“Why?” James asks. “Just kill the fucker.”

  I smile to myself. “And you tell me I’m hasty?”

  “The only way Oliver Burrows could have known our old friend Agent Spittle was dead is if his son Kenny told him, since there is no body.”

  I hum, thoughtful. “And when you left the station after Higham intervened, Burrows didn’t follow you, but The Hound did.” More fool The Hound, who James quickly blew up. “No activity on his phone?”

  “Not a whisper,” Otto confirms.

  So, no one’s apparently active, and there’s been no signs of the Russians, not Sandy or that fucker Volodya, who, inconveniently, isn’t dead after all. Not dead, but still not showing his face. “I think Luis definitely needs a bit more discount on his order,” I muse, looking at James. He nods, hearing me. If the puppet master has demanded quiet on the western front, we’ll demand attention, and there’s nothing like stiff competition to get me some attention. Or to bring someone out of hiding.

  “Do you think the radio silence on the phone is because they know we have Kenny?” Ringo asks.

  “Or think we might have him.”

  “They’ll soon show up at the bank looking for him. Make sure you’ve got his house covered too. How’s the boatyard repairs coming on?”

  “Complete,” Otto confirms.

  “Good.” Because we’re going to need it. Let’s see if we can wake up Miami.

  6

  ROSE

  All eyes were on me as I made my way to the pool and sat on the edge, my naked legs dangling in. No one murmured a word, not for a few minutes, until Brad killed the quiet with another poke at my curry. His attempt to break the atmosphere was appreciated, and I managed a small smile over my shoulder.

  A half-hour later, I’m still here, my palm resting over my arm, my remorse thick, as is my headache. I see Beau’s reflection in the water and blindly lift my hand. She takes it and joins me, pushing her shoulder into mine. “You’re not in this alone,” she says quietly, her feet starting to swish through the water. She’s not trying to pull my head out of my ass or insinuate that it’s not all about me, she’s simply reminding me that she’s here for me.

  I tighten my grip of her hand in answer, and we fall into a comfortable silence for a while. I wonder what she’s thinking. I wonder how she appears so stable when the source of her misery has recently declared he’s still walking the earth. Still here to taunt us all. But knowing Beau as I do, she hides her grief well. Unlike me. I seem hell-bent on throwing my weight around and making my husband’s life even more difficult than it already is. God damn me. God damn the demons that bubble under the surface. Freedom and happiness keep tickling the edges of my life and then retreating, exposing me to the world I thought I’d escaped. God damn them.

  In our marriage, it has always been me who lashes out. Retaliates. Loses my mind. Just the mere fact that Danny lost all sense of presence and didn’t read the signs of my despair when we were having sex speaks volumes for his state of mind. As does the fact he got so drunk. He’s not himself. Seems vulnerable, and that isn’t my husband. Neither do I want it to be.

  “What can I do to help?” Beau breaks the silence.

  “Kill the right man next time?” I turn a smile onto her, and she rolls her eyes. “I’m kidding.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She’s right, I’m not. Beau was like a walking example of serenity in the few short weeks we all thought it was over. I want that for her again. I want that for us all. I look at her, wondering if she’s faking that serenity now, because she’s still so fucking calm and it’s making me feel a bit inferior to be honest. Is she a swan, graceful and together to the world, but paddling like crazy beneath the surface? “How are you?” I ask, and she tilts her head, amused. Maybe I should try that meditation she talked about.

  “Would it make you feel better if I said I was terrible?”

  “Yes.”

  “Terrible.”

  I nudge her, and she laughs. Is this us now? The wives of mafia men. Hard-faced, resilient, and scared to death but unable to show it? At least, not to the outside world. My state of mind is obvious to the people I’m closest to. But not to Daniel. Never to Daniel. For that boy, I am the best actress you could find. “Why won’t you marry him?” I ask, reaching for the ring on her right hand. It just doesn’t make any sense to me. James loves her fiercely, and Beau him.

  “I already told you.”

  There’s more to it, there has to be. “Does Lawrence know about Dexter?”

