Page 41 of Beauty and the Daddy
Mornings were for handling threats, the afternoons for making money no dirtier than your grandpa's mind, and midnights for sins.
Now, it's all Belle.
She's officially hijacked my brain.
I've been staring at the same contract for twenty minutes, and all I can see is her face, laughing with my daughter like they've known each other forever.
It's a problem.
I don't do distractions. In my world, they don't nick you—they bury you.
But there she is, living rent-free between my ears, and I can't evict her no matter how hard I try.
The Russians are waiting for an answer. The Colombians want confirmation.
The Russians ping, the Colombians wait, and all I can think about is Belle's mouth opening on a gasp she tried to swallow when she came.
I stare at numbers until they blur. The desk lamp hums like a mosquito.
Manhattan glitters past the glass, a million tiny knives.
I rub the bridge of my nose and try to remember if I ate, or was it just coffee this morning, because Belle looked far too pretty from the window I sat by, while she stood in the garden, playing with my kid?
Down the hall, Sofia drops something and squeals, but I hear Belle's voice. Soft, gentle, unbothered.
I told myself letting Belle watch her was logistics.
It wasn't.
I pull up the security feed again, telling myself it's just to check on Sofia.
The hallway is empty now. They've moved down the stairs, heading to the living room.
Belle sits cross-legged on the floor, helping Sofia build a Lego castle.
That ridiculous orange bowling ball she calls Meatball, is perched on the sofa, smacking at that frightened giant I call a dog.
The noise is domestic, plastic bricks clicking, a child's command, a cat's smug thwack, and it presses on my ribs.
I didn't think this house would sound like that again after Elena.
I click off the feed and stand up. My office feels too small suddenly, like the walls are closing in.
She's wearing my ring. She's playing with my daughter. She's making my house feel like a home for the first time in years.
And that terrifies me more than any hit man ever could.
The door opens behind me without a knock. I know who it is before I turn.
Only one person in this house has the balls to enter without permission.
Declan likes to arrive unannounced. He thinks it keeps me honest.
What it really keeps is my patience running thin.
"Working hard, big brother or hardly working?"
"What do you want, Declan?"
