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Chapter Forty-Six
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2026-10-17 13:00:30The clock on the reception desk read 10:37 p.m. when I caught movement through the glass doors. My hand stilled over the intake form I'd been initialing, and I looked up to find Antonio Cagliari walking toward my clinic as if he belonged there. Like the doors were his personal welcome committee. Rico trotted at his side, a stuffed purple octopus clamped in his jaws, tail swinging with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he'd been promised something good. Behind them both, Gino hauled an eno
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After Hours Service Chapter Seventy-Four
We returned to our own table. The candle was still burning, the wine still waiting, the menus still untouched. Antonio sat down across from me and was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing the stem of his glass.“I’m sorry,” he said.“For what?”“For the interruption. For bringing business into our evening. For letting you sit at a table while two men discussed whether someone lives or dies.”I reached across the table and took his hand. His fingers curled around mine, the ink on his knuckles dark against my skin. “Antonio, I don’t need you to shield me from the reality of your world. I know it better than most. I chose to join that table. You asked me, and I said yes. I don’t regret it.”He looked up. “No?”“No.” I turned his hand over in mine, tracing the lines of his palm with my thumb. “Watching you negotiate with another Don was illuminating.”“Illuminating?”“I mean it. I’ve heard stories about you for years. The reputation, the whispers, the way people go quiet when your name c
After Hours Service Chapter Seventy-Three
The older Don’s table was larger than ours, set with crystal and silver that caught the candlelight. His two associates shifted to make room, their expressions carefully neutral. One of them pulled out a chair for me, and I sat between Antonio and Don Enzo with the distinct awareness that I was now the only person at this table who hadn’t potentially ordered someone’s death.Don Enzo poured wine into fresh glasses himself, a gesture of hospitality that felt deliberate. “So, Ms. Hooper. Antonio tells me nothing, which means I must extract information directly from the source. What do you do?”“I’m a veterinarian.”His eyebrows rose. “A veterinarian. How unexpected.” He glanced at Antonio. “You didn’t tell me you were courting a doctor.”“I don’t recall you asking,” Antonio said, and Don Enzo laughed.“He’s right. I didn’t.” The older Don turned back to me. “What kind of veterinary practice?”“Emergency. After-hours clinic. The kind of cases that can’t wait until morning.”“Ah. So you’r
After Hours Service Chapter Seventy-Two
The black sedan pulled up outside my home at seven minutes past eight, and I was already waiting by the window with Pickles perched on the windowsill like a judgmental gargoyle. He blinked slowly at the car below, then at me, then back at the car, his expression suggesting he found the entire enterprise of human courtship beneath his dignity.I’d spent forty minutes getting ready. Forty minutes I would never get back, which had involved two outfit changes, a minor crisis involving my eyeliner, and a conversation with my cat about whether the emerald dress was too much. Pickles had stared at me with open contempt, which I chose to interpret as approval.I grabbed my clutch, told Pickles he was in charge, and went outside. Antonio leaned against the car in a charcoal suit that fit him like a confession waiting to be extracted. The collar of his shirt was open, no tie, and his amber eyes tracked me from the doorway to the curb with the kind of attention that made the air between us thick
After Hours Service Chapter Seventy-One
“You don’t need to announce it.”“I like watching you brace for it.”“I don’t brace.”“You always brace. Just slightly. Right here.” His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. “You hold your breath.”I was holding my breath right now. I let it out, and he kissed me. This time, there was no long shift to exhaust me. No patient arriving at the clinic. No protocol to discuss, no confession to absorb. Just his mouth on mine, warm and unhurried, his hand sliding into the loose hair at the back of my neck.I kissed him back. My hands found the hem of his sweater and pulled it upward. He broke the kiss just long enough to let me pull it over his head, and then his mouth was on mine again, and his hands were pulling my flour-streaked shirt free from my waistband.We made it to the bedroom in stages. A kiss against the kitchen doorframe. His mouth on my neck while I fumbled with the button of his pants in the hallway. My shirt landing somewhere on the floor outside the bathroom door. By the tim
After Hours Service Chapter Seventy
Antonio settled onto the stool with the ease of a man accustomed to issuing orders from a position of authority. He folded his arms on the counter and watched me.“Encouragement,” he said. “I can do that.”“Encouragement. Not criticism. Not suggestions. Not helpful tips about how your grandmother would have done it.”“My grandmother would have done it with a wood-fired oven and a rosary. I won’t bring her into this.”“Good.”He watched me pull the chicken from the refrigerator. I could feel his attention like a physical thing, warm and steady, and it made my hands slightly more careful than they would have been otherwise.“You’re very focused,” he said.“I’m trying not to burn your dinner.”“The way you’re holding that knife suggests you’ve done this before.”“I’m a veterinarian. I dissect things for a living. The principle is similar.”“The principle is nothing alike, and I’m not criticizing. I’m impressed.”I placed the cutlets in the hot oil, and the kitchen filled with the sound o
After Hours Service Chapter Sixty-Nine
I woke to the sound of Pickles staging a coup on my pillow. He’d planted himself squarely in the center of it, his considerable orange bulk pressing my head sideways at an angle that would require a chiropractor if I let it continue much longer. His eyes were closed, his paws tucked beneath his chest, and his expression suggested he’d conquered this territory hours ago and had no intention of relinquishing it.I pushed him gently sideways. He yielded approximately two inches and resumed snoring.The bedroom was dim, the curtains drawn against the afternoon light. I’d slept hard. Deep, dreamless, the kind of sleep that resets something fundamental in the nervous system. When I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, my body felt loose and rested in a way I hadn’t experienced in weeks.The hallway was quiet. The kitchen, when I reached it, was spotless.I stood in the doorway for a moment, taking it in. Every surface wiped down. Counters clear. The sink empty. The dish rack be
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