Chapter 8 #2
She hasn’t shown even the slightest sign of seeing me the way I see her. She keeps a polite distance, like she’s always one heartbeat from bolting. Hell, she won’t even join me for fucking breakfast.
If I ever tried to make a move, she might be the first woman in my life to tell me no.
A ridiculous thought, but it lands with a weight I hate acknowledging.
I lose track of how much time has passed in today’s lesson until my uncle Leonard comes down the stairs with several bottles of water and a tray of sandwiches.
Constance is angry, unsure, grieving, and still learning faster than anyone I’ve ever trained.
“I thought you two might be getting hungry,” Leonard says as he sets the tray down on the table.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to go to the trouble of bringing it down yourself.
” I clap him on the arm as I walk over and open one of the water bottles.
I pass it to Constance, then grab another one for myself.
“Constance, I don’t know if I’ve introduced you to Leonard.
He’s also my uncle, on my father’s side, and my consigliere.
Enzo, my second you’ve already met, is his son. ”
“It’s nice to meet you, Leonard.” Constance smiles easily at him as she picks up one of the bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches. “Thank you for the snack. I didn’t realize it was already past lunch time.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Leonard returns her grin. “You two let me know if you need anything. I’m going to run some errands in the city, but I’ll be back soon.”
“Take care, Leonard,” I reply absently while watching Constance.
She’s easily settled into my life like she belongs here, which is something I hadn’t planned for.
I don’t get attached. I don’t let women linger. Yet here she is, and I’m the one fighting the impulse to reach for her several times a day.
My cell phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. I pull it out of my back pocket and stare at the caller ID.
“Il Diavolo Bianco?” Constance asks as she reads the name on the screen over my shoulder.
I wave a hand to silence her, then accept the call. “Salvatore Bianchi, to what do I owe the pleasure?” I greet my counterpart in New Jersey.
“Maximo, how have you been my boy? It feels like we’ve barely spoken since your father’s funeral all those years ago.”
“Things have been going well,” I lie smoothly. The Bianchi family were occasional allies if there was a profit to be made. More often their risky business dealings have created headaches for my family. My father warned me long before I took over for him as the head of our family to be wary of them.
“Maximo, you put on such a brave face, but I’ve heard rumblings that you’re having some problems. That business with the restaurant, Monroe’s, burning down and that poor man being murdered right under your nose.”
“Is that why you’re calling?” I demand. “Do you know something about what happened?”
“Only what I’ve heard on the street. Word is the Chinese are going to make a play for your businesses in Washington Heights, and they hit Monroe’s to intercept a drug shipment.”
It takes me a moment to realize that the squeaking sound I’m hearing is my teeth grinding. I try to relax my jaw enough to speak. “The Chinese haven’t left their parlors on their side of town in over a decade. Why would they try to make a move against me now?”
“Who can say?” Salvatore drawls, amusement dripping down the line.
“They’ve always been enterprising, and maybe they think that your push for respectability in the city has made you weak.
You have been bankrolling politicians, making legitimate business moves, and leaving the more sordid elements of our business to your capos. ”
“My push for respectability has made me weak?” I repeat, the ice in my voice making Constance take a step back from where she had been trying to listen in on the call. “Are those your words, or is that something else ‘you’ve heard’?” I grit out.
“Calm down, Maximo,” Salvatore says patronizingly. “These are just things I’ve been told, and I wanted to check in with you to make sure you’re aware of what’s going on in your city.”
“I appreciate your concern, Salvatore. Tell whoever you’ve been hearing from that I have things well in hand.
If ‘they’ have any misgivings about my commitment to my holdings, let them know that I will be tracking down everyone who has wronged me, and dealing with them the way I dealt with Javier Castilla. ”
“I have no doubt that you will, Maximo. If there’s anything I can do to help, remember that I’m only a phone call away.”
“Goodbye, Salvatore.” I disconnect the call and throw my phone down on the table, almost on top of the remaining BLT that Leonard brought down.
“So…who is Il Diavolo Bianco?” Constance asks.
“Salvatore Bianchi, The White Devil, the head of the Bianchi family over in Jersey. He and my father used to occasionally work together. He’s a conniving old bastard. And he wouldn’t have called me unless there was something in it for him.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth about the Chinese killing my father?” Her voice sounds eager, and I can see the flush of fury rising in her cheeks. “Maybe he was really just trying to be helpful. How can we check to make sure?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t trust Bianchi as far as I can throw him.
My own father warned me not to trust him.
He says it’s the Chinese trying to push into my territory, but for years they’ve kept to themselves on their little slice of the city.
I can’t imagine why they would risk making a move against me now. ”
“It’s still a possible lead, right?” Constance is breathing rapidly, excited to find a target for her grief. I can’t ignore her excitement and even feel it infecting me. “If there’s a chance he’s telling the truth, it’s a thread worth pulling.”
Her hazel eyes ignite with purpose, and I feel the shift in her. She’s not breakable. She’s combustible.
“Let’s adjourn our lesson for now and let me make some more calls. Enzo and his crew have been running down leads. I’ll check with them to see what they’ve found.”
“What should I do in the meantime?” Constance asks me, her brow furrowing in frustration. She wants a job. A purpose.
“You should get ready for dinner with me tonight at eight.” I smile at her hoping to ease her anxiety.
“What? I can do more here than be your dinner date…” she starts to argue.
“Not right now you can’t. I need to work, Constance. Let me get to it,” I tell her before I turn away.
“I can do more, Maximo!” she insists as I start up the stairs.
That’s the problem. I keep imagining a future where she no longer needs me at all.
“I know you can, firefly,” I assure her.
Her eyes soften for half a second at the nickname. It’s nothing, should be nothing, yet somehow it unravels me anyway.
Wanting her, needing her, knowing she may never look at me the way I look at her, it’s all fucking dangerous.
Which is why I force myself to remind us both why she’s here. “Get yourself ready for what comes next.”
And even though I know I should just let it go, I can’t help but blurt out the burning question I’ve kept bottled up all day. “Why didn’t you join me this morning?”
“What?” she asks. “I’m down here with you now.”
“No, I meant for breakfast. You requested a tray in your room . Do I have to order you to have two meals a day with me?” I’m only half joking.
“Oh,” Constance replies, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and lowering her gaze to the floor. “It’s just…I’m a mess in the mornings.”
“A mess?” I repeat in confusion.
She nods. “Before I get a shower, put makeup on, and fix my hair.”
Finally, I think I begin to understand. Constance actually cares what I think about how she looks? That’s why she avoided me this morning? It’s ridiculous. And…interesting.
Maybe she’s not as unaffected by me as I thought. Is it possible that she wants me too?
Even the possibility, however slim, is a fucking relief. That’s why I tell her honestly before heading upstairs, “I’d still like to see you in the mornings, all of you. I can handle the messy parts.”