Page 94 of Love Her

And after what Rhaim had done for me last night, I couldn’t love him any harder.

I could practically see the light at the end of the tunnel and feel a breeze wafting over me.

I went back to my apartment, washed my face, read, and then got ready.

55

RHAIM

Ifollowed the evolving news of Zane St. Clair’s crimes all day.

Sable had made an EMS call after I’d left, and when they’d gotten there they’d trampled all over the scene, she said, still monitoring the cameras—which was perfect. The more confusing things looked, the more the police would opt for the obvious story, which would be backed-up by Sable’s faked phones.

It wouldn’t matter that Zane St. Clair had no idea who Bix was in reality—because if you were being convicted of a crime, wouldn’t you say the same?

As much as I wanted to run to Nero with the news, like a dog bringing a bone, I knew I needed to wait. He would need time to consider all the angles. And to think.

He needed to think it was his choice. Not something forced on him.

I dressed myself that night in a black Isaia tux, with patent leather oxfords so shiny they would reflect Lia’s pussy back at me if I tucked them under her skirt, which I fully intended to, by the end of the night.

And towards that end, I showed up early to the Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Center, the location that Nero’s people had rented for the occasion. I wanted to make sure I didn’t let Lia down, in case she was forced to attend with Marcus—and I also hoped I’d be able to talk some sense into her old man.

My car let me out, and I took the elevator up to the 65thfloor, and got out.

All of the tables and chairs were already arranged, and caterers and florists were scurrying around like ants. The space was a flashy, egregious display of wealth, with the best city views—but, I realized, tonight wasn’t just about Nero’s birthday.

It was a celebration of one man’s determination to make something of himself at all costs.

At seventy, Nero Ferreo was old enough to not only believe in the American Dream, but to have had the opportunity to live it, in a way that you didn’t get to anymore—America had moved on, letting go of hope and embracing cruelty.

But he’d ridden that wave of believing in himself, and in his people, and, occasionally, in violence, until he’d washed ashore here, at the end of his life, in a beautiful room, in a beautiful building, with a beautiful daughter, and hundreds of people who wanted to celebrate him. Some of them selfishly, yes, because they wanted him to make them money, but some of the love was genuine.

Like mine.

I scanned the room, spotted Rio looming at the back, and went to join him.

“Old man’s not here yet,” Rio muttered, watching everyone’s activities.

“You on active threat duty, or what?” I assumed Nero wouldn’t show up until the seats were half-filled—it was his birthday party, he deserved to make an entrance.

“Well, seeing as some violence has entered into recent personal equations,” Rio said, giving me a look.

“Oh, I saw the news,” I said, conversationally. “Just terrible. Tragic, really. Drugs are so bad.”

I was laying it on so thick that even Rio had to snicker. “Yeah.”

“So you’re here early to make sure no one drops off a corpse, like someone dumping a body at a waterpark in summer?”

“That’s oddly specific.”

“It is, isn’t it,” I agreed. “Is the bar open?”

“Should be,” Rio grunted, jerking his chin behind my shoulder.

People trickled in,in twos and threes, and I kept an eye on the door waiting for Lia, milking a Negroni, doing my best to be civil.

I’d had one eye on our numbers all day—the news about Lia’s psych history hadn’t hurt the IPO, since she’d clearly already been sidelined—although itwasgoing to make it a lot harder for me to get her on the board.

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