Page 101 of Single Mom's Daddies
“I was about to tell you the same thing.” He steps back automatically, hand slipping into his jacket, but I shake my head. “Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m just having a smoke.”
“In front of a children’s dance studio?”
He shrugs. “Kids gotta learn early how the world works.”
My blood simmers. But I’m here to keep this clean. “Why? Are you some kinda pervert? You like watching little girls or something?”
“You son of a?—”
I grab him by the back of the neck and shove him against the wall hard enough to rattle the window. Not a full punch. Just a warning.
“I’m going to let that go. Once. If I see you here again—if you so much as look at Lily or her dancers—I will personally rebuild your kneecaps out of glass.”
His smile returns, weaker now as he leans on the wall. “You Orlovs think you’re untouchable. That your stupid little paintings make you gods.”
“They make us rich. That’s all we need.”
He laughs once, low and harsh. “Doesn’t matter. You won’t be at the right place at the right time forever. One day, someone like me gets through. And then bam—Costello takes back what’s his. Just a matter of time.”
I tighten my grip. “That how it’s going to go? You ‘bam’ your way into a war?”
“Not a war,” he mutters. “A storm. One you won’t be ready for. One that wipes your little empire off the map.”
I slug him then—once, clean across the jaw. He stumbles, hits the pavement, spits blood onto the concrete.
But I don’t chase him when he scrambles up and bolts. I just watch him go, fists clenched, every instinct in me screaming to break him before he can deliver a message.
But I don’t. I’m trying to be smart. We’re all trying to be smart.
Back at the estate, the quiet feels heavier than usual. Not peaceful—suspended, like the space between lightning and thunder.
I take the long walk from the garage to the library, dragging the cold in with me. The moment I step inside, Roman looks up from the armchair where he’s been nursing a tumbler of something amber. Victor’s pacing by the fireplace, tie loose, shoulders tight.
They’ve been waiting.
“You boys holding a vigil for me?”
Victor rolls his eyes, and Roman grunts, “Report.”
“We’ve got a problem,” I say, unbuttoning my coat.
Victor stops pacing. “Costello?”
“One of his guys. Outside Lily’s place again.”
Roman sits forward. “Same one?”
“Different face. Same message.” I toss my gloves on the table. “He said it’s only a matter of time before we aren’t at the right place at the right time. Then bam—Costello takes back what’s his.”
Roman’s jaw tightens. “He thinks he can come into our territory and take what’s ours?”
Victor shakes his head. “He’s trying to scare us.”
“Not us—our clients. And it’s working. Not in the way he wants, but it’s working. He’s testing the edges. Seeing what we’ll tolerate and what will spook our buyers.”
Roman exhales through his nose. “And what did you do?”
