision I made was with her in mind.
Once we’d arrived, Giovanni pulled the car up to the large dock, and I stepped out. I didn’t need the marina to make money. If anything, it was pocket change for Rosalie’s spending habits, and something to keep me occupied.
The lights hanging from the cranes flickered as a strong wind blew past. We were surrounded by large red and blue steel shipping containers.
These containers were often used by the military to transport family goods.
Soldiers who were being transferred overseas to continue their service needed their furniture just as much as the Outfit needed their opium.
The men who worked on this ship had their lives made, in my opinion. Each transaction earned them a generous thirty percent. Compared to the huge sums we pulled in, their cut seemed like child’s play, but it was enough to ensure their loyalty.
We demanded silence and discretion from them in return for protection and substantial earnings. Any betrayal was met with severe consequences. The first warning was a missing tongue—a brutal but effective reminder they should keep their mouths shut.
A second offense resulted in concrete being poured into their ears and left to dry, rendering them deaf. A third strike would be their last. If they did as they were told, everything remained smooth and profitable.
“Romano!” a voice shouted over the crashing metal.
The wind cut through the small opening, creating an eerie sound. A man stood atop the shipping containers, coordinating the cranes as they lifted the heavy loads onto the ship.
“Matteo. Good to see you, man,” I shouted back in Italian.
“You as well,” he said, his accent strong. “Everything is going aboard, no problems. Who are these men with you?”
He was nervous. He’d never spoken to Giovanni or Mikhail, only me.
“Matteo, these are business associates,” I replied, gesturing toward them.
Matteo nodded slowly, his gaze flickering between me and them. “All right, Boss. Just let me know if there’s anything specific you need.”
With a nod, Matteo returned to the ship, shouting instructions to the crew in Italian. Giovanni and Mikhail followed me as I led them along the edge of the dock, where workers were busy loading crates of opium onto a waiting ship.
The air was filled with the metallic clank of machinery and the distant roar of the sea against the docks.
Giovanni leaned in closer to me, his voice low and cautious. “Are you sure about this? It seems . . . exposed. Risky.”
I glanced at him sidelong, knowing his concerns were valid. The marina, despite its usefulness, was risky. “It’s a temporary risk. It’ll only be stored here overnight.”
Mikhail grunted. “Temporary places have a way of becoming permanent headaches.”
I ignored his comment, my mind already preoccupied with the logistics. Each crate loaded onto the ship was worth more money than a nepo baby would ever see.
As we walked, I kept a close eye on the men.
Two of them were arguing loudly near a stack of crates, their voices carrying over the shriek of the machinery.
I motioned for Giovanni and Mikhail to stay back as I approached, my hand instinctively resting on the handle of the gun concealed beneath my jacket.
“What’s the problem?” I demanded sharply.
They fell silent at my approach, their eyes darting nervously between me and each other. One of them, a middle-aged man with a scarred face, spoke hesitantly.
“Just a disagreement over the loading sequence.”
I narrowed my eyes, assessing the situation. “Sort it out quickly,” I ordered. “We can’t afford delays.”
The last thing I wanted was to mediate an argument between two idiots I’d never see again. I had more important matters to attend to. Like breakfast.