Chapter 3
Henri
The phone in my hand buzzed again.
I rolled my eyes, clicking out of the messaging app as I focused on searching for the email Pharrell had instructed me to find as he got up to use the restroom.
My boss was struggling. The betrayal from his wife and the disruption to business had him off beat.
Which meant that I had to pick up the slack. It was fucking exhausting.
Not only was there dissent among the men, but there was also the mess that Stasia had left behind.
I liked order. I wanted things to be where they were supposed to be and for it all to have a neat and tidy organization to it all.
That wasn't the case with Stasia. Her files were practically thrown in the drawer. There was no order, only chaos. And as far as any of it making sense, well, that was a joke.
It took me hours to sort through each piece of it to put together the puzzle that she had ripped apart, doused in gasoline, and lit on fire.
If it were anyone else doing this, they'd have given up.
But my resiliency was high. Life had thrown me enough atomic bombs that I knew I could get through this too.
My only true concern was how to get my boss back. Because his entire demeanor had changed. He was still menacing to an extent. But there was a dark cloud hovering over him.
With each day that passed, his face dropped more and more. His eyes turned hollow, his body nearly curling in on itself.
He wasn't eating well, and I had no doubt he wasn't sleeping either.
I had taken to working from the hotel because I needed to be readily available for anything that came up in the casino portion downstairs. And on days like today when I met him at his home office, I wondered if it was a good idea being away from him so much.
The man needed someone to look over him. Someone to remind him that it was worth getting up every day and giving everything his best shot.
I didn't know if I would be the person for that. And though Pip was living here, it wasn't enough to rouse him from this catatonic state.
Part of me wondered if the messages that kept coming insistently each day were from the one person who could make that change.
Ricardo, who I knew to be Dante Romano’s right-hand man, was relentless in his efforts to reach Pharrell. I only knew because the boss had given me full control of everything, including his phone.
Anytime I needed to look at something, all I had to do was stick my hand out and he would place it there. He had the utmost trust in me, which was wonderful given that Tommaso, who we thought was on our side, had also been a supporter of Stasia and her foolishness.
Jean was the only other person after me, aside from Pip, that Pharrell still believed in wholeheartedly. I didn't take the honor lightly. In fact, I was very much in favor of being in charge and helping him through this.
His personal life wasn't mine, but the business I could handle.
Ricardo's messages had varied from "How are you?" to "Do you need any help?" Lately, as more time had passed, they'd shifted into demands that Pharrell answer him.
I'd made the mistake of opening a few messages, and it appeared that Pharrell had also done the same. That meant Ricardo was seeing that his messages were going read and unanswered.
It wasn't my place to intervene. Pharrell would respond if he wanted any help. Surely, he would.
Besides, if Ricardo was the right hand to Dante, him being here wasn't going to help us much. His loyalty would be somewhere else.
I shook my head as I went back to pulling up the email I needed for the business reports I was running.
I'd been in contact with Pierre, Pharrell's assistant on the more legal side of the business.
While he didn't dabble in the illegal ways that connected us to the family, he understood it existed and respected it.
He also understood that Pharrell wasn't fully present at the moment, so anything that came up and needed handling, he brought my way. He specifically asked for some email in which Pharrell had spoken to an associate and they had outlined terms for a contract. He needed them since he hadn’t been copied on the email.
It was one of many things Pharrell hadn't been able to complete before shit hit the fan.
Once I found the email, I forwarded it to Pierre along with a note that he could reach me at my direct number should he need anything, since Pharrell was probably going to rest.
At least I hoped he was going to rest.
I suggested it as soon as he was back in the room, but my boss shook his head. "No, I think I need to be up for a while. I'm not tired just yet."
We both knew it was a lie, but before I could interrupt him, Pip strolled into the room. He wasn't carrying any large weaponry today. That didn’t mean he wasn’t strapped down with multiple small lethal ones.
