Page 37 of Dearly Betrayed

“That’ll take a while. You in a micro-managing kind of mood today?”

I tighten my grip. “Don’t give me shit.”

“Alright, relax. I got the reports all ready for you, don’t worry.” He clears his throat and starts to read.

There’s a lot of business to go over. From the legitimate clubs to the less-than-legitimate money laundering fronts. Shell companies, tax havens. Money moving all the time. Our guys in Ireland haven’t had any trouble from the Grady Clan ever since my marriage, which is a good thing, but it makes me wonder what problem’s going to come up next.

And if I’ll be able to handle it from here.

Max is a good right hand. He’s clever, strong, ruthless. But he lacks a keen business sense. He’s more of a street fighter than a CEO.

Jackson had all of that. He was the only person I ever really trusted in this world, and without him, my organization is weaker. I would’ve been fine knowing he had control of things—instead, I have to settle for Max, who is only just adequate.

“I want hourly updates,” I tell him once he’s finished going over the business. “Email is preferred, but call with important things.”

“I can do that.”

“Put a couple of secretaries on it. Make sure nothing falls through the cracks.”

He’s silent for a moment. “You sure this is necessary? I’ve been helping run the Costa family for a long time.”

“I know that, but this is my life. Now that I’m stuck here in the States, this is how things have to be.”

Another pause. I can tell he doesn’t like it. “Alright. That’s how it has to be.”

“Good. I want to hear from you in an hour.” I hang up the phone.

And get all of ten seconds to myself before the door to my office opens and Casey storms in.

“Hello, sister-in-law,” I say, crossing my arms. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“You didn’t get her a phone or a computer yet?”

My eyebrows raise. “Sorry. What?”

“Fallon. She’s a thousand miles from home surrounded by strangers and you didn’t get her any way to communicate with her family?”

I clear my throat. “I thought she had her own stuff.”

“Well, she didn’t make it seem that way.” Casey jabs a finger at me. “Buy her a phone. Get her an international plan. Stop being a dick. Those first two will be easy, the third will take more time.”

I sigh and rub my face. “Anything else? Would you like to criticize my office while you’re at it?”

“Yes. It’s tacky. Do better. Have a nice day.” She turns and leaves.

I grumble to myself, but Casey’s got a point. I’ve been busy feeling sorry for myself, and haven’t considered some of Fallon’s needs. My wife isn’t a prisoner—not exactly, anyway—and she’s allowed to communicate with people back home. I call up my secretary and order her to drop everything. “Make sure my wife has the best, and get it here as soon as possible.”

Around lunch, after a few more updates from Max, the phone and laptop arrives. “Unlimited international calls, texts, emails, whatever,” my secretary says as she hurries off.

I carry the stuff to our condo. I’m not sure why I’m delivering it myself—I’ve got plenty of people that can do this for me—but I want to see Fallon’s face. I let her sleep in the guest room again the night before, even if that’s against my own rules, mostly because we had a really intense encounter and I feel like she needs some time to process.

She doesn’t believe me about the club. That’s pretty obvious. She’s got this idea about the Costa family, and it doesn’t matter if I’m right. There’s this picture in her head of how the war shaped up, and that doesn’t include her family as the aggressors.

I find my wife in my bedroom. She’s in the bathroom, the door shut. The bed looks rumpled, as if she was just taking a nap. “Are you busy?” I ask as I knock.

The water’s running. A bath or a shower, I can’t be sure. “Well, the door’s shut and locked and I’m in the bathroom, so yes.”

“Thank you for that sarcasm. I brought you some things.”

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