Devon

Friday – Three days later

Over the course of the week, Victoria and I have continued to flirt with one another while dancing around the fact that I still don’t know anything about her and she knows nothing of my future plans. She suspects that I’m going to make a play for the local supply chain, but I refuse to discuss it with her. I’ve been extremely vague with everyone including the mayor, Felix, and Tiny. It will eventually become necessary to share the details, but that’s still a few months down the road.

“I feel like we’ve been having the same damn conversation for the last three nights,” Victoria says after taking a bite of Confit de Canard. “The food has been amazing, but I still don’t have any idea what you have up your sleeve.”

“And I still know nothing about your family,” I remind her, as it’s still the primary source of my distrust. “As long as you keep the walls up, you won’t be getting shit from me. Why do my plans matter to you anyway? It’s not like you’re going to be affected by them. Are you?”

“Our business interests are more intertwined than you might want to believe,” she replies, pausing to consider her next words. “Josh Glavine, for example. The local business owner who you recently shook down.”

“Yes, because he wasn’t paying his debts,” I explain, instantly wondering how much she actually knows about it. “What does that have to do with you?”

“Nothing, directly,” she replies, pushing the fried potatoes around on her plate. “But I know a very powerful man who considers him one of his best customers. If you would’ve taken him out, there would have been grave repercussions.”

“I had no intention of taking him out,” I admit. “I just needed to scare the hell out of him.”

“Okay, but that’s just one example.” She takes a forkful of potatoes into her mouth and chews them intently before speaking again. “When you try to take over a city that has been in existence for over two hundred and fifty years, you have to realize that you are stepping on lots of well-established toes. Even if on the surface, you appear to be doing the right thing.”

“This place was going to shit,” I counter, anger immediately rising in my chest. “Look around you. Everyone is better off than they were a year ago.”

“The city looks better and the average citizen is feeling better. I’ll give you that.” She sets down her fork and the seriousness of her expression intensifies. “Trust me, you need my help negotiating the waters ahead. Otherwise, everything will derail faster than you can possibly imagine.”

“Okay. I’ll take that under advisement.” I sit back, taking a deep breath and looking around the club. This was all one big mess when I arrived here. The whole downtown looked like a shell-shocked war zone. Who could’ve possibly been benefiting from that? I study her facial expressions as she picks up her fork and resumes eating. Who is she to blow into my city and imply that I’m stepping on more important people’s toes? “You and I are going for a drive.”

“Where?” she asks, quickly devouring the last piece of chicken. “My god, where did you find your chef?”

“We’re going to my place. I have a birthday present for you . . . and I found him in France.” I shoot her a smile, knowing just how much she has enjoyed the food the past few days. It’s time to execute an alternate approach to gleaning information from her. It’s been obvious since the moment we met that there is a strong mutual attraction between us. Everything about her turns me on, in spite of her mysterious past. She has the most powerful presence of any woman I have ever met. She commands respect and exhibits incredible control without making any reference to a third party or using a powerful family name. She comes across as if she could be royalty, but she could just as easily be the daughter of a notorious mob boss or a DEA informant, for that matter. The fact that I have no idea should be scaring me off, but instead, it intrigues me beyond reason. One way or another, I am going to get the goods on this woman. Until then, I’m not going to give her anything that can be used against me.

Victoria

Tonight, I’m going with him instead of turning down his invitation. The sexual tension has been growing between us all week, and the intensity is reaching levels that border on annoying. I have always been the one in control, but sitting here with him tonight, I sense that my emotions are beginning to get away from me. I need him to want me more desperately than I want him if I’m going to retain the upper hand.

The way he has set up his organization makes it obvious where he is headed next, but I need to hear it from him. Then we can negotiate an amicable agreement that works for everyone. Together, we will be invincible. Apart, he is destined to crash and burn in a way that will make national headlines. It is imperative that he understands that I’m on his side. In fact, I’m the only thing standing between him and certain destruction. The hard part will be convincing him that there is actually a credible threat.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you what the TS stands for,” he says as we settle into the back of his Escalade. He is referring to the S tattooed on the inside of my right ankle that has a T hanging from it.

