Chapter 50
50
One week later…
Roman
T hese few days have been bliss. I’ve neglected my duties, but luckily, Leon and Viktor have been taking up the slack, as well as attending to a special project I set them on.
Quinn and I barely left her place. Hell, we only got out of bed when we had to. She showed me her dildo, purchased with my money and still in its box, and I instructed her to have a little fun with it while I was out. That made for a memorable bit of footage.
As always, business will insist on dragging me back into the fray. There’s still a lot to do—the komissiya want me to assist in the allocation of Vercotti’s assets—but I’m too fucking happy to care.
Bernard Familio despatched Silvio Vercotti on a specially chartered flight to Sicily. He had me laughing when he told me about it.
By all accounts, Silvio sobbed when he heard the lucid descriptions of what Sicilian mob hospitality would mean for him. Whatever the Familios do, it won’t be quick, and his funeral would require a closed casket. Just as well he won’t get a funeral, not when the family’s pigs are always hungry.
I prefer Quinn’s apartment to the sterile environment of my mansion. The house reflects the person I was before her, where her place feels like a home. She’s in the shower now, and I’m sitting on her couch, ready to go.
I have a surprise for my wife. She thinks I’ve been busy with work this week, but that’s not all I’ve been up to. My current account took a smash, but it will be worth it.
I’m flicking through Quinn’s dirty stories when Leon calls and ruins the mood. Nothing like seeing his name to pour cold water on my passion, but it’s better than the other way around.
“Hi, boss,” Leon says too loudly. “Gotta check; you sure you don’t want me to locate Quinn’s dickhead uncle? I mean, I know you said you’d leave him alone, but wouldn’t it be best to keep tabs on the cunt?”
As I consider this, I lean back on the pillow, drumming my fingers on my chest. Julian’s absence should be a relief but leaves an unsettling void.
Quinn might always look over her shoulder if I don’t find him, wondering if he’ll reappear one day. But if I do locate the piece of shit, will I be able to resist murdering him?
I promised I wouldn’t, but maybe it’ll be easier to keep that promise if I don’t have him in my sights.
“Let’s give it a rest for now. If he resurfaces, we’ll handle it then. Quinn deserves some peace.”
“And what about Ricky Lubomski?” Leon asks. “He said he wanted protection but doesn’t need it, not with Vercotti out of the picture. He’s useless to us now, and I hate him.”
A slow smile spreads across my lips. My best friend wants nothing more than to fuck up Ricky, and it’s kinda fun to keep denying him.
“Leave him be. He’ll show up in his own time, but I don’t blame him for going to ground; he could have been strung up for his part in this. He gave us the intel in good faith, didn’t he? Kolya must have believed him, or he’d be dead.”
Leon groans. “Oh, fine. Yes, he did. Idiot though he is, I doubt he was in on Vercotti’s plan. Anything else, or can I take a few days off?”
“No, that’s it for now. Today’s the day.”
“I still can’t believe you dropped so much money,” Leon says, whistling through his teeth. “Sentimental fucker you turned out to be. I would never have guessed.”
“I’m happy to disappoint you, tovarisch .”
He laughs. “You wanna disappoint someone? All you have to do is take your wife to bed.”
“Very funny. Go do whatever you do in your spare time. Come to think of it, what will you do?”
“Disneyworld.”
Quinn emerges from her room, and I smile. She looks beautiful in jeans and a fluffy cashmere sweater, her new Gucci sneakers on her feet. I put a lot of money in her account last week, and I like that she’s spending it on herself.
“Well, tell Mickey I said hi.” I hang up and catch the confusion on Quinn’s face. “Don’t worry. Scary mob business. You ready to go?”
“I sure am,” she replies, twirling like a little girl. “Will I do?”
I stand and pull her into my arms. “I have to be honest, rusalka ; I want you out of those clothes, but not because I don’t like them.” I squeeze her ass. “But I will control myself for once. Time’s a-wasting, and we have somewhere to be.”
We leave the city behind, the skyscrapers giving way to rolling hills and winding coastal roads. The air is crisp and clean, carrying the scent of the ocean.
It’s a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of New York, and I can see Quinn relax, her tension easing with each passing mile.
“I’m fond of the coast.” She stretches in her seat. “Do you have a house out here?”
“Yep. I bought it this week.” We turn down a narrow lane lined with trees. “I think you’ll like it.”
A pretty one-level house comes into view, the salt-burnished wooden walls gleaming in the afternoon sun. It’s quaint and charming, with a wraparound porch that leads straight onto the beach.
“This place is beautiful,” Quinn says, “but it doesn’t seem like your style.”
