Page 97 of Mob Queen
“Just give it to me now.”
“I’ll be there in a second, Zac,” I call making it look like Zac’s waiting for me. “Sorry, Tyler, I have to go.” I hang up and carelessly fling my phone on the desk. I sit back in my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Fuck,” I grumble.
This is all becoming too complicated. My relationship with Frankie is likely known to the FBI, which means, I’ll be investigated. And if that’s the case, then my career is probably over.
Unless I end it with Frankie before either of us are in too deep.
Problem is, I’m not sure I want to.
* * *
The mansion has been on edge for the last two days and Frankie isn’t telling me why. She’s been holed up in her office, only emerging for food and sleep. Even sex has been pushed aside.
I loosen my tie as I take the steps up toward her bedroom.
“Mr. Miller,” Mya calls when I’m half way up the stairs.
I look over the banister to see her moving toward the stairs. “Yes, Mya?”
She stops and looks up. “I have your dinner for you.”
“Thank you. I’ll be down soon.”
She offers me a small smile before disappearing from view. I head up to the bedroom, and flick on the light. Frankie is nowhere to be seen, which means she’s either in her office, or out somewhere. I change out of my suit into jeans and a t-shirt before heading back downstairs to try and find Frankie.
I open her office door to find it empty, so I head into the kitchen to grab the plate Mya has for me. “I can bring it out to you once it’s warmed,” Mya offers.
“Thank you.”
“Would you like a drink?”
“I’ll pour myself a scotch.”
“Very well,” she says as I head out of the kitchen.
There’s a heaviness clinging to the air tonight, giving me a feeling of dread and gloom. Something ominous is coming, yet, I’m not entirely sure what it is. It could be an indictment because of my relationship with Frankie, or it could be something far more sinister.
If it’s a choice between either of those, I’d rather the indictment.
I flop into the chair and nurse my scotch while my head constantly spins with dark and intrusive thoughts. “Mr. Miller.” Mya places a plate of food down in front of me.
“You can retire for the evening, Mya. I can look after myself.”
“Oh.” Her lips press into a thin line. “Don DeLuca gave me instructions to make sure you’re looked after.”
I lift my hand to placate her. “You can leave. I’ll inform Frankie that I sent you home.”
Mya’s eyes dart between my food and myself. She worries her lower lip between her teeth before resigning with a nod. “Thank you.” Why the hell is the cook here at this time of the night anyway? She should be home with her family at nearly midnight. “Good night.”
“Drive safe,” I say as I watch Mya leave with her bag hanging off the crook of her elbow.
Once the door is closed, I return my attention to the amber liquid in my glass. I lean my elbow on the table, close my eyes and rub at the tension forming behind my brows.
“Sorry,” a soft voice says.
I open my eyes to see Elena dart into the kitchen. “It’s okay.” She returns holding a glass of water and moves to leave. “You don’t have to go.” I gesture toward one of the other empty seats. “Are you hungry?”
She shakes her head and shuffles toward the chair she usually sits in. “No, but I’m thirsty.” Elena taps the side of the glass with her nail. The silence between us is awkward and uneasy. “I’m not sure where they’ve gone but it probably has something to do with my father.”