“Killian.” He motioned for the girl to go away with a dismissive flick of his wrist. The girl ducked her head and scurried out of the room. “What brings you to the east?”
Killian moved to the matching seat on the other side of the gilded coffee table and sat.
“It seems we have some business to discuss,” he said evenly.
Dark eyebrows winging up, Juan lowered both feet to the worn carpet and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Do we?”
Killian glanced over at Frank and motioned the man over with a curt nod. Frank stepped over and gingerly set the silver briefcase down on the coffee table. Juan gave it a fleeting glance before fixing his curious gaze on Killian once more.
“If this is the amount you obtained from Arlo for his idiotic indiscretions, I won’t lie, I am surprised.”
Killian shook his head. “It’s not, though I hope that has not soured our friendship.”
Juan waved a hand dismissively and sat back. “The boy must learn the business. We have all done foolish things in our youth and we paid the consequences. But I can assure you that it will not happen again.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what kind of consequences Arlo was forced to endure, but that wasn’t his business.
“Thank you.”
Nodding, Juan flicked a glance down at the case between them. “So, what can I do for you?”
“I am here to pay the debt of Antonio Romero,” Killian said.
Frank unsnapped the locks and turned the briefcase over for Juan to look inside.
“It’s all there,” Killian assured him. “Plus a little something extra for your troubles.”
Juan never bothered even glancing at the briefcase. “And why does this matter to you?”
Killian folded one leg over the other and leaned into the firm back of the sofa. “The girl and her family are under my protection.”
The other man’s face immediately broke into a grin that created even more folds to appear around his eyes. “Ah, the girl. I have seen the girl. Very pretty. I can see why you would want her, but this…?” He waved a gold studded hand at the briefcase. “Surely she is not worth this much.”
Killian didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. “She’s mine.”
Both hands went up in a show of surrender. “Alexandro!”
One of the men stationed around the room hurried forward and bowed low.
“Antonio Romero,” Juan said evenly. “He’s done.”
Without batting an eye, Alexandro dug out his phone and found Antonio’s name. He crossed it out and typed in paid next to it. Then he presented the screen to Killian, who gave it a brief glance.
He turned back to Juan. “Appreciate it.”
Juan waved Alexandro away. “Now that we finish with business, you must stay for supper. Maria is always making too much.”
“There is something else,” Killian cut in. “A problem.”
All amusement faded from Juan’s face. “What sort of problem?”
“Arlo,” Killian said shortly. “He’s been giving Juliette a hard time.”
“It is the way of things,” Juan said instantly. “You don’t scare the people, they take your money and never pay.”
“No.” Killian let the full force of his anger shimmer to the surface. “Not like this. He put his hands on her. He hurt her.”
“I will talk to him,” the other man promised.
“See that you do.” He rose gracefully to his feet. “I don’t like my things touched, Juan. And I would hate for your wife to bury a son so early.”
There was warranted indignation in the older man’s eyes, but they both knew the laws of the streets. They knew how bloody a turf war could get and how dangerous. Juan was old enough and wise enough to recognize a friendly warning opposed to a threat.
“It will be done.”
Inclining his head in farewell, Killian started for the door.
“Killian.” Juan’s voice stopped him, had him turning around. “I do not take lightly the friendship we have between our homes, but I will not look favorably should something befall my family.”
“Nor will I,” Killian answered evenly. “Juliette and her family no longer owe the Dragons. I don’t ever want to hear that she was bothered. Please give Maria my best and tell her I will come another night to see her.”
With that, Killian walked out with Frank right on his heels.
The drive back was done in a silence that was broken by the occasional chirp of Frank’s phone. Killian watched the scenery zip past the window in a blur of buildings and people. His temples throbbed in a familiar drum of agony that made him close his eyes and shut off his thoughts. But images of Juliette’s bruised face, the marks on her body, rose up behind his eyelids and the scorching grip of rage returned with a vengeance. It made him want to throw friendship and years of careful planning into the wind, hunt Arlo down, and break every bone in his fucking body. It made him want to do all the things that had given him the nickname The Scarlet Wolf.
“Boss?” Frank’s booming voice pulled him from the brink.
“Home,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.
Marco veered the car north. In the distance, sirens blared and Killian reflexively winced. The sound grated on all his nerves with serrated claws. It gouged up memories he fought so hard to bury. But all it took was that sound, a sound meant to assure and calm. For him, it was a sound that had failed his father. The sound that carried his mother away to save only to fail in route. It was a bad sound. He loathed that sound.
At the manor, Killian opened his own door before Marco could even draw to a full stop at the base of the stone stairs. Frank followed. Together, they started up.
“Can you find out why Jacoby was here?” he told the other man. “I think he wants to bring a shipment into the city. Help him off the books then make sure the proper authorities stop him before he gets close. I don’t want his garbage running my streets,” Killian muttered, trudging over the threshold and into the foyer. “But be sure it doesn’t come back on the company.”
Head bent over his phone, Frank nodded. “Yes sir.”
Killian turned to the stairs.
“Kitchen,” Frank said without looking up or being asked.
Redirecting his steps, Killian made his way down the corridor towards the back of the house. Patches of sunlight trickled down the white walls and lay in a slump half across the marble floors like a drunk. It shone and flickered when he passed through. On the left, rows of high glass overlooked the garden his mother had practically lived in. After her death, he’d hired the best gardeners and landscapers to maintain the grounds, to keep everything exactly as she had. Truth be told, he had changed nothing in the entire house.
His mother had handpicked and designed every inch of the manor from the faucets to the little doorstoppers behind every door. It had been her project for over thirteen years and probably would have still been had she not been taken from him. Killian would have sold the place after his father’s death, and had contemplated it several times, but it had so much of his parents woven into every grain and piece of wood that parting with it would be like losing them all over again.
The hall ended at the brightly lit kitchen. The rich scent of meat and gravy greeted him before rolling laughter. It had been so long since that sound had filled the estate that he wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked through the doorway.
Juliette sat at the stone island, head thrown back as she filled the room with the sweet chime of her delight. His part time cook, full time substitute aunt, Molly Coghlan stood on the opposite end of the counter, hands waving as she gave elaborate gestures in description. Lights sparked off the bangles cluttering her arms. The sound rattled through the room, making a world of noise.