Page 8 of Ruthless Roses
A man many stories below. He’s off to the side toward the front, hands in his suit pockets, his attention unyieldingly on the stage.
Dark brown complexion. Tall and broad-shouldered. Even at a distance, I can tell he has a naturally studious gaze. He has a sophisticated, stately air about him.
This man who looks just likeDad.
I blink in the dimly lit theater and urge my eyes to stop playing tricks on me.
It can’t be. It can’t be Dad. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve sworn I’ve seen him, but this time is different than the others, like at the cemetery—this time there’s dozens of other people around. Hundreds of other people packed into the theater.
Surely someone else sees him too!?
I blink several more times, daring him to disappear into thin air.
“You okay?” Salvatore asks from my side.
My heart’s thudding hard in my chest. At the sound of his voice, I glance over at him. “I could’ve sworn I just saw…”
I look over again, back down stories below toward the front of the theater, where the doppelgänger was standing off to the side.
He’sgone. He vanished like I dared him to.
“Saw who?” Salvatore asks, immediately alert and suspicious.
I can’t take my eyes off the spot where the man just was. WhereDadjust was.
“No one,” I whisper in answer. “It was no one.”
2
salvatore
“For the foreseeable future,I’ll be handling all official matters from my home. My wife is due very soon, which means I need to be by her side should she go into labor. You know the line to reach me on,” I brief my main crew of men. They’re crowded around my desk in my office at Nirvana. “In my absence, Omar is in charge. He’ll keep me updated on the daily goings-on. So don’t fucking feel like you can try shit with me not around. Iamstill around—I see, hear, and know about everything. Don’t fuck up.”
They nod and then disperse once given their marching orders for the day. The few that remain are the inner circle of my inner circle. Stitches hasn’t budged and neither have Omar and Fabio. I address Fabio first.
“You, you’re leading on security. Make sure there’s no fucking hiccups. Not a single measure overlooked. Report to Omar every day with our status. He will brief me on anything of importance.”
“Yes, Psycho,” he says with a nod of his cueball head. Then he grins. “Have you picked out a name yet?”
It’s no surprise he’s asking.
Everyone in our private lives is itching to find out what we’ll name our baby boy. The birth of my first son signifies great power in our lifestyle—though unspoken, it’s the knowledge that he’ll someday follow in my footsteps.
He’ll carry on my legacy the way many in our lifestyle do.
Delphine and I have talked about it. We’ve gone in circles over what names we like and the ones we don’t. We’ve yet to come to a consensus.
I reach for my drink. “No name as of right now.”
“How about Gavino?” Fabio offers up. “It’s a strong name. Italian… but you can turn it into Gavin too. It was my ma’s backup if she hadn’t gone with what she did.”
“Which wasFabio,” I say. “She has such good taste.”
The other two laugh at my dry sarcasm. Fabio and Omar show themselves out so that Stitches is the lone man remaining.
He pockets his iPhone and gives a shrug. “Whatever you two decide, it’ll be good. No pressure.”
I pierce him with a look. “That’s a very casual stance to take for the guy who was reading our birthing plan cover to cover.”