  “Jesus, no. He’s at peace with the fact Dexter’s left him. If he knew James had killed him . . .”

  I get it. I look over my shoulder and see the table lacking all men and Goldie. They’ve been summoned. To plot and scheme and prepare to rain holy hell on Miami.

  “It’ll be okay,” Beau says.

  “It has to be.” Because who am I if I’m not Danny’s Rose? I wince, my hand automatically resting on my tummy, my mind giving me the perfect image of Daniel’s face. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m our children’s before I’m anyone else’s, including Danny’s. He wouldn’t have it any other way. But, and it’s a painful fact, I’m only who I am now because of Danny, and I’m not sure I can keep that up without him. “Are you going back to Miami with them?” I ask Beau, maybe for the sake of it, because I’m not sure we’ll get a choice. Although, admittedly, I’m uncertain which option the men will decide on. Leave us here, away from their watch but also away from the threats. Or take us with them where we’re close to their watch but in the thick of the danger.

  “I’m going back,” Beau says.

  “You sound like that decision is yours to make.” I laugh, and she tilts her head, eyebrows high, lips pursed.

  “Oh, it’s mine,” she says surely. “You know, Rose, I remember following you into Hiatus one time. Do you remember? When they let us go to the beach that day?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” I didn’t know Beau as well as I do now. I remember watching her standing on the shore looking up at the sun, eyes closed, and wondering if I’d ever seen such a broken woman.

  “And I looked at you and thought to myself how together you were. How strong. A force of a woman to be reckoned with.”

  My smile is ironic. “I’m thinking the same about you now.”

  “We’re both like fucking yo-yos. Strong, weak, determined, defeated. I suppose it’s to be expected in a world where our men are who they are and we’re dealing with what we’re dealing with.” Her arm falls around my shoulders, hugging me to her. “But we have each other.”

  I smile. It’s unstoppable. We have each other, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. “Love you, Beau.”

  “You too. And if I’m going back to Miami, so are you.”

  “Okay,” I agree, because amid all this uncertainty, I know one thing beyond doubt. I can’t survive this world without my friend available to hug me, comfort me, and pull my head out of my ass when I need it. I just need to convince Danny. Something tells me it’ll be a challenge.

  Beau starts to stand, encouraging me up. “Come on, we need to check everyone is still alive after eating your curry.”

  “My curry was amazing. What’s wrong with you people?”

  “Rose, that thing”—she points at the pot as we walk to the table—“could be classed a lethal weapon.”

  I lower next to Esther, feeling her eyes lower with me. “Is my son still alive?” she asks, turning her wine glass by the stem.

  “Is Otto?” I retort, reminding my mother-in-law that I’m not the only one around here who has pissed off her son. I turn my smile onto her. “Are you ever going to tell me what’s going on with you two?”

  “No.” Esther suddenly isn’t interested in me anymore. “Zinnea, are you performing tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, darling, I most certainly am. Should I reserve you a table?”

  “Why are we talking like we’ll be here tomorrow night?” I ask. “Unless you’re planning on staying?” I look at Esther, making sure she knows I’m talking to her. There’s not a cat in hell’s chance she’ll remain in St. Lucia if Danny’s in Miami. Unless, of course, he demands it.

  “I’m not staying,” she blurts without thought.

  “Oh good, neither am I,” I reply.

  “You have that choice?”

  “I do.” I smile brightly. “Do you?”

  “Oh, I could slap your face sometimes.”

  My nose wrinkles, and I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Love you too, Mom,” I say, and she rolls her eyes as I pull back. I know I exasperate her. I know she really would like to slap my face sometimes. But I also know that she appreciates my apprehension because she feels it too.

  “Well,” Zinnea coos, pouring more wine, “in case anyone is interested, I will not be returning to Miami.”

  Beau’s face is a picture of shock as she swings her gaze onto her aunt. “What?” I see panic rising in her. I also see her vehemently trying to force it back. “Who will I meditate with?”

  “You don’t need me, my darling,” Zinnea says, her hand finding Beau’s on the table. “You have a lovely, gorgeous psychopath to take care of you these days.”

