rings, and I straighten up too fast and nearly heave. I allow myself one wild, crazy leap of hope.
Sienna!
Then cruel reality comes crashing down on me. No, of course it can’t be. This is a doorman building – they’d have rung me to ask if I wanted to let her up.
I haven’t ordered food today, so who could it be? Maybe the Ribaldi family pooled their resources and hired an assassin. I should be so lucky. I’m sure my sister would give them my address in L.A. She’d even draw a map.
I stalk across the room, kicking food cartons out of the way. The video panel on my door reveals an impatient-looking Graham – with Constantine, one of his sons, and a couple of bodyguards.
Graham is on the doorman’s “always let him in” list.
I yank open the door. “What the hell, Graham? A little warning?”
His thick brows draw together in a scowl. “I tried to call you repeatedly. Idiot. You’re lucky I didn’t have a SWAT team bust your door down to do a welfare check.”
They all stream past me, through the foyer and into the apartment. There, they stop and take in the shattered vases, the scattered pillows, the curtain I don’t remember ripping down and, of course, the food cartons.
“It’s even worse than I thought,” Graham says to Constantine, who nods sagely.
“What are you doing here?” My voice comes out strangely croaky. Is that what I sound like these days? I clear my throat. “Graham. Constantine. And Darius, is that right?” I ask his son. I glance over at the bodyguards, who are picking up food cartons with looks of disgust on their faces. Why are they doing that? “And the Bobbsey Twins.” They ignore me and continue picking up the food cartons.
“Donovan, sweet suffering Jesus. When you lost your mind, did you also lose your sense of smell?” Graham fans the air with his hand. He looks down at his feet. “Hello, cat.” Cleocatra’s walking on his shoes.
“Her name is Cleocatra. I brushed my teeth,” I say irritably.
“Yeah, well, you need to brush the rest of you. The city’s air quality warning was issued this morning just for you. Go shower now.”
“Well, excuse me, I wasn’t expecting guests. Fine. I will shower.” My head is starting to clear a little bit, and I can actually smell myself when I move. Damn, I am ripe.
I stalk past the guards, who have somehow found garbage bags, or maybe they brought garbage bags with them. They’re stuffing the cartons into bags. “Stop doing that,” I say sullenly.
They ignore me.
“They don’t speak English.” Constantine bends down to pet Cleocatra. When she responds with enthusiasm, he picks her up, apparently not the least bit afraid of getting cat hair on his bespoke raw silk suit. Damn it, he’s a genuinely good guy, and I blew everything.
I take a quick shower, and also realize that, in fact, I do not look good with beard stubble. I look like a low-rent Tom Ellis.
I shave, throw on a Brioni polo shirt and slacks, shove my feet into Italian loafers, and slouch into the living room, defensive and embarrassed. The room is now clean.
“What happened to your face?” Graham asks, peering at my split lip.
“You should see the other guy.” I smile, and it hurts.
“Was the other guy the sidewalk?”
“What is this, open mic night?”
Graham shakes his head at me. “Even your insults are sad and weak today. Do better.” He walks over to the sofa and settles down on it, looking at me with pity.
“Hello,” I say uncomfortably to Constantine. “I apologize, again, for how matters were handled with you. Are you here to offer us a second chance?”
“I am afraid not, no.” He shakes his head. “I am here out of concern. We were friends before we almost became business partners, and this self-destructive streak is most unlike you. I did not understand, until Graham explained it to me.” He claps his hand to his chest. “It was all for love. That, I understand. My beloved Anastasia made me chase her for two years before she agreed to marry me. I frequently lost my mind over that woman. And I would give my whole fortune to have her alive again and by my side. Ah, agapi!”
“Agapi,” his bodyguards echo with enthusiasm.
“Love,” his son Darius explains to me.
“But now, enough is enough,” Constantine says.
“I know!” I nod vigorously, and my hangover sets off mild detonations of shrapnel in my skull, making me wince. “Believe it