“I’m a huge fan of TS Eliot.” I give him my standard reply for those on the outside. “The Waste Land was genius,” I add, referring to his most famous work.

“It’s all Greek to me.” Devon shrugs, turning his gaze from my ankle back toward the window. “I never had any time for that kind of shit. Or any interest.”

“There’s more to this world than just drugs, guns, and broads. There’s a whole other world beneath the surface, but you have to stop and take a look in order to see it.” I relax into him, fully knowing the irony of my words. The only thing I know about TS Eliot is that I’ve been told to use him as my cover story. If I ever run across a devoted fan of his work, I’ll be fucked. I have tried to read his book a couple of times, but I found it about as enthralling as eating a handful of dryer lint. Fortunately, I never seem to run across any of those culturally progressive types.

“So what’s so great about The Waste Land?” he asks curiously after a lengthy pause.

“It’s only one of the greatest poems of the twentieth century,” I reply, using my standard follow-up line. “It’s a four hundred and thirty-four-line poem that is considered to be central to modern poetry.”

He smirks while pulling his phone from his pocket. He gives me a sideways glance as he punches something into Google. His smile only broadens as he reads the following words from Wikipedia. “The Waste Land is widely regarded as one of the most important poems of the twentieth century. The four hundred and thirty-four-line poem is considered a central work of modern poetry.”

“That’s what I said.” I give him my annoyed glare.

“That is exactly what you said, almost word for word.” He chuckles and turns back toward the window. “So I’m going to ask you again. What does your tattoo mean?”

“I’m a huge fan of T.S. Eliot.” I place my hand on his leg and run my fingertips along his inner thigh. “I’ll bring over a copy this weekend and read it to you as a bedtime story.” I give him my best sultry look in hopes of getting him to drop the topic. He will be getting nothing from me until after he divulges his plans. At this stage of the game, there is no upside to him knowing who I am or the fact that I actually saved his life that day when we met. Everything he needs to know will be revealed in due time.

“You’re going to like the views from my place,” he says as we drive toward the harbor. “I finally got in about two months ago.”

I feel a bit confused as we pull up to the Four Seasons, the hotel that I’ve been staying at the past several nights. “I thought we were going to your place?”

“This is where I live,” he replies with a glint in his eyes. “I bought a three-bedroom on the twenty-sixth floor.”

“So, each night, I’ve been coming back here, oblivious to the fact that you live ten floors above me?” I ask, feeling a bit foolish for missing the fact that he had moved.

“That’s why I’ve been asking you each night if you would like a ride.” He lowers his eyes, peering into mine. “You were just so quick to turn me down.”

“Maybe I don’t trust myself around you,” I reply, speaking the truth for the first time during the short ride. “Most men don’t have much of an effect on me.”

“But I’m not most men,” he whispers, leaning in to give me a kiss. “Is that why you’re so afraid to let down your guard? You know that once you let me in, you won’t be able to shake me.” He lifts his hand to my cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “Regardless of how strong you think you are, you’ve met your match.”

“Something tells me we’ve both met our match,” I reply breathlessly, knowing that the next phase of our relationship is one that I am sure to win.

“Good evening, Mr. DeLuca.” The doorman greets him warmly. “Good evening, Ma’am.” He gives me a wink, pretending not to know my name. If in doubt, say nothing is the protocol taught to all staff at the finest hotels.

“I’m good.” He waves off the bellman as we head for the private residence elevators. “So what do you think of this place?” He pauses to press the elevator button.

“It’s beautiful and the staff has been great.” I slip my hands inside his suit coat, encircling his waist. “They keep it a little too chilly in the public areas though.” Fortunately, it gives me a reason to snuggle up to him. The warmth radiating from his rock-hard body combines with the intoxicating smell of his cologne to instantly warm me right to the core. It has been a long time since I have been this infatuated with anyone, and it has been a slow burn ever since I was first given his file over two months ago. Tonight will determine whether he will be selected as a long-term associate or will become just another casualty, an unwitting soul who crossed my path. Feeling his strong hands resting upon my hips, I am sincerely hoping for a long, loyal association. Long and loyal . . . two attributes I’ve been searching for in a man.