“It isn’t.”
I pull up outside and we head for the entrance. I ring the bell, and the nurse lets us in with a nod before leading us down a corridor to a closed door.
“This can’t be what I think it is.” Quinn gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Roman, how?—?”
The nurse opens the door to reveal a large, comfortable bedroom with French doors that open onto the deck. The tide is on its way out, and the ocean crashes rhythmically as the waves break on the sand.
A familiar figure occupies the rocking chair outside, and Quinn yelps in surprise.
“I bought it for her,” I explain. “Carrie deserves to spend her days in the place she loves most.”
Quinn’s eyes glisten, but her face has a radiant smile. Carrie beams right back.
“Hello, sweetheart!” She stands, leaning on her cane, and gives a hearty wave. “Your man is a sly one, you know.”
Quinn crosses the room in an instant, enveloping her in her arms. “This is the house,” she murmurs. “ Your house.”
“That’s right. Mine and Winston’s. He and I were young here, just starting out.” Carrie pulls back to look at Quinn, cupping her cheeks in her hands. “It’s a miracle.”
“Not really,” I say, joining them as the nurse puts extra chairs on either side of Carrie’s. “Money doesn’t buy everything, but it sure as hell buys most things, property included.”
“He came to see me at the hospital.” Carrie pats my hand but almost loses her footing, so I ease her back into her chair. “Thank you,” she says. “It’s in my hip now, you know.”
Grief flashes across Quinn’s face, and I recognize her feelings. It’s the pain that comes when you know you’re going to lose someone who means the world to you, it’s gonna happen soon, and you can do nothing to prevent it.
“Roman asked what he could do for me,” Carrie continues. “I said I was fine. I wished for only two things, and he’d made one come true already, but he insisted on knowing the other. I told him I regretted that Winston and I sold our beach house. It was where we were happiest.”
She leans back and closes her eyes, a tranquil expression lighting up her face. “And here I am, back in the home I shared with the love of my life. I can’t tell you how peaceful I feel.”
Quinn glances at me, still confused. “I paid six times the market value to get the previous owners to move out quickly,” I say. “They left, and Viktor lined up his contacts to renovate it. He had plenty of old photos to work from.”
My wife looks from me to Carrie and back again, shaking her head in wonderment. “You keep surprising me,” she murmurs. “Every day, there’s more to you.”
The nurse brings pastries and coffee. She’s part of a team that will attend twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, providing all medical and personal care.
“Thank you, Esmeralda,” Carrie says. She picks up the pot in her trembling hand, and I swiftly relieve her of it, pouring us all a cup. I don’t call attention to her frailty; we all know she’s fading.
Crazy that she escaped a fire virtually unscathed—a couple of days on supplementary oxygen and steroids saw her right—yet the cancer creeping through her body will still steal her life, slowly but surely.
Quinn reaches out and takes her hand. “Tell us about Winston.”
Carrie’s face lights up at the invitation. It’s clear that she adored him, and her eyes sparkle with fond memories.
“He was a wonderful man,” she says, her voice soft with emotion. “He had a way of making everyone feel special, like they mattered. And he had the best sense of humor. He always knew how to make me laugh, even on the hardest days.”
She turns to me. “Roman, you remind me a bit of my husband. You are strong, determined, and fiercely loyal to the people that matter to you.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m not sure I deserve that comparison, but thank you.”
“Oh, you do. And you’re as stubborn, too. But that’s not always a bad thing. It’s the stubborn ones who get things done.”
Quinn laughs, and I can’t help but join in. The warmth and camaraderie here feel like a balm to my soul, and I realize I must face up to something important; I do have regrets.
I wish I’d had the courage to stick around and see it through when my Mama was sick. I made excuses to Quinn about not wanting to end up in the care system, but the truth was that I was afraid. Afraid to accompany my mother on her final journey, when I should have been at her side to the last.
I was just a kid, but it’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever done. Doing right by Carrie is my atonement, and although it won’t heal the wound, it might make it hurt a little less.
We lapse into companionable silence as we drink our coffee. The wind is cold, but Carrie is bundled up in her blankets and doesn’t seem to feel it. If she can cope with the bracing weather, so can we. It won’t be long before she won’t be able to sit out here at all.
Carrie sets down her cup and rises to her feet. “I’m going to take a little nap,” she says. “Thank you for coming, my dears. It means the world to me.”
Quinn stands and hugs her tightly. “We’ll visit often,” she promises. “I’m so glad you’re happy here.”
Carrie nods, then turns to me. “Look after her, Roman. She’s a treasure.”
“I know,” I reply, my voice firm. “I will. Always.”