Chapter 26
DANTE
Where the hell does she think she’s going?
I lower my coffee mug mid-sip and watch from my office balcony as my wife flies down the driveway in her little red Jag.
She must have managed to get around Donovan somehow—I should send him after her.
Or go get her myself. There’s a tracker on her car for situations like this, so it wouldn’t take long to find her.
And since our handover deal with the Bruno clan isn’t going as smoothly as I’d anticipated, I can’t be too careful.
One misstep could mean trouble, and I’d never forgive myself if Francesca was at the receiving end.
I’m not about to let that happen. My line of work is exactly why, between her phone and her car, I know where she is at all times. Just in case.
Phone in hand, I’m about to call Donovan, but something stops me.
I’m not sure what it is…but I can’t think back on last night without feeling…
something. The look in her eyes, the way she just…
gave in. Like all the fight suddenly went out of her.
It got to me. I can’t help worrying that I broke something important in her—something that made her important to me.
I enjoy her spirit, and the way she battles me feeds my need to be challenged. Maybe I’ve become addicted to our intense tug-of-wars. What if I stripped that away, and now it’s lost for good? My wife has confounded me at every turn, and at this point I have no idea how to act, what to say or do.
The French doors behind me open and Armani strolls onto the balcony.
“Figured you’d be out here,” he says.
I give him a once-over, noticing he’s dressed unusually casually even for his day off.
Following in the footsteps of our late father, we both take off the second Monday of every month.
It was a concession he made to our mother early on in their marriage, a promise he made (and kept) to ensure that at least one day a month revolved around her and not his work.
Not that “day off” means the same thing to me or Armani that it did to Dad.
Case in point: my brother has a tablet in one hand, and the outline of his cell phone presses against his pocket.
Even though he’s in Dockers and a checked button-down—hell, he even left the top few buttons undone—I know he’ll be working all day.
Albeit from the comfort of a recliner or with a bottle of wine uncorked in front of him, but still. He’s a workaholic. Both of us are.
Marco is the only Bellanti who was ever born without an iron work ethic, and to be honest, sometimes I envy him.
“This better be good,” I say to Armani, making a big show of slurping my coffee. “It’s my day off.”
He knows I’m joking. “What the hell is a day off?” he jokes back.
“Talk to me.”
He flips the case to the tablet open. My gut tenses, as if sensing bad news.
“So I was looking into the sales records again—”
I frown. “Is this about the inventory fuckup?”
“Yeah. Funny story. See, I went into the stockroom to check out the labels on the crates of the Elite Reserve cabs. Know what’s crazy? They were the right labels.”
My frown deepens. “How’s that possible? They rang up wrong.”
Armani nods. “That they did. Seemed to me a little more detective work was called for.”
“Spit it out, man.” I’m rapidly losing patience.
My brother starts pacing, talking with his hands, drawing his story out just to push my buttons. Because that’s what brothers are for. “So I ask myself, ‘If the labels are correct, how can they be scanning at the wrong price?’ That’s not a labeling issue. That’s a software issue.”
I’m starting to pick up what he’s putting down. “Okay. Sure. But the program doesn’t make edits by itself. Someone would’ve had to go in and change the barcode assignment in the program…”
“Exactly! It’s the only way you could scan the right label and get the wrong price.
Someone edited the inventory field so that that barcode would come up as a thirty-five-dollar item.
” He turns at the end of the balcony and paces back toward me.
“So I looked up the timestamp on the sales receipts and pinpointed the timeframe when the change took place.”
I grab the tablet out of his hand. “Show me.”
Leaning over, he taps the screen, navigating to the inventory management module. A few more taps and I can see the dates when all the product labels were scanned in.
“Frankie scanned in the labels here. See? Correct vintage, correct price. Two days of sales corroborate that the wines in question were labeled correctly.” He pegs me with a stare.
“Interestingly enough, the next person to log into the software was Jessica. And the activity log shows she was the only person who signed in that day.”
Taking the tablet from my brother, I go through the evidence page by page. The trail is there, clear to see. The Elite Reserve price dropped on the same day that Jessica had her hands in the software, and no one has logged in since—until Armani did today.
“Jessica did this. She was responsible,” I growl. “Not Francesca.”
I go silent, battling my inner rage. Armani takes the tablet back and slowly closes the case, not taking his eyes off me.
