Page 37 of Sully
Sully took his with a resigned shake of his head and a soft chuckle.
I raised my Dragon’s Breath shot high, the vapor curling off the surface like ghostly fingers reaching for the ceiling.“To family,” I announced, my voice carrying a hint of challenge beneath the false sweetness.“The ones we’re born to and the ones we choose.May we always know the difference.”I locked eyes with Tonio as I said it, daring him to read between the lines as we clinked glasses and brought the fiery liquid to our lips.
The drink burned a path down my throat, leaving a trail of cinnamon and something vaguely citrusy in its wake.I suppressed a cough, determined not to show weakness.Sully didn’t bother hiding his reaction, letting out a low whistle and shaking his head.
“Damn,” he muttered.“That’s got a kick.”
I turned back to Tonio, ready to propose another round of increasingly personal questions, but paused when I caught his expression.He was studying me over the rim of his empty shot glass, a new awareness in his dark eyes.He set the glass down with deliberate care, his movements still precise despite all the alcohol I’d been feeding him.
“You know,” he said conversationally, “this reminds me of the time I tried to outdrink Seth’s business rival when I was twenty-three.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.“What happened?”
“I employed your exact strategy.”Tonio leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone.“Except I was far less subtle about it.”A smile played at the corners of his mouth.“I kept pushing drinks on him while secretly dumping mine in the potted plant behind us.”
The bartender snorted.“Did it work?”
“For about an hour.”Tonio’s smile widened into something approaching genuine amusement.“Until the whisky smell coming from the plant got to be too noticeable.The man was so offended he nearly pulled his gun right there at the table.”
Despite myself, a laugh bubbled up from my chest.“What did you do?”
“I did the only sensible thing.”Tonio’s eyes crinkled at the corners.“I flipped the table on him and dove through a window.”
Jason, who’d been passing by with another tray, nearly dropped it.“Through a window?Like, actually broke through it?”
“Second floor,” Tonio confirmed with a nod.“Broke my arm and got sixteen stitches in my shoulder.Seth was furious.Made me pay for the window and the table settings.”
I stared at him, trying to reconcile this story with the immaculate, controlled man sitting across from me.“You jumped out of a second-story window?”
“The alternative was getting shot,” he said with a shrug.“Seemed like the better option at the time.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed, genuinely impressed.“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the death by defenestration type.”
Tonio’s eyebrows shot up.“Defenestration?”
“The act of throwing someone or something out a window,” I explained, enjoying his surprised expression.“What?I watch Jeopardy.”
“Apparently so.”His eyes glinted with something that might have been approval.“I’ve always been more pragmatic than reckless, but there was a time when I took more risks than I should.”
The chef, who’d been quietly nursing his drink in the corner, chimed in.“My old man used to say you can tell a lot about a person by what kind of trouble they got into when they were young.”
“Wise man,” Tonio agreed.He leaned back in his chair, his posture more relaxed than I’d ever seen it.“I once stole a car when I was sixteen.Not for any practical reason, I already had a car.I just wanted to see if I could.”
“Did you get caught?”I asked, finding myself genuinely curious.
“No.”Pride flickered across his features.“But I did crash it into the Cumberland River an hour later.”
Jason, who’d returned to hover at the edge of our little circle, laughed out loud.“No way.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”Tonio shook his head, rueful.“Had to swim back to shore in January.Nearly got hypothermia.”
The staff was fully invested now, their faces alight with interest as my father shared stories from a past I’d never imagined.He told us about the time he’d smuggled a friend’s pet snake into a formal dinner party, only for it to escape during the soup course.About the summer he spent working on fishing boats to prove to Seth he could make his own way.About the first time he saw my mother, paint splattered and furious because he’d blocked her view of the sunrise.
With each story, the stiff formality between us ebbed, replaced by something I wasn’t ready to name but couldn’t ignore.I’d wanted to catch him off guard, to push his buttons and see what lay beneath the polished exterior.Instead, he’d flipped the script, meeting me halfway with unexpected candor.
Sully’s hand found mine under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.He leaned close, his lips brushing my ear.“That’s my woman,” he murmured, pride evident in his voice.“The only woman in Nashville to get the best of Antonio Miles.”
I turned to look at him, a question in my eyes.
