Page 17 of Naughty Santa Daddy

Mamá shifts in her seat, leaning over to whisper in my ear, “She’s hadthe sadnesssince Isabella was born. She won’t even go to therapy anymore.”

Postpartum or not, there’s nothing wrong with Francesca’s hearing if the look she sends our way is any indicator. Without a word, she reaches for the wine bottle closest to her and fills her glass nearly to the rim.

While Dante seems to be trying to figure out how to gracefully address that while she takes a deep sip, it’s Uncle Carlo who reaches for a dish as she’s putting it back down—completely spilling the glass. In the melee of cleaning up the table, the remaining wine bottles are removed.

“Are you happy down there, Alessandra?” Dante asks, catching me alone in the hallway that separates the living room from Papá’s office.

“I am…” I stop once I hear raised voices in the office, my eyes cutting to my cousin’s.

“Your father is determined that you’ll be moving back. Earlier today, I countered orders to have the contents of your apartment packed and shipped up here. Since both Enzo and I are on the same page, for once,” Dante drolly informs me about what’s been going on behind the scenes. “Dad is advising patience as the case unfolds.”

I let out a snort, knowing damn well that when Uncle Carlo advises patience, it’s because he’s already sent Carmine in to sort out the facts.

Dante’s smirk and tip of his head confirm my thought. “Some things never change, Alessandra.”

With that, he rejoins the men in the office.

Knowing that both of my cousins are advocating on my behalf eases my need to eavesdrop outside the office. If they’re working on Papá, that leaves Mamá for me to convince.

Catching my reflection in the large, gold-framed mirror, the small cut on my face reminds me that while I’ve been safely hidden away with my family, several of my co-workers’ families never got to see their loved ones again.

With that thought, I promise myself to call the office first thing in the morning. I know I’ll miss any memorial services, but it would be wrong not to offer condolences to the families in mourning.

Entering the room, my Aunt Gina gives me a large, silly smile. “There she is! Alessandra, you’ve been holding out on us. I want to hear all about this man you met!”

I never knew how much I’d miss Alabama.

Goliath

“Prez…” I start, interrupting him and Wash when I get back to the clubhouse.

I hadn’t noticed that Wash was on the phone when I approached them, but I pause when I do. Miller gives me a look, as though he’s assessing how pressing it is that we talk right now.

Holding his stare, he understands that I’m not simply checking on Drake. I’m just not worried about him; I have no doubt that after a few hours behind bars, it’ll get worked out. What I need Miller to understand is that we’re not looking in the right direction.

With a tilt of his head, Miller turns on his heel and we head over to the corner of the bar. He reaches over the counter for a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses.

“You smell like you’ve been rolling around with a corpse,” he grunts, pouring us each a couple fingers and sliding my glass over to me.

“A dumpster seemed like the best hiding place. Of course, if I knew how long it’d take to get theall-clear, I probably would have opted for cuffs.” I throw back the amber liquid and wait while he pours two more. “We’re not looking at this right, Prez. The shooters were organized. Besides the van, there was another team who panned through the garage.”

Wash walks up to us, and I push my second shot in his direction before continuing.

“Drake’s hunch paid off. They had junkers parked outside, but these guys were dressed like they were going to a funeral, and left the warehouse in high-end, matching sedans,” I pause, letting that sink in with them. “Then there’s the woman who was in the paper.”

“The looker from the law firm?” Wash asks with a knowing grin, and I nod.

“She was supposed to be one of the elves. We were talking outside the garage and retreated there after the van pulled up,” I pause, wanting to weigh how much I tell them about her, even though I know my allegiance falls with the Jokers. “She kept her head and ended up jimmying open a camper top on a truck. That’s where we waited things out.”

“Fucking Goliath, man,” Wash laughs, reaching up to heartily slap my back, instantly assuming what I didn’t say. Miller’s face remains stoic as he considers the alternatives we haven’t looked at already.

“Set a meeting with Williams,” he tells Wash. “Let him think we’re coming in to talk about Drake, then we dig for info on the girl.”

Wash begins dialing on his phone before he starts to step away from us. Feeling the weight of Miller’s glare, I swing my eyes back to face him.

“You said ‘she kept her head,’” he starts after he signals the prospect tending the bar, and water instantly appears before us. “What stuck out most in your mind about how she acted?”

“She tensed up and started moving for cover almost as soon as the van came screeching into the lot. When we had cover, she insisted I take off the red get-up and then moved low, between the cars, like she knew what she was doing,” I tell him exactly what caught my attention at the time.

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