Page 34 of Married to the Mafia

“Zinnias,” Mikey replied. “How many can I get?”

Brandi balked. “Just something for the kitchen would be plenty.” Did this man do everything over-the-top?

Iris tapped something out of sight. “I’ve got about four dozen ready to sell. That really would be a lot if you don’t know what you want to do with them.”

“I’ve got a lot of space.” He tipped his head. “I’ll take three, and can I have a replacement order set up to be delivered in a month?”

Brandi felt her eyebrows disappear into her hairline. “Have you completely lost your mind? What if you hate them?”

Iris laughed softly. “You’ll get used to it.” She turned her smile back up to Mikey. “I can get all of that set up. Do you want recurring shipments, or just the one replacement?”

Brandi had no idea how to respond to that.

“Book me at least three months,” Mikey said. “If we’re ready for a change by then, I’ll let Megan know.”

Iris tapped the thing they couldn’t see again. “All set. Are you waiting to bring them home yourself or do you want them delivered?”

“Delivery. You know I’m not that patient.”

Brandi bit down on her tongue to keep from snorting with laughter.

Iris let her amusement show as she handed over a receipt. “Your delivery should arrive in about two hours. I went ahead and charged the card on file.”

Mikey scrawled his signature on the necessary line, took his copy, and promised to see her soon before nudging Brandi out the door.

When they were back in the car, Brandi said, “Holy crap. Did you do something I need to know about? There are women who automatically assume that any flowers are a sign of guilt, and you just went and bought three dozen for the next three months!”

Mikey laughed. His head tipped back against the seat, his shoulders shook, and the car filled with the air-warming, skin-tingling sound of his amusement. He grinned at her and reached over, stroking his fingers down the curve of her throat. “I’ve done a lot of things most men would feel guilty for,” he said. “But this isn’t that. This is just something for you.”

She felt herself flush. “Why?”

The blue of his eyes seemed to glow in the afternoon sun. “Because you deserve it.”

“Good afternoon, Michele.” The voice on the phone was tight with discomfort, probably also displeasure. Both were understandable. Their allegiance, such as it was, was not necessarily from the basis of mutual respect or with the intention of equal partnership. All of which made the fact that the chief of police was calling Mikey’s personal cell phone that much more alarming. “I hope now isn’t a bad time.”

Mikey closed out of the program he’d been working in and rolled back from his desk. It was true he’d come into his office in search of a distraction from his newfound obsession with his fiancée, but this was not the one he’d wanted. “Chief Silva, I can’t say I was expecting to hear from you. Is there something you need?”

Chief of Police Rodrigo Silva wasn’t what most would consider a bad man. Nor was he a good, clean, upright police officer. The few shady things he’d been caught with his hand sufficiently buried in had been more than enough of a basis for the original blackmail material years earlier. If the man had done his damnedest to press forward as a clean cop since, pretending the De Salvos simply didn’t exist altogether, he’d probably have solid groundwork for fighting back. But he hadn’t. That was his problem. He was weak. He succumbed to temptation, and got in over his head, and so the cycle continued.

It worked out better for one side than the other, and they all knew it. That was just how Dante wanted things.

Silva cleared his throat roughly. “I’ll get right to it,” he said. “As far as I’m aware, this doesn’t strictly involve you or yours … but I’m having trouble getting hold of someone connected to you.”

Mikey frowned, but opted to continue listening.

“Earlier this week, an employee of yours had her car and her credit cards stolen. Fuck knows why she was out on Hogue to begin with, but—”

“Did you find the car?” Mikey asked, cutting the grumbling man off.

Silva hesitated. “You’re aware of the situation?”

Mikey ground his teeth. “Yes, I’m aware of the goddamn situation. Brandi Richardson is my fucking fiancée, who do you think she called when she couldn’t get off Hogue Street?”

The older man made a distinctly startled noise, grunted, and shuffled something in the background. “Well … maybe that makes more sense, then…”

“Silva,” Mikey snapped. “Did you or did you not find her car? Or at least a lead on the assholes who took it from her?”

“All of the above.”

---