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Chapter 50
Valentina
Ithought after the Cormac crisis passed, life would get easier.
Instead, Rocco’s a pain in my ass, the chop shop has the cops breathing down its neck, and the investigation into what happened with the Righteous Servants is very much ongoing.
Which means there’s more work to do than ever.
And I love it.
I wish I could complain. I really, honestly do, because complaining is really fun, but waking up every morning with Ronan and spending the day with him is the most fulfilled I’ve ever felt in my life.
I feel welcome in his family in a way I never thought I could, not since my father’s death. It’ll never quite be what I lost, but it can be something new, and that’s really good too. At least I get to use all the skills my father taught me over the years helping Ronan plan new jobs and manage his complicated network of interconnected businesses and associates.
That’s how I find myself lurking out behind Rocco’s club at two in the morning. The old Italian Capo keeps whining about how tired he is and how he’s not young anymore and he’s smoking this seriously gross black cigar the whole time and waving the thing around in the air. Under any other circumstance, I’d find this whole experience repulsive.
Instead, I love it. Rocco’s basically my employee, and while he complains about everything, he follows orders and understands where his money and safety come from.
“That husband of yours is late,” Rocco says, pacing back and forth. “Fuck, girl, I need a new pair of shoes. You know the ones with the big foam? What are those called? Hookahs or whatever?”
“Hoka,” I correct. “And stop whining. He’ll be here soon.”
“Hoka, that’s right. I need some freaking Hokas. You know, make me feel like I’m walking on fucking clouds.” He puffs away on his cigar and waves his hands around. “These shitty fucking Pumas aren’t doing shit for my back.”
“Yeah, Rocco, it’s definitely the shoes. Not the fact that you’re in your sixties and overweight.”
“Hey now, easy there, don’t start insulting my love handles.” He squeezes his belly and laughs. “I’m fucking Italian. You think I should be all skinny and shit? Hell, no, I’d get no respect that way.”
“Maybe respect will make your back feel better.”
“This girl with the fucking clever comments. I swear to Christ.” He beams at me as he starts pacing again. Fortunately, we don’t have much longer to wait. A pair of headlights appear down thestreet and a moderately sized truck pulls into the parking lot. No honor guard, no defenses. Ronan’s behind the wheel, and he doesn’t need any, not right now. Not with Gregory dead and Matteo’s people scattered to the wind.
“You all good here?” Ronan asks as he steps down from the cab.
“About fucking time,” Rocco says and shouts for his guys to get off their lazy asses and start unloading.
“We’re good,” I say as Ronan stands next to me and puts an arm across my shoulders. “You know, we should probably get other people to actually do these deliveries, right? If the truck gets pulled over, it’d be pretty bad if the boss were driving it.”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that.” But the smile on his face suggests he did, and I should have, and now I’m wondering what I missed.
“Why do you look like that?” I ask, narrowing my gaze. I poke him in the ribs. “You look like you’re hiding something.”
“Me? Hide something? Fromyou?” He guffaws and slaps my finger away. “Never. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Tell me why your face is like that then.”
“Ah, love, there’s no reason.” He’s beaming now like he can’t help himself.
“Ronan.”
“All right, fine.” He lets out a breath and laughs quietly. Rocco and his boys are making quick work of the shipment. “I wanted to do one last run with you.”
“You mean, you drove drugs over here for sentimental reasons?”
“You’re damn right I did. There’s also a surprise inside for you, if you’re interested.”
That gets my attention. He waggles his eyebrows at me and spanks my ass lightly, nudging me toward the truck.
