Page 86 of Hot Momosa

“Yeah.” Ignoring the ache in my chest, I grabbed the container of food I’d made for the poodles from the fridge. “They eat this better than the dry crap. I’ll text you the recipe.”

Gabe clenched his jaw but otherwise remained a silent observer.

“You love them?” Artie’s voice rose an octave.

“Of course I love them.” I patted my thigh, but the dogs remained by Artie’s side.

He shook his head. “But you’re a mobster.”

“Things have changed,” Gabe said.

Artie tilted his head. “How is your father?”

“He’s in Sicily under the care of a hospice team.” I put the dogs’ bowls and toys into another bag.

“I wish I could say I was sorry, but…he’s not a good…” Artie shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “He did order me killed.”

Gabe closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “And I’ve done everything in my power to make things right. Like I said, our situation has changed.”

Artie glanced between us.

“He’s telling the truth.” I motioned to my brother. “He runs a bar on Bourbon Street, and I have my hotel and restaurant. We’re completely legit.”

Artie’s eyes widened. “Is it… Is it safe for me in New Orleans?”

Gabe nodded. “It’s doubtful my father will return to the States. Even if he did, I doubt he’d remember you.”

Artie winced.

I shot my brother a dirty look. No one wanted to hear the man who’d ordered them killed cared so little he wouldn’t remember their face. “What Gabe means is that our father has a lot on his mind these days. For what it’s worth, he’s no longer associated with the mob either.”

Artie seemed to take it all in for a few moments before he nodded. “Maybe we could work out a visitation arrangement?”

I stopped packing and gave him my full attention.

“I’m living in…” He glanced at Gabe and swallowed hard. “I’m in Marigny, walking distance from here.”

My brother ran his hand over the back of his neck. “All of the money I sent you to start a new life, and you came back here?”

I didn’t give two shits where he’d been, only that he was close enough to come to some sort of poodle custody agreement. “Four days a week with me, three with you.”

Artie squared his shoulders. “You own a hotel. I assume you work weekends. I’ll take them Thursday mornings until Sunday night.”

“Deal.” I blew out a sigh of relief.

“And I’ll walk them. No more dog walker service for my babies.”

“You should have quit while you were ahead.” I smirked. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Them. I was watching them, and only a couple of weeks.” His voice rose in pitch and in volume. “I swear it.”

“Gunnar’s down for a nap.” Dahlia returned to the kitchen and turned to Artie. “Did I hear you right? You’ve been keeping an eye on the building?”

“I have, but it’s not what it sounds like.” He gave her a weak smile.

Gabe glanced between us. “Were you watching the building this morning?”

Artie gave a slight nod.

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