  A little burst of laughter escapes me and Esther, but Beau’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. “James—”

  “Not James. I’m talking about Rose,” Zinnea quips, and I gape at her while Esther laughs harder and Beau smiles. “Oh don’t look so indignant, darling.”

  Me? “I’ll—”

  “What? Torture me with more of your cooking?”

  Esther’s now falling apart, Beau’s hardly holding on to her laughter, and I am outraged. “That curry is award worthy,” I argue, irritated.

  “Oh stop it.” Zinnea rolls her eyes in the most overdramatic fashion that only a drag queen would pull off. “Even the devil complained it was too hot.”

  Tears. There are tears, and even me, insulted as I am, can feel the laughter creeping up on me. And then there are moments like these when I wouldn’t change my life for the world. I give in to my desire and fall apart with them, my eyes watering, my tummy aching as Esther squeezes my hand hard. And that’s all of us for the next five minutes, laughing uncontrollably, bodies jerking, gasping for air, until I hear movement behind us.

  I look over my shoulder, seeing the men filing out of the villa, and all laughing vanishes like it had never been here. I assess each and every one of their faces, and I hate what I see.

  Purpose.

  Commitment to kill.

  I sit up straight and smile weakly when Danny finds me, suddenly terrified that he’ll declare his departure back to Miami and leave me here. He couldn’t get Daniel and me out of the city fast enough. I can’t imagine he’ll be so keen to take us back as quickly. And that’s another little issue to be dealt with. Our son. It’s a miracle we’ve managed to shield him from the horrors of our lives to this point. Now what? He’s not stupid, getting more and more curious each day, and the fact he’s got two bearded mountains watching his every move is a huge red flag.

  Danny takes his seat at the other end of the table, the farthest away from me, but his eyes regard me carefully, his scar seeming to glisten each time the light catches his face. He takes his water, relaxes back, and continues to watch me. Oddly, I feel vulnerable under the interrogating gaze of my husband. His icy eyes burn. “What?” I mouth, but I get nothing, not even a twitch of his lips. Damn him, what’s he thinking?

  “I suppose I should go pack, then,” Brad declares, not taking his chair but pushing it under the table.

  “Me too,” Ringo grunts, turning his huge nose up at his plate. “Thanks for dinner.”

  I look between them, stunned. “Where are you going?” What a ridiculous question. “I mean”—I shake my head—“you’re going now?”

  “In the morning.”

  “And what about you?” I ask, looking at Danny. “When are you going?”

  He sips his water casually, looking all too relaxed. He’s the only one, everyone else having tensed, waiting for the fireworks. Then he stands and starts walking to my end of the table and my dread multiplies. He’s coming to pacify me. Or hold me down when I go bouncing off around the villa in a temper because he’s leaving me here. Over my dead body. Which is a definite possibility judging by the veil of steel falling across my husband’s face.

  I look at Beau, and her expression tells me to be cool.

  Be cool, be cool, be cool.

  “Time to go,” Brad chirps, making a hasty exit, followed by Ringo and Goldie.

  “Yes, it’s been a lovely evening.” Zinnea stands, knocks back the rest of her wine, and scurries off on her heels. But James, Beau, Esther, and Otto remain at the table, defiantly refusing to leave. Probably because they think it’s inhumane to let Danny die alone.

  I rise from my chair, wanting to have a presence, something my husband seems to find amusing. “Stow away those fists, Rose,” he says in warning.

  I relax my hands, which I honestly didn’t realize were balling. “You’re not fucking off to Miami and leaving me here.”

  He reaches me, rounds me, puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back down to the chair. Then he dips and pushes his mouth to my ear. “I know,” he says, kissing my lobe. I’m not the only one who relaxes. It seems the whole table does. Thank God. He starts massaging into my flesh, and my hands lay over his, my relief making way for contentment. Odd, isn’t it, that weeks ago when I was faced with a similar situation, I was pissed off that he was dragging me away from my haven back to a city I hate. But I’ve learned that my haven, in fact, is Danny.

