Page 9 of Reckless Woman
Seeing her with Dante’s kid was like a fortune teller waving the future in front of me.
What’s left of my heart beats for her. It will never beat for another,and never for a fucking child.I made that deal with myself the day I lost my son. Soon after, I made another deal with the man sitting in front of me.
But I saw the look on her face.
I saw the peace.
I saw the problem.
“I’ll tell Rick about Morozov.” Dante’s dark gaze seeks out mine again as I’m flicking the bird at my self-control and lifting my third Macallan.
“Tell him to stop screwing Senator D’Angelo’s daughter as well,” responds Roman tersely. “It’s pissing the senator off. He’s up our asses, day and night, wanting Sanders and his product gone from the streets.” He stops and sighs, like it’s the greatest imposition in the world. “I’m running out of places to hide the dirt, Dante,” he warns. “Rick’s wandering dick keeps straying into hostile territory. It’s in danger of compromising our entire operation.”
Dante lifts his dark eyes to a heaven he’ll never get to greet. “Stop being dramatic.”
“Don’t say I didn’t—”
“If Rick goes down for so much as a parking ticket, Peters, you lose meandmy entire army.”
“So, it’s like that, is it? You ungrateful bastard! I’m starting to regret ever breaking you out of prison.”
“Call me a bastard again, and I’ll be shoving your FBI badge so far up your ass, your mouth will be gleaming gold.”
Neither insult carries much weight. They rely on each other too much to survive.
“Did you give my niece intel about the Gomez Junior cartel shipping mess?” Dante demands.
This pricks my interest. I’d assumed he was the source.
“I’ve never even met your niece,” comes the weary response. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Why do you do anything? Self-preservation?”
“Tell Sanders to keep his pants zipped,” snaps the detective, finally losing his cool.
“Try doing the same thing with your mouth.” The call ends abruptly as Dante kicks the phone off his desk, spilling wires and twisted metal all over his cream carpet.
“Was that strictly necessary?” I murmur. We both know Roman Peters isn’t the real reason for his bad temper. Any mention of Petrov is like a spark to a trail of gasoline with us.
“That man is walking a fine fucking line between this life and the next.”
“He has a point, though. HowdidViviana find out about the Mexicans?”
“The fairy godmother of cartel business deals. How the fuck should I know?”
Dante’s switched to a combative mood now and I’m just the wrong side of drunk to aggravate it.
“Pour some sugar in your bourbon. I’ll make a couple of calls this afternoon.”
“Don’t.” He glances out of the huge floor to ceiling window behind him for a long moment, as if he’s contemplating the meaning of fucking life. “Let her bring the connection to us. She’s flying into Miami for a couple days to oversee a new shipment from Colombia. I’ll send a crew to pick her up and fly her out to the island. We can talk more, then.”
“You’re bringing herhere?”
I’m shocked. This island is his sanctuary. It’s his home. His life. His family. It’s an inner circle that once breached can never be redrawn.
“Whoever her connection is in New York, he just saved us a hundred mil. In my book, that’s a friend, not a foe—”
“Then get a better library!”