Ruthless Heart
“It’s no big deal,” Teddy continues. “Just some local thugs that jumped me on my way home last night.”
“Why didn’t you call me sooner?”
“There’s nothing you could do. Like I said, it was just some local jerks. Didn’t even take the whole wallet, just pocketed my cash and left.”
“Were you hurt?” I whisper, dropping my voice even more.
“Just took a punch to the gut when I tried to refuse to hand over the money, but I’ll be okay. Listen, I gotta go, but I knew that you’d want to know what happened. Don’t worry about me, okay?”
He hangs up, and I try to collect myself. Mugged? The idea of Teddy in any danger made me feel sick.
“Everything OK?” Nero rejoins me.
I plaster on a smile. “Yup! Marissa’s great.”
“And Teddy?” he asks, giving me a look. “How’s he doing?”
Busted.
“Pretty shaken up, to tell the truth,” I keep my head held high, even if I’m freaking out inside. “He got mugged last night. Roughed up by a group of guys. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Nero’s jaw clenches. “I don’t even know where Teddy is,” he points out, his voice cold. “But even if I did, we have a deal. He’s under my protection, as long as you play your part. Are you saying I’m not a man of my word?”
I exhale. “No. I’m sorry, I just… Freaked out, hearing he was hurt.” I shake my head, trying to put it all aside—for the next few hours, at least. “Let’s go in,” I nod to the front door. “They’re probably wondering what’s taking us so long.”
Nero gives a curt nod, and I follow him to the door. He knocks, and a moment later, Fiona opens it, smiling widely.
“Welcome! I’m so happy you could make it, last minute like this.”
“Of course,” Nero greets her with a kiss on the cheek. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
I’m impressed. There’s no sign of the growling, resentful guy I took to that first gala. Nero’s turned on the charm in an instant and is already complimenting Fiona on the décor as she shows us to a lavish lounge area. “The kids are at a sleepover, and Ian should be right down from a call—ah, here he is!”
Ian strides into the room, relaxed and handsome in a button-down and chinos. “Nero,” he says, greeting him with a slap on the back. “Is that your Aston Martin out front? Now that’s a nice ride.”
“Oh, don’t get him talking cars,” Fiona interrupts. “He’ll be at it all night.”
“After dinner,” Ian says with a wink. “I’ll give you a tour of my garage. I have a collection.”
“Deal,” Nero replies.
My nerves ease a little. It’s all going great so far: Relaxed and friendly.
“Can I offer you a cocktail?” Fiona asks.
“Fifi here makes a great whiskey sour,” Ian adds.
“That sounds wonderful,” I say.
I take a moment to look around as we all take seats on the couches. The interior of the house is warm and inviting. Natural wood trim and neutral wall colors make the place feel comfortable, but there are things to remind you that this is a place belonging to the wealthy.
The rug beneath our feet is Persian with an ornate pattern made of gold thread. It probably cost more than my last car. There’s an original Marie Faulkner painting on the wall next to the river rock fireplace, and the chandelier above us is a true work of art.
All these little things paint quite a picture.
The conversation is light, and I find myself admiring again how far Nero had come in the last few weeks, shooting the shit with Ian about sports and some local city history.
I’m proud of him, but I also like knowing that he’s not really a socialite. When I was a teenager, that was the reason I was drawn to him in the first place. All the boys I spent time with were rich boarding school brats. Being born with a silver spoon in your mouth can bring a sense of entitlement that is unappealing to say the least.