Page 98 of Precious Hazard

“Full payment is always upon delivery. No exceptions. No money, no product.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’re not running a charity. If his gang can’t come up with what they owe for the coke, the shipment will be offered to another party. He doesn’t like the way I do things, he can go fuck himself.”

“Shouldn’t you be in a better mood, considering you’ve been off for a week?”

“Oh yeah, I’m out of commission for a measly five days and everything turns up unicorns and fucking rainbows. Like one of our trucks being stopped at the border when it should have sailed right through,” I snap. “And us losing out on the warehouse lease deal because the goddamned contracts didn’t get signed in time. Oh, and how about Carmelo managing topiss off Wang with one of his asinine jokes. Now the Triad is threatening to boot us out of Chinatown. That storage facility has been a pain in my ass for months, and now it seems we’re back to where we started!” I throw the spatula into the sink, breaking a couple of glasses inside. “I’ll be in the office in two hours to go over the latest contracts with the boss. First, I need to smooth out this fuckup with Wang.”

Pietro clears his throat. “Uh, security has been informed that you’re not allowed inside. Mandatory sick leave, per Don Ajello’s orders.”

“They can try keeping me out, but you might want to warn them that I’m notin the mood.” I cut the call and toss my phone to the counter.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

I twist around to find Tara leaning on the breakfast bar, arms crossed over her chest.

“Decided to show your face at last, huh?” I bark.

This house is big, but I never considered it so large as to make it possible for my wife to dodge me for days on end. Especially since we’re sleeping in bedrooms that share a fucking wall. She’s been avoiding me, staying away like I’m a harbinger of death.

At least Greta had not deserted me. She made me meals and brought them up to my room several times a day, along with a newspaper for me every morning. But as much as I appreciate my housekeeper’s efforts, there were times when I wasn’t sure if it was pneumonia or her cooking that was doing me in. Somehow, her food was worse than ever. Her soups have been bland and flavorless. Barely edible, actually. But regardless, I ate them whenever I woke up and found a steaming bowl on my writing table.

“Get back into your bed, DeVille.” Tara jerks her head in the direction of the stairs.

“Worried I’ll get you sick?” I lean my butt on the kitchen counter and take a big bite of my steak sandwich. “No need. According to Dr. Google, once the fever is gone, pneumonia is no longer contagious.”

“Good to know. You’re still not leaving. Youractualdoctor said no work for at least a week.”

“Concerned about my long-term health,gattina?” My eyebrow lifts. “No need to pretend. We both know where you stand. You’ve made yourself abundantly clear,” I growl, slamming the plate with my half-eaten sandwich on the counter beside me. Whatever appetite I had is gone.

As I move past Tara on my way to the front door, I catch a faint strawberry scent. It knocks something loose inside me. A vision of my wife lifting a glass of water to my lips flashes through my mind for the briefest second.Open your mouth. Drink.I shake my head, pushing away the vagrant thought.

Imagine that, me vulnerable and needing someone’s help. Depending on another person for life’s basics, like food and water. It’s almost laughable.

For almost half of my existence, I’ve been on my own. Not alone, but certainly self-sufficient. I had no choice and young sisters to care for. At barely twenty, I became their parent. Did I know what I was doing? Fuck no, but that didn’t matter. They were my responsibility. My only family. My reason to stay alive, to keep going, when giving up would have been an easier task.

How many times have I heard someone sayI can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you? Hard? No one has a damn clue. It wasn’t about looking after my sisters’ needs.Providing food, shelter, and clothing. It wasn’t about keeping them healthy and safe, about teaching them to be decent human beings. All those things I’d do again and again. Every day of my life, if I had to.

Tough? Yes. But hard?

Hardwas living the life I was born into. Constantly fearing for the fate of my baby sisters should something happen to me. That terror was ever-present and bone-chilling. It hung above my head like the Sword of Damocles. I couldn’t shake the dread. What if I ended up in jail? Or dead? Asya and Sienna might be sent to foster care, or a Cosa Nostra Family member who’d use them for their own selfish needs. Both options were equally horrific. Both plagued me nonstop.

That fear didn’t lessen until Ajello took over. It never fully went away, but I knew… Knew without a doubt that Salvatore Ajello would keep my sisters safe if there ever came a day I no longer could. It didn’t mean I gave up the fight. Didn’t mean that, as they grew older, I didn’t do everything in my power to take care of them. Often smothering them in the process. Or so both girls recently told me.

Yeah, I get it. I’m far from perfect. But life shapes us into who we are. In my case, an asshole with a type A personality. I function on rules, drive, and ambition. I value structure and stability because they allow me to reach my goals. I want everything done right and quickly, and often can’t trust others to get that done for me.

Not even when I’m halfway dying of fucking pneumonia.

So no, I don’tneedanyone to look after me. Especially not a spoiled wannabe princess whose middle name should have been Chaos because I never know how she’s going to react or what she’ll say next. And my foolish desire for her to actuallycare about my welfare goes against the very fabric of my being. Which, truthfully, is driving me batshit crazy.

I cross the driveway, heading toward my SUV. It’s parked in its usual spot, perfectly aligned with the front door in a way that taps into my inescapable need for efficiency. As I approach, my phone starts ringing in my pocket, but my attention zeros in on my vehicle instead. I cock my head, trying to figure out what’s wrong with this picture.

The Land Rover is looking a bit tilted in place, sort of like the ground is uneven. But it’s not. So why—

Son. Of. A. Fucking. Bitch!

Both of the tires facing me are flat. Picking up my pace, I walk around the vehicle, confirming that, in fact, all four of the tires are. Crouching next to the driver-side front wheel, I take in the red-handled screwdriver sticking out of the rubber sidewall.

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