Page 118 of Frozen Heart
“Ajello,” Adriano addresses the Italian don. “If my team discovers any more of your spies trying to weasel into my company by attempting to be hired on for a job… Or if it’s discovered that one has infiltrated any of the otherla Famigliabusinesses, I have Don Spada’s approval to act in Boston Cosa Nostra’s best interest. And that means, taking a leaf out of your book and returning your man to you in body bags. Multiple body bags.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The don shrugs and takes a sip of his drink.
“Mm-hmm, sure.” Adriano’s gaze makes another sweep around the room, stopping briefly on each man. “Get your shit together, gentlemen, or find someone else to transport your crap. With that, consider this meeting adjourned.”
Heavy silence descends upon the room. My husband pulls me closer into his side, then turns and leads us out, leaving nine of the deadliest men in the country enjoying the rest of their whiskey in our library.
Once we reach the grand foyer, Adriano stops by the wall of framed diplomas and accolades that feature Bartholomew Shaw’s name. He had them moved here from the late psychiatrist’s office. I often find my husband gazing at this wall in silence.
“Do you miss him?” I ask.
“Why would I miss that demented ass?” I hear the lie in his tone as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone.
“Are all the teams in place?” he asks as soon as his call connects.
“Affirmative,” a deep male voice says on the other end of the line. It sounds familiar. “Az is on the roof, covering the main gate. Just in case.”
“I don’t care who it is, anyone makes a dumb move or lingers longer than five minutes, shoot him.”
“Ten-four.” The short reply comes through before the call goes dead.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Kai Mazur. He’s the leader of the sniper team covering the estate today.”
I widen my eyes at him. That’s Nera’s husband.
“You hired a sniper team?”
“Yes. And they are outfitted with top-of-the-line rifles, courtesy of one Don Luca Rossi.”
“Good God, Adriano. Isn’t that overkill?”
My husband frames my face with his hands. “Hardly. Nothing is too much when it comes to your and our precious baby girl’s safety, Little Iris.” He presses his lips to mine.
“You can’t shoot your friends,” I mumble into his mouth.
“They are not my friends,” he grumbles while his lips feather along the column of my neck.
Bonus scene – Daddy Adriano
I can’t tear my eyes off the cutest bundle dozing peacefully in my arms. She’s so tiny.
I’m not an idiot. Of course, I knew babies were small. But before my daughter was born, I had never held a child. The first time I was handed my precious little girl, the bone-chilling fear nearly paralyzed me. I was utterly afraid that I would somehow hurt her with my clumsy, big hands. Even now, almost two months later, I still can’t quite come to terms with how small she is. How beautiful.
“There,” I whisper as I pluck a stray dog hair from the edge of the pale-pink blanket she’s wrapped in. “Daddy will once again try to explain to the bad doggie that he shouldn’t be sleeping next to you.”
The dog in question is sitting next to the baby’s bed, not looking the least bit guilty. Instead, he follows each of my movements with a steely, penetrating gaze. Practically as soon as we brought our daughter home, Taffy appointed himself as her personal guard. He won’t leave her side, insisting on constantly keeping her in his sight. We even had to relocate his dog bed to the nursery.
“No more sleeping in the crib,” I admonish in a quiet voice. “You have your own comfy spot. Got it?”
Taffy’s lips peel back, flashing a row of sharp canine teeth at me. The message behind that “smile” is rather clear:Try removing me, and I’ll remove your hand.
The damn dog still hates my guts. But I don’t care. The important thing is that he is absolutely crazy about both my girls. He won’t hesitate to rip out the jugular of anyone who tries to harm my wife and daughter. And I can’t be happier about that. But maybe I could ask Belov if he has an additional dog available. One that comes from the same litter. One with a more normal name, perhaps? I never take chances with my family, so doubling the protection is a good idea.
Little Gioia stirs in my arms, and I resume pacing around her room while gently rocking her. She’s usually a deep sleeper, but, at times, it takes a while before she succumbs to slumber. I’ve discovered that she likes listening to my voice while she drifts off.
“So, Daddy made a very big deal earlier this week,” I say. “Critical for further development of our transportation routes. I’ll tell you more, but it needs to stay our little secret. You can’t tell Mommy, okay? Your mommy doesn’t like how I handle business sometimes, and if she finds out what I did this time, she’ll be very sad. And Daddy can never bear to see Mommy sad. Not even a little. Mommy wants everyone to be happy. Even the people Daddy works with. But that’s not always the best thing to do. You understand, don’t you?” I adjust the blanket around Gioia’s neck, tucking it under her tiny chin so she’s more comfortable.
