by Bethany-Kris
Without a hint of decipherable emotion in his tone, Andino replied, “And I lied. We’re never going to be done, baby. Not now.”
God.
She hated him too.
And yet she couldn’t hate him at all. Not when she loved him.
• • •
“Are you ready for the good news?”
Haven looked up from the paperwork she had spread out on Safe Haven’s bar to see Dale crossing the club’s empty floor. In his hand, the realtor held a manilla file. On his face, a large, pleased smile.
She straightened on the barstool, and pushed the papers into a semi-organized pile that wouldn’t be in their way during their conversation. Sunday happened to be the only day Safe Haven was closed, but despite the fact she could have done all her paperwork from home, Haven still found herself coming to the club.
For the memories, maybe.
Nostalgia.
She only had to peer around the empty place to know she was going to miss it once it was finally gone. The constant movement, and the people. All her hard work, and the decades of history that had walked on these floors.
Yeah, she’d miss it.
Her father, surprisingly, didn’t have an issue with her selling the business. It was the fact she was going to upend her entire life and put it on hold that her father and mother took issue with. Even if her mom was sick.
“Tell me the good news,” Haven said. “I need some lately.”
To say the fucking least.
Her whole life was one giant mess after another, and nothing seemed to be changing about that any time soon. It all stemmed right back to Andino, too. She should just tell him to fuck on off to wherever the hell he came from, but a part of her didn’t want to. Haven wasn’t the type of woman to let a man play games with her head and heart, but here she was.
If only …
If only she could sell the club, and her house, then she would be free and clear to do whatever in the hell she wanted to do. Free to get far away from New York, and whatever strange hold Andino had on her. She couldn’t think clearly when he was around, and she just needed … to get back to what made her, her.
Go back to the things that made her happy.
She’d hoped he could be the thing that made her happy, but Andino seemed to make a challenge out of proving Haven wrong every single chance he could. She had to start putting herself first—that much was clear—and stop allowing him to hurt her.
Simple as that.
Dale took a barstool next to Haven’s, and threw the manilla folder to the bartop. He gestured at it with one finger, and a proud smile. “There’s your good news right there. Take a look. Go on, and tell me what you think.”
Haven quirked a brow, and reached for the file. Dragging it in front of her, she flipped it open, and did a quick scan of the paper on the first page. It was nothing more than a very large number scribbled on a white piece of paper.
Mind you, the number made Haven’s eyes widen.
“Is this …”
“An offer for the club,” Dale replied, his smile growing wider.
Oh, wow.
Haven blinked as she took in the number a second time. “That’s a hell of a lot more than what I asked for.”
Dale nodded. “I actually had two other offers come in the same day. One for a few thousand less than your asking price, and another for exactly the asking price. When I happened to mention that to the middleman for this offer, he was quick to say that he figured his offer would be the one you would be more interested in taking.”
Haven cleared her throat; overwhelmed didn’t begin to adequately describe what was running through her mind. “I can see why he thought that, yeah.”
That extra money would do wonders for her mother’s medical bills. Sure, her parents had insurance that covered a lot, but it only went so far. Haven had a savings that she didn’t mind depleting for her parents—even if they argued or told her no—but having a bit of a safety net was always comforting.
Haven flipped through the papers in the folder, checking out the other details. It seemed the buyer didn’t have an issue with the terms Haven put on the sale of the club like the name remaining the same, and the employees staying on as long as they were willing, and followed the rules as they always had.
“Who is the buyer?” she asked.
Dale reached over, and flipped back to a page Haven had quickly overlooked as it just had a business name, and details. Nothing that she found particularly useful.
“An investor wants to buy it, actually,” Dale said, “and the offer came in from that investor’s lawyer under their company. It’s not uncommon for buyers to use their businesses as a shield when purchasing properties, or whatever else. It adds to their portfolio, and also gives them a bit of protection. They can write it all off as a loss for their business should the need arise.”
“Like a shell company?”
Dale shrugged. “You could consider it that, yeah.”
Huh.
“And this company—”
“Has quite a portfolio of businesses spread across the state, and elsewhere,” he said.
Well, then …
Haven had said she wanted good news, and this certainly fit the bill. She did another quick scan of the contents inside the folder, taking her time to look over each paper, and memorize the details.
Part of her thought, do you really want to do this?
Do you really want to get rid of this place?
A louder part screamed, one step closer to getting out of this city.
Wasn’t that what she wanted the most?
“Okay,” Haven said, pushing the folder aside, and giving Dale her full attention once more. “Where do I sign, and how do we get the ball rolling on taking this offer?”
The man laughed. “I will call the buyer’s contact as soon as I leave here to let him know everything looks good, and you’re a go on taking the offer.”
She clapped her hands together. The relief was a sweet sensation clawing through her bloodstream. “Okay, good.”