  “That’s okay, then,” I say, nodding to myself, sounding way surer than I suspect I should. Could there be a catch coming? “And you’re not locking me up in the mansion.”

  “I know.”

  Oh? “I will happily carry a gun.”

  “You will.”

  “And the Vikings?” I ask, flashing a look to Beau. She’s smiling mildly, as is James.

  “Will be distributed as needed,” Danny says, continuing to massage my shoulders. What the fuck is going on? It’s as if he’s had a personality transplant.

  “Am I missing something?”

  “Like?”

  I look to Esther, who shrugs, as equally perplexed. “You tell me.” Am I suddenly bulletproof?

  “Happy wife, happy life,” he murmurs.

  “Okay,” I say, standing from my chair, prompting his hands to move from my shoulders. “What’s going on?”

  “Let’s go,” James says, collecting Beau and exiting quite speedily.

  “What?” Beau asks, appearing to be a slave to James’s strength, unable to stop him from leading her away. It’s absurd. She’d turn the tables on him with one swing of an arm and a roundhouse kick. So, of course, my worry heightens, especially when Otto declares he and Esther are also leaving.

  And then it’s just the two of us, Danny and me. His hands find my shoulders and push me back down to the chair, and I wince terribly when he crouches, his jaw tight. His chest. His beautiful, smooth, mutilated chest. A lump in my throat forms, and I damn myself to hell and back as I take his T-shirt and pull it up, as if I need to torture myself some more.

  His chest is heavily bandaged, so I can’t see the damage. But I see it. I caused that. His maiming. His pain.

  Gently taking my hand, he eases it away, and his chest is soon covered again. I move my eyes to his. To this day, I still can’t fathom how ice blue can radiate such heat. And yet here it is, hot blue burning through me. This is my husband. Confident and in control. This is the man I was instantly attracted to, the dark creature that reflected a version of me, but, ironically, it was the vulnerable, lost man I saw past the darkness that I fell in love with. The man I saw this morning. I flinch away from that thought, and Danny catches it.

  “Never again, Rose,” he reiterates, cupping both of my hands in both of his.

  I could cry for him. “Stop it,” I say. “Just stop it.” I need him to be rid of this self-loathing. I must take some of the responsibility. Finding and killing a man isn’t a cause for anguish for my husband, but the impact it’ll have on me is. I should have supported him in his hopelessness, not kick off and cause him further stress, because his hopelessness was spiked by worry for me. Haven’t I learned?

  He nods, if mildly, “I have a gift for you.”

  “You’re my gift. I don’t need anything else.”

  He smiles, but it’s half-hearted. “I shouldn’t have been so careless with you. I shouldn’t have zoned-out. I should have been fully aware, and I wasn’t.”

  And I know that will only increase his anger and purpose. God help his enemies.

  “If you left me,” he goes on, squeezing my hands in his, “I wouldn’t blame you. But I’m begging you not to, Rose, because a life without you is not a life I am interested in living.”

  I remove my hands from his and encourage his crouched body into mine, hugging him carefully so not to put pressure on his wounds. “I’m never leaving you.”

  “Good. So you’ll accept my gift.”

  “What is it, a slap?” I joke, feeling him smile against my neck.

  He pulls away and reaches into his back pocket, pulling something out, holding it up to me.

  A ring.

  I frown. “Are you proposing, because I’m pretty sure I’ve already married you twice.”

  “Oh, how my wife’s sense of humor thrills me.” His nose wrinkles, and he moves in, slamming a hard kiss on my lips.

  “Did you and James go shopping together?” I ask around his mouth, making him pause our kiss and tilt his head, curious. “He asked Beau to marry him again,” I say before he can ask. “She said no, but she’s wearing the ring.”

  “No, we did not go shopping together.” His lips are back on mine, kissing me with purpose, and, of course, I indulge him until he’s had his fix, although, admittedly, and as I have told him endlessly, I could binge on him forever and never feel full. “Now, back to us.” He holds up the ring, and I eye it. “It’s an eternity ring, in case you’re wondering.”