Page 57 of Ruthless Roses
I grin, smoothing down my tie. “Excellent. Now move out of my way.”
The wall of muscle before me breaks in half, with each of the bouncers stepping aside. I stroll through like I own the place. The underground nightclub is sweaty and loud, full of drunk and strung-out partiers whose only interests are dancing, getting drunker and higher, and going home with whoever’s available. I ignore such cretins, each and every person in my presence not worth a second glance.
Clay’s where I expect—seated at a throne-like chair in the VIP with a modest crew of armed men and a harem of scantily clad bimbos doting on him.
He hasn’t aged out of his tacky tracksuits and gaudy gold jewelry even after decades. He sits as though he’s a king, his face a slab of hatred, regarding me as a subject.
I allow him to believe he is a king for now. Once his use runs out, he’ll receive a dose of reality like many others before him.
“Hello, Clay,” I say, stopping in front of him. “It’s been quite a while. Decades, I believe.”
He bares his teeth, several of them gold and diamond encrusted. “They tell you you’ve got five minutes, then I’m spraying your ass?”
“Save the violent threats for another day, Clay. I have a proposition for you,” I explain in a matter-of-fact tone. “We have a difficult history because—well, Leontine chose me and left her life with you behind—but I have always respected you as a businessman. As a criminal. You’re a pioneer in the way I am. A Black man that’s managed to climb to the top of the game. It just so happens we’re in opposing industries.”
He lets out a skeptical grunt of a laugh. “You expect me to believe that shit? Your ass-kissing used to be better.”
“And your empire used to be bigger,” I say. “Your profits too. Your reach and your reign. In the 80s, few could stop you. You were as respected and regarded as the actualCosa Nostra. What happened?”
“You know damn well—”
“I’ll tell you what happened,” I interrupt quickly. “You had a falling out with Crotone, didn’t you? His successor, Lucius Mancino, never even gave you the time of day, did he?”
His diamond-encrusted teeth glint under the dim club lighting. “What the fuck’s your point, Adams?”
I flatten my hand over my tie and make my offer in a cool, calm manner. “I think we can help each other. You and I got along once. Before all the complications. We once loved the same woman, and believe me when I say, my dear childhood friend, I am well-aware you and she never lost contact. That you still spoke to her… on occasion.”
His glare narrows further, and he sits up in his throne-like chair.
“Yes, I know all aboutthat,” I say, grinning. “And I don’t care. Not anymore. A part of me always hated that she never stopped loving you. Even when she was supposed to be loving me. But my sweet wife isn’t with us anymore. I can’t change that situation. But I can change my daughter’s—the daughter you always wished Leontine had given you. You and I are enemies, but you and I alsosharean enemy. What if I told you, it’d be mutually beneficial if we, perhaps, worked together for a cause?”
15
salvatore
8 months later…
“Who’s a big boy today?Dominic’s a big boy today!”
My boy giggles at Delphine’s question as if he understands what she’s asking. He’s seated in his highchair with his party hat perched atop his head. In front of him is the baby cake we’ve baked him.
An effort that wasn’t easy, but we accomplished together—aftera couple hours of misses.
Delphine insisted on baking the cake herself. I insisted on joining her. Together, we continued our tradition of proving how bad we are in the kitchen.
It took two failed cakes before we got it right. The end result is what Delphine hoped for. Dominic’s baby cake is healthy but sweet and tasty, made of pureed fruit and light vanilla flavoring and cream for frosting.
We’ve both taste-tested it and wound up wishing we’d made a bigger cake for ourselves.
Dominic gives us a wide, happy smile, showing off his only two teeth. He figures out what he’s supposed to do in the next second, smashing his chubby little hand into the cake. We applaud him and cheer him on as he makes a mess of it.
This only makes him more excited. His giggles grow sillier, his tiny fingers digging into the cake, balling up handfuls to feed himself.
It gets everywhere. All over his face and bib. Pieces of smashed cake cover the tray of the highchair and the cake frosting clings to the tip of his button nose.
We laugh harder, even pulling out our phones for photos. I get ones of Dominic alone, his dimpled fist in his mouth and his eyes big and bright. As Delphine moves closer to clean him up, I capture a few with just the two of them. She looks up as I snap the photos. A natural smile lights her face.
“I think I’ll make this my wallpaper,” I say, admiring the photo on my phone screen.