“But you should be warned … the lawyer who made the offer was clear on the buyer’s wishes, and it could take a bit of time to get through all of that.”
Ah, shit.
Haven gave the man a look. “And what exactly does that mean, now?”
“The buyer is pretty particular and picky about the businesses they purchase, I guess. They have to make sure everything is on the up and up. They don’t want to buy a place only to find out it’s two steps away from being condemned. Never mind, building code violations and health code issues—that all spells fines and problems.”
Haven tried not to be offended. She really, really did. It was fucking hard. “Safe Haven is up to date, follows all the codes, and there isn’t even a goddamn shingle loose.”
Dale put his hands up in mock surrender. Okay, so maybe she could have curbed her attitude a little for that one. But probably not—this place had been her father’s baby, and now it was hers, too. There was no way in hell that Haven wouldn’t get offended at someone suggesting the place was a fucking dive.
Unreal.
“It’s pretty standard for all of this stuff to be checked out during a sale,” the realtor said. “I promise it’s not personal.”
Haven sighed, and rested her chin on her palm as she stared at the shiny bottles gleaming under the lights of the built-in bar.
“I take it that you didn’t have to worry about those things when you bought the place?”
“I bought it from my father—we had inspectors, but all the reports went straight to the bank, and we already knew the place needed some work. I agreed to have it all done before re-opening, and I did.”
Dale made an understanding noise in the back of his throat. “Well, it’ll be a little bit more extensive this time around. You usually could just make a call, and shell out the money to have inspectors come in to check out the place, but the buyer requested their chosen inspectors do so. Which is where
the time thing comes in … depending on how long they want to fuck around with getting all of that done, we could be looking at a couple of months.”
Jesus.
But the offer …
The money …
It was too good to ignore. She could easily take one of the other two offers, but she kept going back to that extra money, and the idea of how helpful and useful it could be for her mother in the end. Being the smart, reasonable woman she was, Haven couldn’t turn it down even if it did mean she might be stuck in this goddamn city for another couple of months longer than she originally planned to.
Details, she supposed.
Those were all just details.
Haven could deal with it later.
“Accept the offer,” Haven said, deciding on her choice but still not entirely settled with it. Funny how that worked. She bet this would be yet another decision of hers that would keep her up at night to overanalyze and consider. Like she didn’t have enough shit already on her plate to do that, for fuck’s sake. It seemed like she was making decisions that lingered with her in all the wrong ways a lot lately. “And let’s get this thing started.”
Dale gave her another wide smile as he slipped off the stool. “You got it, Haven. Congrats on this, huh?”
Yeah.
Congrats.
Why didn’t it feel like something worth celebrating?
That was the better question.
• • •
Haven paid the cab, but even as she said goodbye to the man who had been regaling her with stories about his toddler-aged granddaughter, her attention was on something else. Or rather … someone else.
A man stood at the end of the walkway leading up to Haven’s small Brooklyn home. She recognized him immediately even though she had only seen him in passing maybe once or twice. She’d had a single conversation with him on the side of a street not very long ago when he’d been tasked with diverting her attention so that she didn’t run into Andino’s mother coming out of his restaurant.
Pink, she thought the man’s name was.
All she knew about him for sure was that he looked like a goddamn linebacker—which in itself was a bit intimidating—and that he worked for Andino. That was it.
It wasn’t so much that Pink was standing on her walkway that bothered Haven as it was the why. Why the fuck was he here, and what did he want? Not to mention … why did he have a small bouquet of winter flowers in his hand? It all made Haven think Andino was somehow involved because how could he not be?
And she didn’t like that at all.
It got her irritation spiking all over again.
Stepping out of the cab, Haven took a minute to fix her coat, and watch the black and yellow checkered car drive away. It was only once she couldn’t see the cab anymore that she turned to greet the man standing on her walkway with the flowers.
“Pink, right?” Haven asked.
The man nodded. “That’s me.”
Haven eyed the flowers in his hand. “Let me guess—Andino sent you?”
“You would be right.”
Great.
“Do you often run flowers to women all over the city for him?”
Ouch.
Even she could hear the heat in her tone. Haven had no reason to believe Andino was running around with multiple women. In fact, she believed that he wasn’t simply because he told her that. Even so, she couldn’t resist taking a cheap shot just because the opportunity presented itself.
Maybe she was a little petty.
Pink lifted a single brow, saying, “This is the first time I have ever delivered flowers for him, actually. He thought you might appreciate a familiar face rather than a random delivery man.”
“Well, he thought wrong.”
Not that she didn’t like Pink. She didn’t have a reason to dislike him, as far as that went. That was not where Haven’s problems originated. Her issues all stemmed right back to Andino, and the fact the man seemed to be playing some kind of game with her. She was not up for that at all.
He wasn’t giving her a choice, either.
“My apologies,” Pink said quietly.
