Page 24 of The Silent Hour

The Marcelli Group had handled dangerous clients before, but this one felt heavier. Even I knew it. Ethan had never really needed to ease me into what exactly he did in a courtroom or who his clientele was. It had come out very early on considering whose daughter I was, and me knowing who his parents were too. If I couldn't condemn my Таtо, a proud man who'd made his fortune rubbing shoulders with the devil, I wasn't about to judge the man who now owned ample real estate in my heart.

Honestly, his clients weren't always the monsters the tabloids made them out to be. Some of them were thoughtful, even and others I knew from Mama, though Ethan seemed to forget that more often than not.

Every Christmas, one family sent us a sausage-and-cheese holiday basket complete with their annual card, the whole clan lined up in color-coordinated sweaters, smiling like any other suburban family. Another client, whose empire stretched into luxury resorts, made sure we always had the option of an all-inclusive stay whenever we wanted to get away.

They were wolves in suits, yes, but even wolves appreciated their pack. I worried more about Ethan being stretched too thin than the company he kept, and the Ruiz case was the biggest one yet. He still had other clients besides him to look after.

I entered our bedroom and paused my music. The vestibule stretched ahead of me, warm light spilling from the chandelier above while the mirror at the far end caught a slice of sunlight streaming through the skylight.

Without slowing, I veered left and slipped into the closet. Ethan used to joke that it was more boutique than closet, but he had no room to talk. His held just as many clothes as mine, all tailored suits and elevated casual wear.

Mine had rows of dresses and blouses arranged by color, heels lined up in precise pairs beneath shelves displaying my bags. It looked like a lot, but I'd owned many of the pieces for years. My shopping trips usually consisted of me buying tons of shit I didn't need but somehow always found a place for.

Like the Munroe portrait now hanging in my music-slash-art room on the same wall as a quote from Heathers. I surveyed my options, wanting to look good without looking overdone. Eventually, I pulled out a soft cream blouse, high-waisted jeans that hugged just enough, and my favorite flats, comfortable but still chic.

I carried everything into the ensuite, set it down, and started the shower.

The glass doors reflected the ocean spread out beyond the balcony. From here, the water seemed endless, shifting between shades of blue and silver. It was the same view Ethan and I had taken in a thousand times from the oversized tub.

Late-night baths that stretched for hours, laughter echoing against the tile. Other times, silence. Our bodies tangled together, the water cooling around us as we lost ourselves in each other. The memories washed through me, warm and grounding.

I stepped beneath the spray, tilting my head back as the water washed away the morning's chores and the faint ache in my muscles. The glass enclosure clouded slightly at the edges, but the ventilation system purred overhead, and the built-in defogger kept the rest perfectly clear.

When I was done, I wrapped myself in a towel, piled my hair into a turban, and padded over to the sink. I caught my reflection in the mirror and paused. Thank God for my parents' good genes. I was aging well. No desperate hunt for miracle creams yet. No box dye to chase away early grays. My light copper-auburn hair still gleamed beneath the light, as thick as it had always been.

My body, though? That had changed. Pregnancy had left its fingerprints, subtle but permanent. My breasts had stayed a size larger, and I could actually shake something now, firmly removing me from the Little Asses Matter Club, as Toya liked to call it. Faint silver stretch marks curved along the insides of my thighs, reminders etched into my skin. My stomach was flat and toned again, but that had taken months of sweat, sore muscles, and more than a few near-sobs in the gym mirror.

I felt good in my own skin now. I hadn't always. During those first months after the girls were born, I'd felt like a stranger to myself. Maybe it was vain to admit, but it was also the truth. I got dressed and made myself presentable, taking five tries to whip my hair into something decent but simple.

Before leaving, I moved through my usual checklist. Wallet. Keys. Phone. All tossed into my bag. Then I checked the girls' car kits. Snacks, wipes, sanitizer, spare sweaters, and an extra pair of socks each because Aria had a gift for somehow losing hers every damn time we went to the park, and God forbid Ellie discover something in her sister's kit that wasn't also in hers.

Satisfied, I flicked off the lights as I went and armed the main security system at the panel by the door. Bills didn't care if my husband's accounts looked like Fort Knox. Wasting electricity still grated on me. The system beeped twice, armed and ready.

I stepped into the garage, where my Escalade, Big Ange, waited. The damn thing was bigger than it needed to be, but with two kids and all the shit that traveled with them, I'd learned not to complain. I loaded everything, slid behind the wheel, set my bag on the passenger seat, and started her up.

As I backed out, the house loomed above me, white stucco and glass catching the sunlight, the ocean stretching behind it. I hit the remote to arm the secondary system. Layers upon layers of protection. The cost of having a husband like Ethan and a father like Tato.

Then I pulled through the gates, the world opening in front of me, and headed toward lunch.

THE RESTAURANT WAS already buzzing when I pulled into the lot, the kind of place that balanced casual and chic, with big umbrellas shading the patio and servers carrying trays of cocktails that practically whispered my name.

I walked in and told the hostess I was meeting a few friends. She pointed me in the right direction, and I went on my merry way.

I spotted them instantly.

Or heard them, more like.

Toya's laugh carried across the tables, loud and unapologetic. Mehgan, sharp as ever, waved me over, her dark hair catching the sunlight. Carmen sat as put together as always, red hair swept into a perfect updo I would never attempt because I just knew mine would end with me looking like I'd gone twelve rounds with a hairbrush.

She was scrolling through something on her phone until her brown eyes flicked up and found me, a smile immediately following.

The woman was a force, and not just in appearance.

She was the one who'd helped us find the land for our house. Without her, Ethan and I would probably still be circling half the coast, trying to find somewhere private enough to keep the world at arm's length and elevated enough to weather the storms.

Carmen had secured it in less than three weeks, cutting through red tape and competitors like they were nothing.

Now she was one of the top brokers in the city, moving multimillion-dollar listings like other people sold used cars. Every time I saw her with that phone in hand, I knew she was juggling half a dozen clients, all desperate for her attention.