Page 93 of Velvet Cruelty

“A crew has shown up to the north river warehouse. It looks like they’re trying to burn the place down.”

“Shit,” Doc hisses. “How many?”

“Two dozen. Fully armed as far as we can tell.”

Doc stands, pressing a napkin to his mouth. “So much for the lack of threats. Basher?”

Bobby’s already on his feet. “We’ll take the chopper,” he tells Schnee. “Tell Piscopo we’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Adriano drains his wineglass. “Fucking assholes.”

“Go,” I say. “Contact me as soon as you have news.”

“Wait, where are you all going?” January asks.

Doc walks to her side of the table and kisses her on the cheek. “You’re lucky, Tits. You get to keep your virginity another night.”

He points at me, and I nod behind January’s back. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not cruel. I won’t fuck her without Doc watching.

“Thanks for dinner, JJ,” Bobby says.

January hides her smile behind her hand. “Anytime.”

Both their cheeks are red.

“Awww,” Doc says. “Isn’t this cute?”

“Very,” I agree.

“Fucking hurry up,” Adriano growls.

I don’t go with them. I want to, but it’s a bad look for a boss to assist with what will probably end up being a minor incident. But as I watch them leave, my chest tightens. It’s never easy, sending people you love into danger.

January stares after my brothers like a little lost lamb. “Please, Mr. Morelli? Where are they going?”

“To sort out a problem with your ex-fiancé.”

Her hand lifts to her throat “Mr. Parker is burning down your warehouse?”

“No. Men who work for him are attempting to burn down our warehouse. They won’t succeed.”

“But why would he do that?”

“This is our life, bella. It’s not all of what we do, but it’s a part of it. And considering what we did to Parker, we expected this sooner and worse.”

She looks down at her half-eaten dinner. “I can’t believe this is all real.”

I briefly close my eyes. In the past week January Whitehall has surprised me with both her intelligence and naiveté. I need to know if she has a stomach for criminal activity or if she’ll continue to bury her head in the sand. “What do you know about how Parker made his money?”

“Um, I know he works in technology?”

“Very good. And do you know where he got the money for his company?”

January’s gives me a look of beautiful confusion. “He’s… a self-made man, isn’t he?”

I snort. I will never understand the American obsession with the underdog. In Europe, you’re admired for your connections, and your family name. Here, everyone wants to be known for working their way up from nothing.

“Parker is self-made as much as this…” I rap my knuckles on the dining table. “…is twenty-four-carat gold. He inherited his money. Although that’s still being too diplomatic. ‘Laundered’ is the correct word.”

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