Page 47 of Man of Honor
I’d never been sohappy, and it scared the hell out ofme.It was a high better than the wildest fight or smoothest whiskey, but I knew better. A crash always followed, and this time, with the altitude I'd hit, the fall would be lethal. The worst part was that I couldn't do a damn thing to stop it. Wyatt had been right the day before: all we could do was hang on and enjoy the ride for as long as it lasted.
The countdown had already started when I walked into Dom's restaurant the next afternoon.
Saxa Fracta smelled like power, but not the obvious kind. It didn't reek of sweat and iron like the rough places I knew. This was subtle. It reminded me of Boone's office when we were kids: polished wood, expensive leather, and secrets. The rich, savory scent of gourmet food barely masked the undertones of wealth and influence.
This was Dom's playground.
Dinner service hadn't started yet, but deliveries were coming in, so I slipped in behind a crate of seafood. Plush carpets absorbedmy footsteps, and that was no accident; they were designed to muffle backroom conversations.
Saxa Fracta was more than a place to grab a bite to eat. It was a temple to deals made in the dark...and Dominic sat at the altar.
No surprise he'd opened a restaurant. Dom had been experimenting in the kitchen since we were kids, forcing his creations on us like a science experiment. To this day, I couldn't look at chicken and sausage gumbo without getting queasy. Not since I was fourteen and he'd pinned me down, sat on my chest, plugged my nose, and force-fed me that junk.
My stomach turned as I spotted his specialty listed on the menu above the hostess stand, right beneath the pan-seared catfish and duck confit beignets. I stifled a gag.
"Don't let him catch you making that face," a familiar voice drawled from behind the bar. The deep Creole accent hit me first, and then the grinning face followed.
"Marcel, you sneaky bastard."
"Long time, no see, man.Ça va?” Marcel's massive frame barely fit behind the bar, a drastic change from the scrappy kid who'd always been getting his ass kicked in high school. He'd been more brain bowl than super bowl, easy prey for bullies, until Dom sent two of them to the hospital. After that, Marcel had stuck to him like a shadow. He may have grown into a bear of a man, but warmth still gleamed in those dark eyes. Funny that Dom, of all people, was the one to inspire such loyalty from a man like him.
"Still babysitting Dom, huh?" I asked, clapping him on the shoulder when he pulled me into a bear hug.
"Lord knows someone's gotta do it," he said, pounding me on the back with one meaty hand. "Some days I protect him from the world. Other days, I protect the world from him."
He turned to a wall of gleaming bottles and reached for a black label on the top shelf, pouring it neat and sliding a glass across the bar.
"What's the duty today?" I asked, glancing down the hallway toward Dominic's office. A low murmur leaked from behind the closed door.
Marcel scratched his jaw, considering his words, and decided, "Today, I'm letting nature take its course."
The door creaked open, and the tail-end of strained conversation carried down the hall.
“—the door? Do you think it will keep you safe?" I’d recognize Dom’s icy voice anywhere.
A man's shaky response came tumbling out.“I-I just have another appointment. They k-know I'm here. I just need?—"
“You have twenty-four hours,” Dominic interrupted, calm as death.“This is the only warning you get. We won't be having this conversation again."
"I need some more time!"
"Time is one thing you don't have. Twenty-four hours. Sooner, if you want to keep me happy—and trust me, you do."
A shocked silence followed. A moment later, a man hustled down the hall and bolted out the emergency exit. He looked like a junior city employee: young, cheap suit, bad haircut. Hisshoulders were hunched like he was trying to outrun death itself. Maybe he was.
"Nature's a real bitch sometimes," Marcel said, stone-faced.
I reached for my whiskey glass and bolted half of it in one gulp. Tears sprang instantly to my eyes, and I coughed, gasping as the burn hit my throat.
A hand intercepted me and plucked the glass from my hands. "Careful, little brother," Dominic drawled, knocking back half the shot without so much as a flinch. "This whiskey's barrel proof. You'll be crawling out of here if you're not used to it."
He dropped onto the stool beside me and shot a meaningful look toward Marcel, who wiped his hands on a clean towel and discreetly vanished. Then he turned those amber, unblinking eyes on me and asked,"What brings you to my corner of the world?"
So much for small talk, but I took a shot anyway. "The place looks good," I offered, gesturing at the dark dining room. "Expanded the menu, huh? About time you dropped the gumbo, though."
His brow lifted. "I like gumbo."
"God knows why," I muttered, fighting my gag reflex. "Most traumatic fuckin' food I ever ate."