Chapter 22
I’m not easily distracted.
When I was seventeen, Vincent Lombardi told my father he’d never seen a more focused man at my age. I don’t believe in mindless distractions or casual conversation.
Everything I say and do has a purpose.
I’m a workaholic with no personal life.
Genesis is fucking with that.
My focus has been shit all day. I’ve reread this report ten times, and I still don’t know what it says.
She’s consumed my every thought.
Her in the shower, wearing only a nightie.
Her naked body.
Thrusting inside her tight pussy.
The taste of her lips—a flavor I’ll never forget .
Genesis promised to stay home today and behave herself. But knowing her, I could lock her away and throw away the key, and she’d find a way to cause trouble. I left my credit card on the nightstand, hoping that’d keep her busy.
After our shower this morning, she curled up in my bed and fell asleep. I returned to the casino without getting any sleep.
My bed is now her bed because, damn it, no fucking way can I sleep, knowing she’s in the same house yet sleeping in the guest room.
I haven’t heard from her, but the constant credit card alerts on my phone tell me she’s awake. I don’t know what she’s buying, nor do I have the time to give a shit.
My father taught me early on to always spoil your woman. They shoulder our life’s burdens. Mob wives deserve medals, rainbows, and hell, their own islands for what they do, yet they receive very little credit. My mother was a saint and earned the same respect from my father.
I toss my pen onto the desk and push my paperwork aside when my phone rings.
“Julian,” Caesar says when I answer, “it appears one of your accounts was hit by fraud. This morning, there’s been a string of charges from bulk food and bedding companies, like Costco and Pottery Barn, and toy stores.”
“No fraud,” I say.
“Are you opening a homeless shelter?”
“No, it appears I’m just financing one. All charges on that card are approved.”