Page 19 of Saved By A God
He still says nothing when I pull his gun from where it’s tucked into his waistband. I set it down on my coffee table, then taking hold of his shoulders, I give him a soft nudge.
“Lie down.”
I feel some relief when he listens. After he’s stretched out on the couch with one of the throw cushions tucked under his head, I sit down on the floor beside him and place my hand on his chest, over his heart.
He moves his right arm and rests his palm against the side of my neck while his left hand covers mine on his chest.
A heavy breath shudders from him as he closes his eyes, and I sit dead still, watching as he finally gives in to his exhaustion and falls asleep.
Silently, my tears begin to fall. I won’t forgive myself for the pain I’ve caused Enzo.
If there was any chance for us, it’s gone now.
Chapter6
Enzo
The Present…
Enzo, 31. Rosie, 27.
The private dining room atGianna’ssits at the back of the restaurant, separated from the lunch crowd by frosted glass panels and a door no one opens unless they’re invited.
It’s one of the many restaurants my family owns. The food is excellent, the service flawless, and more than one business deal in New York has been settled over a drink at this table.
I glance at the three men I’m meeting to discuss the new rate that will continue keeping them firmly in our pockets.
Mark Roberts, president of the Construction Trades Council, is pushing sixty and built like a retired boxer.
Beside him sits Russel Underhill, the union treasurer, a lean man with balding gray hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing. Closest to me, Michael O’Donnell, head of the laborers’ division, swallows the last bite of salmon while setting down his fork.
We’ve been doing this dance for years. The only thing that changes is the amount they walk out with.
Mark wipes his mouth with a napkin before looking at me. “The costs keep climbing, Mr. Falco.”
My expression remains neutral as I mutter, “They always do.”
“Which means we need to revisit our arrangement.”
These men don’t have any leverage. I only tolerate the meetings because keeping everyone happy simply costs less than paying to fix problems later.
Leaning back in my chair, I slowly twirl my tumbler of whiskey. “Let me hear the amount.”
Russel slides a folder across the table. “The board voted unanimously.”
Sure, they did.
Opening it, my eyes scan the figures, and just like I expected, the increase is higher than last year’s request.
It’s not ridiculous but also not reasonable.
Shutting the folder, I take a moment to make eye contact with each of them.
Michael clears his throat, and looking nervous, he says, “You know how it is, Mr. Falco. There are labor shortages, new regulations, and rising insurance.”
I let out a chuckle that sounds more like a warning, and the men bristle. “Funny how those same issues never seem to hurt your finances.”
Thanks to Rosie, I know exactly what goes on behind the scenes.
