Page 51 of His Savage Vow
“She had a migraine tonight,” Phillip grunts, taking a sip from his own wine glass. “You know how she gets,” he adds.
“I do.” Maximo grins at him. “Donna, Phillip’s wife, doesn’t approve of the family business,” he adds as an aside to me. “She only comes to visit on the holidays, if at all.”
I see Luca and Phillip both flush, and Adeline sputters as she waves Maximo to silence. “Hush, Maximo,”Adeline exclaims. “Don’t tease your uncle. Donna is a good woman, and loyal,” she adds with a raised eyebrow.
“She is loyal,” Phillip repeats. “She might not approve of how I make money, but she certainly approves of the results.”
We all fall silent as Chef Francis appears in the doorway from the kitchen, bringing in a platter with an entire salmon, already partitioned into easy to pick up slices.
“Here is the fish, for our young pescatarian,” he says as he heads over to Luca. Up close, Francis’s smile looks strained. There’s also a tremor in his hands when he sets the platter down, small enough most people wouldn’t notice, but I do. “Bon Appetit, my friends,” he adds before he leaves.
Following Maximo’s lead, I fill my plate, and for a few minutes I just eat and try to forget about the confrontation with Kirill. The silence between the family members is oddly comfortable considering everything else we have been through so far today. But the questions in my head won’t stay quiet for long.
“Maximo,” I finally say. “How is it the police haven’t just… come for you? Arrested you outright?”
“I’ve wondered that same thing myself,” Cindy chimes in from further down the table.
Adeline stares at me from across the table, appearing almost shocked at the brazen question, but Maximo doesn’t seem offended as he takes another sip of wine and wipes his mouth on his napkin.
He leans back, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “Because I’m insulated. My father set it up that way decades ago. He helped fund and build many of the businesses in this city. Those businesses formed small local unions. You’ve heard their names, the Grocer’s Association, the Eastport Shopping District, and so on. Each of those groups collects membership fees from its businesses.”
“And that’s legal?”
“Perfectly,” he replies. “The unions provide surveillance and protection services. You know how there’s a large homeless population in town? They almost never bother businesses that pay their dues. The ones who don’t… well, things around them tend to fall apart—loitering, vandalism, slow deliveries, inspectors suddenly taking an interest. Nothing I have to order. The city has a way of showing them the cost of operating without support.”
I arch an eyebrow. “So, they’re… pressured.”
Maximo smirks. “Call it incentivized. Membership keeps a business running smoothly. Refusing tends to make problems appear. Most owners figure it out quickly.”
He gestures lightly with his wineglass. “Now, all those unions fall under the umbrella of my family’s corporation, which answers to me. That structure shields me. Seventy percent of the businesses in this city belong to one association or another. Whether they realize it or not, they’re buying their way into my good graces and earning the privilege of operating in my city. And because the associations and the corporation are the ones on paper, the police can’t name me directly in any investigation.”
Enzo speaks up and says, “The hierarchy is airtight. If there’s a crime at the street level, maybe it’s one of our agents. But responsibility never makes it back up the chain.”
I nod slowly, understanding the elegance of it, and how impossible it would be for an outsider to pull apart. “So, the Bratva can’t really ‘take over’ with their own men or operations. They would have to completely replace you at the top, like kicking a spider out of its web.”
“That’s a good way to think of it. All the city is my web, but to get to me at the head, you have to deal with the thousands of little spiders on every thread before you can ever reach me.”
I open my mouth to ask more questions about how his businesses are arranged, but I pause when Leonard lays a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s stick to lighter subjects at dinner, if you please my dear.”
“Of course.” The men obviously don’t want to get into any more specifics in certain company.
I understand immediately when I see Cindy’s eyes are fixed on me, not vacant, but sharp, as if she’s listening to something I can’t hear.
By the time we finish dinner and say our goodbyes to the family, the weight of the day has caught up to me. As Maximo and I climb into bed together, my mind is still turning over what he told me, even as sleep pulls me under. Maximo must have been exhausted as well, because he only pulls me close, draping an arm over me before we both fall asleep.
The next morning, we’re awakened by an unexpected interruption. One of the household staff knocks on our door to report, “Chef Francis hasn’t shown up for work.”
Maximo frowns as he wipes the sleep from his eyes and glances at the clock. “It’s after eight already. That’s odd. Francis has never missed a day.”
“Maybe he’s sick. I thought I saw him shaking last night,” I remark.
“Odd,” he replies. “I’ll have Enzo send someone to check on him.”
“Good. Now, come on,” I say, as I roll out of the bed and pick up the nearby bathrobe to cover myself. “I get nauseous if I don’t eat when I wake up. Let me make breakfast for you today.”
The house still feels off after the events of the pastfew days, and now Francis missing, and a Bratva soldier is moaning through the vents. Cooking shouldn’t feel normal, but somehow, it does.
We go downstairs together, and I pull the bread and things I’ll need from the pantry, then dig through the refrigerator until I find a pound of bacon and a carton of eggs. This is the first time I’ve gone through the motions of cooking since the fire, and to my surprise, practicing everything my father taught me doesn’t sting. Instead, it makes me feel closer to him in a way that’s been missing since the funeral. Maximo sits at the counter, watching as I set a plate in front of him. “You know how to cook,” he admits when he sees what I’ve prepared.