Haven let out a sigh, and crossed her arms as she came closer. “It’s not your fault. I know you’re just doing your job.”
“I am. Would you like me to carry the flowers in, or …?”
“I can handle it.”
“Lady’s choice.”
Pink carefully handed the flowers over, and Haven didn’t miss the small card sticking out from the top. This time, it was Andino’s handwriting staring back at her. A simple, single sentence with his initials attached at the end.
I thought your other ones might be starting to wilt. —A.M.
“Thank you,” Haven said.
Pink nodded. “Have a good day, Haven.”
Probably not.
Not with these goddamn flowers staring back at her. Wasn’t it bad enough that she still hadn’t gotten rid of the ones on her table even though they were actually starting to wilt a bit? Wasn’t it bad enough that the first note had now migrated from her kitchen table to the stand beside her bed?
And now she had more … more to look at and ponder and over-fucking-think because Andino couldn’t seem to let her go.
She didn’t have time for the games this man wanted to play with her. She wasn’t strong enough to fight back, and she didn’t know where to start even if she actually did want to fight back. Although, she didn’t.
Like he’s giving you a choice, girl.
Her mind was extra punishing today.
Haven waited until Pink had slipped inside his car, and was driving down the road before she walked up to her house. She juggled her bag, and the flowers in order to be able to unlock the front door. Once she was safely inside her house—as empty as it fucking was—she felt a slight bit better.
No one to see her confusion.
No one to watch her cry.
Just her.
Alone.
What a place that was.
Haven glowered at the flowers and the note all the way to the kitchen. She set the bouquet on the island, and wished her gaze alone was enough to make the damn things disappear. She couldn’t be so fucking lucky.
Before she could think too hard about it, Haven grabbed the flowers, and dumped them into the open garbage can next to the island. She loved flowers. All kinds of flowers, really. She didn’t like them, however, when they felt like a bid to entice or tease her by a man that she wasn’t even sure if she wanted to see his face ever again.
What a complex that was.
She loved him.
And she hated him.
With the flowers in the garbage, Haven tried to go about doing anything else. She made herself a coffee, and even pulled out a few items from the fridge to make something to eat. And still, her mind continued to travel back to the flowers in the trash can. She couldn’t even stop herself from looking back that way, either.
Although … mostly at the note.
So weak.
Before Haven could talk herself out of it, she snatched the note out from the top of the flowers, but left the rest right where they sat.
She’d keep the note.
Fuck his flowers, though.
SEVEN
“You learn how to be a diplomat over time,” Dante said as he and Andino crossed the street. “Because this business doesn’t give you a choice. You’re not muscle—not the enforcers on the street who threaten and use their fists to get things done. You are the boss. And you must talk like one. You’re expected to talk all the time to get what you want, and to make sure things get done properly. You learn how to do that over time.”
Andino gave his uncle a nod, but he wasn’t really sure what Dante wanted him to say. Well, he did know, actually. Dante wanted him to stay quiet, and learn something. He wasn’t looking for an actual response.
“Are you ready?” Dante asked as they neared the entrance of a restaurant.
Andino shoved his hands in
to the pockets of his slacks. “As ready as I will ever be.”
“Good. This is a long time coming. It’s time to put an end to it. Remember that. It’s every reason why we’re here.”
He gave his boss a look, but said nothing. Again, that wasn’t what Dante wanted. He pulled open the door to the business, and let his uncle go in first. It took Andino’s vision a moment to adjust to the change in light. The quiet restaurant was nothing to get excited about, but one couldn’t scoff at it, either. There were no patrons enjoying breakfast at the place—apparently, it was one of those that didn’t open until noon, anyway.
The men of the hour—Andino was sure they felt they were the men of the hour, anyway—waited at the table in the middle of the main floor. Both were standing, and chatting quietly with one another although they silenced the moment Dante and Andino came inside the place.
Kev and Darren Calabrese.
They weren’t the only ones there, of course. Dante had several men posted outside, and one inside who had entered before them. Muscle, and nothing more. Or that’s how his uncle put it. Someone to watch their backs because one couldn’t trust the fucking Calabrese brothers with an inch when they were sure to take a mile when a man wasn’t looking.
For the Calabrese side, it looked as though Kev and Darren had followed the same line of thought by only having a few of their men there to keep an eye on things. Enforcers that Andino recognized from their organization.
Neither Dante and Andino, nor the Calabrese brothers had invited anyone with any real pull to the meeting between their families—no one who could speak up and use their voice to cause trouble. Just the bosses, their underbosses, and that was it.
Andino wished he could say that he was surprised the Calabrese finally agreed to a meeting and were entirely willing to allow Dante almost all the say in how the meeting went down, but he couldn’t. Again, the Calabrese were fucking predictable. They’d been working for a long time—long before John killed their boss—to get something from the Marcello family be it power, or standing through their name.
It was who they were.
It was what they did.