“What?” I snap, nearly throwing my coffee mug over the balcony just so I can hear it smash on the ground below.
He rolls his eyes. “That feeling you’re having right now? It’s called shame. I saw the look on your face when you went to talk to Francesca last night—you need to make it right with her. She’s better than you deserve.”
“Get the fuck off my balcony.”
Armani smiles, backing away with his hands up. “It’ll be my balcony when you die childless and alone, brother.”
I’m not going to dignify that with a response. “Goodbye, Armani.”
“You’re welcome, Dante.” He goes back inside, shutting the balcony doors behind him.
I don’t linger over the rest of my coffee, finishing it in a hurry and scrubbing my face with my hands. This is a lot of shit to process, but I know I don’t have time to mull it over.
Jessica must be dealt with.
The worst part is, Francesca tried to tell me she was a problem, and I thought it was jealousy talking. Hell, that’s not completely true. I’ve always known Jessica was a loose wire, but I’ve been too busy to rein her in. And look what happened. This mistake is mine.
I go inside and send her a text. Meet me at the house. My wife isn’t home. That’ll bring her running.
When her car pulls up outside, tires crunching on the driveway, I go downstairs to confront her. I’m fixing my right cuff as I descend, one slow step at a time. I’m not in a hurry to see her, or the cock-hungry look on her face. I’ve been pissed at her before, but never like this.
“Dante,” she says eagerly.
“Jessica.”
I reach her, and just like I presumed, she’s dressed like she’s expecting us to fuck.
She’s in a skin-tight blue dress, her cleavage heaving over the neckline, and her heels are four inches tall.
She’s on me in a flash, her hands running up and down my arms as she steps into me.
Her breasts press against my chest, her hot breath in my ear.
“I’m so glad you texted—”
Removing myself from her octopus arms, I push her away and ground her with a stare.
“You changed the pricing on the barcodes.”
Her eyes narrow as if she’s confused. “What? No. I certainly did not.”
“Armani tracked your software logins. You’re the only one besides my wife who accessed inventory management before the Elite Reserve price got fucked up.”
Jessica grips her clutch with both hands, as if it can shield her from my wrath.
“There must be a misunderstanding. I don’t know anything about that. I don’t even know how to do that.”
I flash her a cold smile. “But you did log in?”
Her mouth opens, closes. “I…yes, I did log in. I was adding new inventory to the system—the dessert wines we just got in. That’s all I did.”
“Really? Huh. That’s interesting. Because I have sales receipts reflecting the correct price before you logged in, and receipts reflecting the incorrect price after you logged in. Which is fascinating. Because nobody else used the program. It’s almost as if…it had to be you.”
A moment passes. My eyes drill into hers.
She drops her eyes to the floor. “Okay. Fine. I made changes to some of the barcode descriptions. I was trying to update the system with the dessert wine, but something happened, and…I guess I accidentally overwrote the Elite Reserve info. I couldn’t figure out how to undo it.
I swear I didn’t realize what happened until it was too late, Dante. It was an honest mistake.”
I nod, letting out a long breath, think carefully about what to say next. There’s a thunderstorm inside me right now and if I don’t temper myself, I’m going to rain down on this bitch. “I believe you.”
Jessica’s shoulders sag with relief. “I just—”
“But I also believe you should have owned up to your mistake instead of trying to use it to break up my marriage.”
She smiles, as if I’ve just made some kind of joke. “Dante, you can’t be serious—”
“You’re fired,” I tell her flatly. “So pack up your things from the office, get the fuck out of my life, and stay away from Francesca.”
The color drains from her face. “Dante, we can talk about this.”
“We’re done.” I lower my voice, leaning in menacingly. “And if I were you, I’d say my prayers real hard tonight. Because I could have easily arranged for you to not make it home in one piece.”
Her chin juts but she doesn’t say anything else before stomping out the door in a rage. The sound of her footsteps is loud on the stone driveway until the roar of an engine overtakes it. I reach the doorway and see Francesca getting out of the Jag just as Jessica reaches her own car.
The two women pause just long enough to exchange words. My wife’s expression changes just a touch, but I can’t hear what Jessica’s saying to her.
Francesca storms toward the house, her fists clenched—and I get the impression there’s a lot more going on than just anger over seeing Jessica here. Either way, I can tell my wife is geared up for battle. And I’m very much looking forward to this fight.