Page 12 of Unworthy Ties
I walked down the hallway and took and left into Maximo’s private study. The room was clouded with the musky scent of leather and cigar smoke, a testament to Maximo’s tastes. He was standing, facing away from me, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the sprawling empire of his family’s estate.
“This shit will kill you, y’know?” I said, waving away the cigar smoke with my hand.
“A bullet will probably get me first,” he responded, taking another puff on the cigar.
“You’re not wrong there.”
I pulled out a leather tufted chair from the other side of Maximo’s desk and took a seat, settling into the familiar grooves. I watched Maximo as he cast his gaze back over the estate, his kingdom, the one he was born to inherit. There was a tiredness in his eyes, a weariness that seemed out of place for someone of his age and vigor.
“I didn’t come here to watch you brood,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, turning away from the window to face me. “I didn’t call you here for pleasantries either, Rocco.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Maximo paused, his face hardening like a sculpture. He threw the rest of his cigar into the fireplace, where it sparked in protest before being swallowed by the flames.
“Our shipments keep going missing. And I haven’t been able to find out who is taking them.”
“Are you serious, Max?” I said, irritated he had called me all the way here for that. “Just switch up who—”
“You think I haven’t tried every option I have to find out what’s happening? Drugs keep going missing; we keep finding men with their throats slit and organs gone. Nothing has worked.” Hestarted pacing back and forth from behind his desk. “So, I finally came to the conclusion that it’s someone on the inside.”
“An inside job? That would take way too many people—” I started, but he interrupted me again.
“No, someone on the inside working with another group.”
“A mole,” I frowned, processing what he was saying. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
“Understatement of the century,” Maximo spat, his dark eyes flaring with anger. “This ‘unfortunate’ situation is costing us millions.”
I wasn’t sure why Maximo had called me here; I didn’t work for the Salvaggio family. An internal audit of his ranks was his problem.
“I’m not sure why you called me here,” I said, telling him such. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”
“There are a few leads I was hoping you would investigate. I don’t want any of my men to know, and if I showed up, it would be suspicious.”
I was going to tell him no; absolutely not, but I remembered how many things he had done for me. Plus, seeing the desperation in his eyes, I couldn’t just turn my back on him.
“I’ll look into it,” I said, letting out a sigh of resignation.
“Glad to hear it.” He threw me an envelope packed with cash. “For your troubles.”
I scowled at him, catching the weighty envelope in one hand. “I’m not doing it for the money,” I said gruffly, placing it back on his desk.
“Whatever. Buy your wife jewelry or something. Your wedding was beautiful, by the way.”
Not wanting to get into a conversation about my wedding—living it once was already terrible—I bid him goodbye and headed back towards the car.
It was late. Gabriella would probably already be asleep when I got back home, which was good. We wouldn’t have to deal with that awkward getting into bed at the same time thing.
I drove through the residential streets, the dim lights casting eerie shadows on the asphalt. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional hoot of a lonesome owl or the low hum of the car’s engine. It was a long drive back to the city, and my mind wandered as I navigated the lonely rural roads. The solemn blackness outside did nothing to comfort me; it merely echoed in the void filling my heart.
In the hazy state between sleep and wakefulness, I couldn’t help but notice something different about the way my body was propped. My body temperature was higher, and gravity felt heavier against my chest. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, I realized Gabriella had encroached on my side of the bed. She was nestled into my side, her head on my chest, one arm draped over my torso.
She must be a koala in her sleep. On our wedding night, she created a fort of pillows between us, and I had woken up to her snuggling against one of those. Now here she was, clinging to me like a life raft at sea. I shifted uncomfortably, the unfamiliar intimacy of the situation stealing away my sleep.
I looked at her for a moment, her hair splayed out in waves on the pillow, her dark eyelashes casting soft shadows on her cheeks as she slept. My stomach twisted with anxiety when I realized I didn’t actually hate her sleeping on me like this. I wouldn’t go as far as saying I liked it, though.
