Page 3 of Mr. Kelly

“Hello, Mrs. Kelly,” I greet her once she answers.

“Can’t chat now, Theodore,” she responds, bypassing the greeting that used to send her into giggles.

When we first married, Helena couldn’t get enough of me calling her Mrs. Kelly. Now, she brushes it off without thought.

“Why? You’re usually out of practice by now.”

She uses the huff she reserves for minor inconveniences. “Yes, well, not tonight. I have much to do before the performance.”

Sitting back, I squeeze the bridge of my nose. “I hope not dancing. You’re going to stress yourself and your body out.”

“Get off my back about making your baby,” she says in a tone that takes me aback.

I pause and look at the phone. “No, I was showing concern about the welfare of mywife.What do you mean ‘my baby?’ It would beourbaby.” We’ve been having similar tiffs like this lately. I say something and she assumes it is baby related. “Never mind, enjoy your night.”

I hang up before we find ourselves fighting again. Everything is bliss until we get to the subject of babies; a topic that I have not initiated lately, but still end up arguing about. I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. My forty-second birthday is fast approaching, and I’d expected to be gushing about my baby going to at least pre-kindergarten by now, only I’m still at square one. That would be an easier pillto swallow if Helena and I were at least starving for the other’s attention. Even with all my different businesses, I feel like she’s the distracted one. Closing my eyes for a bit, I do the breathing exercises I’ve mastered over the years to keep me from losing my shit.

My phone rings, but I don’t open my eyes to study the display. I can tell who it is by the ringtone. A hint of a smile curves my lips as I answer.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah? Is that how you greet your only fucking friend?”

“You’ve run off the others,” I joke.

“Because I’m the only fucking ally you need.” He tries to sound light, but he’s less than half joking.

Andrea Tesio is the technical head of the local crime family. He’s everything Surly is aspiring to be. Hell, I’m an aspiration for Surly and I didn’t stay in the life. His dad, my godfather, was arrested on a federal technicality, but nothing happens in Labrama without him knowing. My past with his present makes me untouchable, because no one wants to be the one to cross the unspoken leader of this city.

“Are you going to opening night?” he asks, jumping into business.

I scrub a hand over my chin. While I've loved supporting my wife, I’m starting to feel like that support is one-sided. She hasn’t been to the grand opening of any of my ventures, saying that the Kelly Family have earned enough money for me to live off my inheritance and be a man of the arts. I enjoy a good symphony, opera, or ballet, but they’re not my passions. Even though I dabble in the arts, I do not live there like she does.

“I doubt it. I’m really busy. Business is picking up at Illicitus, and I want to make sure it all runs smoothly. You should go, though. She’s a beautiful Odette.” I say it with a smile because I mean the last part.

“Uh huh.” His hum tells me he’s not buying my shit but won’t force me to speak of it. “What’s this I hear about Surly? Do I need to fuck up his establishment and kill his gangster fantasies?”

I chuckle and shake my head. Andrea has been trained to sit at the throne, but he’s bloodthirsty and is constantly searching for a reason to pick up his brass knuckles.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. He has some sort of issue with my bartender.”

“River? That sexy little bronze black girl with dark eyes, big hair, and the body that she needs to serve to me instead of the drinks?”

I shift in my chair at the thought of her working behind the bar with nothing but that bow tie she held up.

“I guess. She ran in here and hid under my desk. Three of Surly’s men showed up seconds later.”

“Under your desk? Were you still sitting at it, because…”

“Focus, Andrea. They’re after her for a reason. I’m trying to figure it out, but it’ll just be faster to ask her after work. Get this, I gave her the key to the penthouse upstairs and she said being a mistress is against her religion. Why the fuck would she think that?”

Andrea doesn’t laugh like I expect him to. Instead, he answers, “A lot of men in your position have them.”

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“So if a wealthy woman at least ten years older than you handed you a key to her place, you wouldn’t have the same concern?”

“If she just saw me running for my life, no.”

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