laundry room at the end. It just so happened that this building had a laundry room on each floor which made shit so much easier for him. Something else he hadn’t realized about babies? They made a lot of laundry. It was basically constant. He found himself doing a load a day, at the least. Usually of clothing that smelled like baby puke or formula or ... another diaper blowout. Those happened way more than he wanted to admit.
This load, however, was his.
Or rather, for his dress shirts. Because despite getting fitted for suits that Andino’s tailor had explained would need to be dry-cleaned when required, the dress shirts only needed a quick cycle in hot water with stain remover and detergent. Twenty or thirty minutes in the dryer, depending on the number of shirts, on medium heat and he was good to go.
Wrinkle-free.
At least, some shit was simple.
Or so he thought.
“What in the fuck?”
Lev knew something was very wrong with his load of shirts the second he opened the top of the washer. His cursing became more and more severe as he pulled the hot shirts from the washer to inspect. What should have been white was now pink. It didn’t take him very long to figure out why exactly that was, either.
The offending garment that came out in his next handful explained everything. The deep red panties that he recognized instantly. The same ones he’d pulled off Gigi the last night they spent together at his place. He hadn’t realized she left them behind, and when packing up his place, he probably didn’t even notice when he shoved them into a box.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, clenching the panties in his fist in the same manner he had when he practically ripped them off the woman.
Yeah.
Couldn’t forget that.
Or her.
His mind had just been ... preoccupied lately with other things. More important things, and he was sure she would understand that if the two of them ever met up again. Not that he figured they would.
Nessa had been helping unpack his boxes the last couple weeks while she babysat—maybe she shoved the panties into the hamper with his shirts thinking something like that shouldn’t be washed with the baby’s clothes. She wouldn’t be wrong considering the tag said to wash with like items but in cold water.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck ... fuck!
Sometimes, there was no better word.
And Lev didn’t have time to fix his mistake when he still needed a dry, clean shirt to wear under his black blazer for work. None of his t-shirts would work because God forbid, he take the blazer off and there not be a button-down underneath.
That shit didn’t fly with Andino. It took him very little time working with the man to know the guy was particular. About literally everything.
“Screw it,” Lev ground out, his jaw aching from how hard he’d been clenching his teeth. He shoved the shirts—and hell, even the panties—into the dryer before putting coins in the slot to turn it on. In twenty minutes when he was out of the shower, he would have clean button-downs.
They would just be pink.
Perfect.
• • •
“Cutting it really close, man,” Petey said when he opened the rear door of the Manhattan restaurant for Lev to slip inside. “Boss was asking where the fuck you were—not good.”
Right.
Like Lev needed a reminder.
“Well, here I am. Move.”
If the other enforcer had an issue with Lev’s attitude, he didn’t show it. Then again, Lev realized quite early on in his work with Andino that when it came to the other men he employed ... well, they only understood one fucking language at the end of the day.
The promise of violence.
As long as Lev behaved the way he looked—large, intimidating, and not in the damn mood for anybody’s shit—then everyone else acted accordingly. If he had a problem, then he said so. Did somebody want beef? He was down for it.
It couldn’t hurt Andino’s business. That was the main rule to keep in mind on the daily grind as he worked alongside men who had been doing this very thing for years while he’d only agreed to step into it a couple of short weeks ago.
Lev still wouldn’t take anybody’s shit. He couldn’t afford to, but especially not with guys like Petey. They wouldn’t let him forget it if he did. Simple as that.
“What the fuck is up with that?” Petey asked when Lev passed him by in the doorway.
“What?”
“Your shirt, man. It’s ... pink.”
Goddammit.
He should have known better than to