Short black hair. Eyes that were cold as ice but could turn hot in a flash. Strong arms and hands covered in scars, showing the years of fighting and near-death experiences.
The man was a terror. Both to our enemies and to me.
I couldn't understand why he poked all my buttons so much.
It could be his obsession with violence and gore, or it could be the way he absolutely refused to call me by my actual name. Being so simple, there was no way he could mess it up, yet I had been Henny for as long as we’d been introduced.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice firm as I looked him up and down.
He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms as he stared between me to Pharrell. He looked my way again, his eyebrows raised.
"Just checking in to see if there's anything I'm needed for. I'm a little bored these days, what with no one to torture or kill."
Pharrell didn't make a sound. He was too busy staring at his computer screen. I would have thought he was reading something, except it was obvious his eyes had glazed over.
He was lost deep in his thoughts, and there was no chance he was going to answer Pip's unspoken question. I leaned back in my chair, putting space between the two of us. Pip always got too close to me at first. It was like he didn't understand what a personal bubble was.
I think he couldn't be close enough to someone, despite the fact that six feet was a reasonable distance to stand and still understand the other person you were talking to.
Hell, I would have taken four feet, maybe three if I was in a good mood. But it felt like the tips of his shoes would touch the tips of mine until we were breathing the same air.
"I’m sorry you don't have anything to get your hands dirty with right now. We're more concerned about business dealings and recouping lost money. There's also lingering threats, but we can't go in guns blazing for that."
Pip rolled his eyes. "I know that, otherwise I would have already killed all those assholes. It would be easy work to take them out. I could even be back in time for dinner. Wouldn't you want me around for dinner, Henny?"
I crossed my arms, unintentionally mimicking him. "I don't want to have dinner with you, Pip. I have enough things to take care of. At the end of the day, all I want to do is consume enough to keep me fueled and go to bed."
He uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on the edge of the desk.
The move made his forearms flex, and I couldn't help but stare.
Pip wasn't an overly large man, though he did have a good amount of muscle.
I had no doubt that underneath his loose clothing there was even more, but my eyes were homed in on what I could see.
I'd always been a bit of a visual person that way.
Out of sight, out of mind. And Pip was no longer out of sight.
My need for visual intel was why I kept such rigorous notes and schedules. I needed to constantly be reminded of things, or else that pesky object permanence would kick in, and I would go a year or more without remembering something.
"See something you like, Henny?" he asked, purposefully flexing his arms.
It drew my attention away enough to stop my staring. I tried to play it off, though we both knew what I'd been doing.
It was hard not to look when presented with something so enticingly masculine. Even if I wasn't a big fan of the person underneath all the muscle, I could take him in and see the beauty of it all.
He was art in a way, and I could always appreciate a good marble statue from time to time.
"I lost my train of thought," I said, making my voice draw out as if coming from a trance. "What were you saying?"
From the look he gave me, I knew he could see I was deflecting. Thankfully, he didn't press me any further. Instead, he dove into questions about the business and asked if there was any way he could help.
"There isn't anything right now. I just need you to keep an eye on Pharrell." I pointed to him.
He looked over at the boss, who was still frozen. It must have bothered Pip because he leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of the man's face.
Pharrell didn't jolt. Instead, he blinked a few times and then looked at both of us. "Pip, when did you get here? Something wrong?" he asked, voice serious all of a sudden.
Pip snorted. "I don't know that anything's wrong, but you sure were staring off into space. Maybe you should go lay down or something. Or get laid. Anything to get you out of this dreary state."
Pharrell's mouth turned down. "I don't need to get laid, and sleep is a waste of—"
I held my hand up, interjecting. "Sleep is always necessary, and I actually agree with Pip this time."
Pip's head whipped my way.
I ignored him in favor of continuing. "We have everything handled here. I'm sure Pip doesn't mind stepping in to help me manage the guys. If need be, he can do stuff with them like going over weapons and checking in on training. Between the two of us, we can keep things afloat for you. Right, Pip?"