Page 39 of Dangerous Devotion

“You and Serena would’ve gotten along great. She has a mouth on her too.”

“Good for her,” Lynette says. “Call her up if you want to. I don’t see as how it could make it any worse.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“You’re tellin’ me you got the cheek to go to Vinny Carbini asking a favor but you don’t have the balls to call the girl that stitched me up? She was gone on you, man. No way she’s over you. Give it a try,” Louie encourages me.

“There’s my hype man,” I say wryly, but I needed to hear it.

When they leave my office, I make a beeline for my phone and bring up her number. I take a second and just look at the photo I have on her contact information. Something inside my chest softens and warms, and I think how fucked I am if she doesn’t reconsider. Because I’m just as crazy about her as I was the day we met. No chance I’m getting over it anytime soon or ever.

I dial her number. It rings a couple of times, and my pulse ratchets up because I’m gonna get voicemail and don’t have a message planned out. I steel myself to hit the end button as soon as the voicemail prompt kicks on, but instead of that I get a sleepy, “Hello?”

“It’s me,” I say, heart pounding so fast because I hear her voice, and I love her voice. I’ve missed it, missed her so much. “How are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m okay,” she mumbles.

“Did I wake you up? It’s two in the afternoon.” Dismay creeps in my voice. What if she’s depressed and can’t get out of bed?

“I work nights now. I got off at six or something and then I met Caylee for coffee. Did you need something? Your stitches healing up and everything?”

“Yeah, they are. You did a good job.”

“Good. So, why are you calling Jack?”

“I texted you, and you never answered me.”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

“I miss you,” I say to her, and the weight of those words nearly chokes off my air. My mouth is dry from the effort of admitting it.

“I know,” she says, kindly. “I miss you too. God knows I do. But it wasn’t going to work out. I could act like it was all fine and you had a regular job till you show up for pancakes bleeding from the side.”

“Are you blaming me for getting stabbed?”

“No, not at all,” she says coolly. “I’m blaming you for doing business with people who might stab you. Any chance of that should be an automatic ‘no, we are not doing this deal thank you,’” she says hotly. “I guess I’m not the cool girl, the type that’s okay with the danger. But I couldn’t just smile and act like it was fine. It scared the hell out of me, Jack.” she says.

I hear her voice go high at the end like she’s trying not to cry. I want to hold her, to crush her to my chest and make her promises I know I can’t keep.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, barely above a breath. “I can’t. And I don’t think I can talk to you, just say hi like this, check in like we’re friends. It hurts too much.”

She hangs up on me. Serena just hit the end button without saying goodbye. The wrench of emotions twisting in my chest, the roiling thoughts competing in my brain are overwhelming.

I lean back in my chair, hands clasped behind my head as I stared up at the ceiling without seeing it. She’s hurting. She misses me, too. I can’t tell if I’m devastated and want to protect her or if I’m elated, victorious that she misses me and couldn’t just walk away from us and what we shared as easily as she seemed to.

I stand up and pace the room a few times, take in my million-dollar view and remind myself I’m not a teenager who’s going to call Lynette in her office crowing that my ex-girlfriend misses me. There will be no bragging even though I feel like a Roman candle is lit up behind my rib cage. She cares for me enough that there’s still a chance. If it’s too painful to talk to me and she wants to cut all ties, then I’m not going to crowd her.

I’m just not going to give her enough time and space to forget me. I’ll have one of my guys look into it, find out where she works. Maybe I have some business to do with the place, whatever it is.

When I wrap up my next meeting, I check in with my assistant, but there’s still no word from Vinny Carbini. I don’t want to call again, knowing it looks desperate. He’s probably enjoying himself watching me squirm on the hook and knowing I’ll owe him a favor in return.

I talk to my logistics supervisor about relations with the buyer. He can’t give me a confident response about whether they’re going to pull out of the very lucrative deal if we can’t move tonight. They’re new to the game stateside and a little nervous about being caught. If they get fingered in anything that smells of racketeering or moving illegal goods, their permit to do business in the US is in the garbage.

I’m restless and increasingly pissed off at Carbini over not returning my call. It’s disrespectful and makes me want to flick his crappy 90s toupee.

When the business day ends and I’ve heard nothing from Carbini’s office, I give the grim go-ahead to Louie and the boys. We’ll have to brazen it out, try to move across rival territory in the most silent and circumspect manner we can. We’ll avoid drawing attention to ourselves, make sure to evade surveillance cameras or hack them if necessary. Leave no trace, get to the drop point, do the deed and then scatter.

“No one steps a foot over the Carbini border on the way back. I don’t care if you have to call an Uber and go through fuckin’ Delaware to get home. We minimize the incursion to their property and get out as quick as we can. If anybody so much as drops a gum wrapper I’m gonna personally see to it that they’re living on soup through a straw for six months, you understand?” I tell one of my lieutenants.

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