Page 12 of Anton

Tonight would be the first time I’d see her since that morning I left her flat. We’d both be at the Rominov’s next event—a bare-knuckle fight, of all things, arranged by the Bratva to seal their alliance with the Irish Mafia. It was all part of the business, a“friendly” match to bond the two sides, but that didn’t make it any less intense. Vlad and one of the Irish boys would be trading punches in the ring while the rest of us watched.

Claire and the Rominov’s lawyer, Brad, had managed to get Luca exonerated when she discovered the actual killer was one of the MP’s bodyguards. Of course, the MP was behind it, as we’d suspected, but it had been a bloody difficult time for Luca, who’d been in jail for a spell. That’s where he’d met two of the Irish Mafia. They’d had his back inside, and now they were the Bratva’s new allies, which was good.

That wasn’t the only good thing to come out of Luca’s predicament. Claire had finally got over her issues with him being part of the Bratva, and they were together. Luca was totally enamoured by her, and I was truly happy for them, yet I couldn’t help the pang of envy that ran through me. If only things could have worked out between Marcie and me. But that was a pipe dream I couldn’t allow myself to indulge in.

Pipe dream or not, Marcie was like a habit I couldn’t break, an addiction I couldn’t shake, and tonight, I’d get my first taste of her after all of these weeks. How was I going to cope?

Laughter filtered through the door, dragging me back to reality. It was coming from the hallway, voices rising in good-natured chatter—the kind that only came when people were comfortable with each other.

I blinked, then glanced at the clock. Shit. Time had slipped away from me again. Before I could finish cursing myself, the door to my office cracked open, and Mrs Hargrove’s head popped around it. Her usual stern expression softened when she saw me, and I forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. Her silver hair was neatly pinned up, and she wore a bright floral dress, almost too cheerful for the mood I was in.

“Mr DuPont,” she began, her voice as matter-of-fact as ever, “Nick’s birthday. Derrick’s brought in a cake, and the men aregathering in the breakout area to wish him a happy birthday. I thought you’d like to join them.”

I nodded absently, pushing the laptop to one side. “I’ll be right out.”

“Of course. I’ll let them know you’re on your way,” she replied before disappearing again.

Exhaling a long breath, I tried to ignore the lingering thoughts swirling around my head about Marcie. It was Nick’s birthday, and I was his friend as well as his boss. I had to at least appear present at his celebration. I wasn’t sure when I’d got so used to being stuck in my head, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed by those who knew me.

A few minutes later, I walked out into the main office. Everyone was gathered in the breakout area, and as I approached, the chatter grew louder. The usual mix of joking and banter filled the air as my men—my friends—turned their attention toward me.

Nick, standing at the centre of it, immediately grinned when he saw me, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure. I forced myself to smile back, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

“Happy birthday, Nick,” I said, clapping him on the back.

“Thanks, boss,” Nick replied, his grin widening. “Appreciate you taking the time out of your day to celebrate with the plebs,” he teased.

Nick was one of the first of my military comrades I’d employed when I’d opened DuPont Security. He’d been one of the men in my squad and left not long after me. He’d been only too happy to take me up on the offer of a job and move to London. Within weeks, he’d met Derrick and made a home here for himself.

We’d been the same rank in the forces, but now I was his boss—and he liked to rib me about it whenever he could.

“Arse,” I said, with a good-natured snigger.

My eyes flicked to Derrick, standing next to Nick, holding a cake box, ever the picture of immaculate grooming. Always sharp. Beside him, Nick looked rough and ready for anything. Where Nick was generally quiet, unless he knew a person well, Derrick could talk the hind legs off a donkey. Where Nick was an introvert, Derrick was an out-and-out extrovert. They’d both been medics in the military, yet where Nick had a quiet confidence and a softer bedside manner, Derrick exuded an unshakable charisma and a bold, magnetic energy that seemed to draw people in. They were a pair of stark contrasts, but it was clear they complimented each other well and made a good team.

Derrick nodded at me with a respectful smile before handing the cake box to Mrs Hargrove, who stuck a candle in the middle and led us all in a rendition of‘Happy Birthday’that sounded more like a drunken chant than a song. The only voice that didn’t grate on my nerves was Mrs Hargrove’s, which was melodious and surprisingly rich, making our own voices sound even worse. I hadn’t realised she could sing. The woman was a constant surprise. Just like my Marcie.Shit! My Marcie? What the hell?

Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the moment at hand. Mrs Hargrove began cutting up the cake. I smirked as I watched her in her element. An elderly woman whose family had long since grown up and flown the nest, she had been lonely in her retirement and, like me, badly in need of a distraction. Unfortunately, mine was not so easily found. She was Derrick’s neighbour, and he had introduced us when I’d told him I was looking for someone to help around the office part-time. I’d taken to her immediately, and she’d fitted in with the men nicely, taking on a grandmotherly role and filling the void of a woman in the life of most.

“Cake’s up, everyone,” she said, moving to the side as the guys descended upon the table like a pack of vultures.

“Plates, boys,” Mrs Hargrove shouted sternly, but her eyes sparked with amusement and glinted with pride as they all rushed to grab a plate from the pile to please her.

My lips twitched as I bit back my laugh at the chastised expressions and mumbled apologies sent her way before they once again focused on demolishing their share of the cake.

“Coffee or tea?” she asked each of them, filling their orders with practiced efficiency as they filed past her, accepting their cup before heading back for yet more cake.

Derrick sniggered. “Thank god I brought extra,” he said, pointing to the second box perched at the other end of the table.

“Best grab some while we can,” I replied with a smirk.

As I moved toward the table, I grabbed a couple of plates, putting a slice of cake on each before stepping closer to Mrs Hargrove.

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” I replied. “I grabbed you a piece of cake before theriff-raffscoff it all,” I told her.

She smiled. “You’re a good boy, Anton,” she said, tapping me on the hand, and I grinned at the praise. Hearing her call me ‘boy’ always made me feel like one. Mrs Hargrove had a way about her that reduced all these hardened military men on my team to little boys begging for their granny’s favour. Not for the first time, I was glad I’d hired the woman as I watched them interact with her. Many of the men who worked for me bore scars from their past, just like I did, and the elderly lady brought a sense of calm and care to their lives that, without her, many would not know.

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