Page 33 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
“What did you do for them?” I ask, realization dawning. Is this going to be a security nightmare? I wonder why Edgerton felt comfortable enough to leave me alone with him.
“I was a delivery guy. Never knew what was in the brown paper packages, never cared to open them.”
“How long did you do that?”
“I guess my first drop-off was when I was twelve, maybe?”
“Really?” Sherry asks, her eyes uncharacteristically shiny. “I’m so sorry, Joe.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal he was forced to become an underage drug runner. “My nonna got big mad over that. Made me promise I’d keep myself out of trouble and go to college. Told her real young I wanted to be a legit businessman, wear a suit. My father wasn’t having it, but my nonna didn’t back down. He promised her that as long as I didn’t ask him for money, he’d leave me alone. Wasn’t exactly a hard decision.”
“Oh.”
There’s an awkward moment of silence as we all stand between the hallway and the living room, then Sherry clears her throat.
“Little help here, guys,” she says, gesturing her chin at the large package she’s still holding.
“Oh shit,” Joe says, reaching out. “Nonna would smack me upside the head, letting you hold that for so long.”
Sherry laughs, and he takes the box, clearly accustomed to carrying heavy things, and sets it delicately on the bar. Turning to me, he asks, “I’m not going to ruin anything by setting this down on your fancy wood countertop, am I?”
I shake my head. “My home is meant to be lived in.”
Joe tilts his head at me again, like maybe I’ve surprised him. I walk on eggshells all day long. I need at least one place where I can just be myself.
Sherry hip-checks Joe, pointing at the box. “Open it.”
Joe scrubs the back of his head and then removes… Is that a knife? He’s had a knife in his back pocket this entire time? How did it get past my security? I suppose it doesn’t matter because he’s only using it to carefully open his present, but I plan on having a conversation with Edgerton first thing tomorrow morning.
Then I look over at the enormous chef’s knife he’s been wielding for the last hour and decide that Edgerton probably wouldn’t let the man stay with me if he thought there was even the smallest chance of violence.
“Holy shit. This is an entire gaming system. With VR helmets.” He looks at me. “You are insane.”
I shrug and try not to be charmed by how much he looks like every kid at Christmas. “I’m not the one who picked it out. She did.”
“Then you are insane,” he says to Sherry, giving her a big hug. She looks over his shoulder as he wraps his muscles around her and winks at me.
A shard of jealousy twists its way into my stomach. It’s a weak emotion, so I settle myself and decide that I am jealous of absolutely nothing with this man. I have everything. Though his delight in getting the gaming system is probably visible in the outer boroughs.
After thanking me, he declares that dinner is ready, and we all sit around the dining room table, eating Joe’s homemade pasta primavera. I’ve paid hundreds of dollars for a plate of pasta that couldn’t hold a candle to this. It’s quite literally one of the most delicious things I’ve ever put in my mouth.
“This is divine,” I say, puzzling at another forkful before practically shoving it into my mouth.
“You sound surprised.”
I gesture at my kitchen, which, apparently, has magical properties. “I watched you this entire evening. This is literally just flour, water, and egg. And you didn’t even make a sauce. You just chopped up the vegetables.”
He shrugs. “It’s all in the wrist.”
Sherry laughs and eyes me significantly. I gesture a slicing motion at my throat, and she laughs even harder.
Still, I’ve hardly had time for intimate dinners with friends these last few years, and that’s what this feels like. Intimate. It’s oddly freeing.
I’m reminded of Joe’s sharp words during the meeting and how they cut right to the heart of the matter. How I had to go on the attack so others wouldn’t see me bleed.
He was right about the cage, of course. It’s gilded and beautiful, but a cage, nonetheless. And for as long as my father holds sway over the board, the desire to build the company of my dreams will be crushed, denied oxygen.
I would never tell anyone how hard it is to breathe sometimes.
