Three weeks ago, Silvie and I had the time of our lives.

A week ago, we made plans to surprise her nephew.

Today, I'm getting the worst news of my life. It's the worst, because I know this will hurt her the worst.

"You gonna tell her?" Bones asks, lighting up a cigarette.

"Go fucking make sure," I growl to Willy.

He hesitates, like he's about to tell me he already knows. "I want your fucking eyes on it. We don't know anything we don't see for ourselves. Go fucking check. I'm not telling her something that will fucking gut her on the word of some crackhead whore who sucked your fucking cock last night."

"Yeah, Pres," Willy grumbles and then heads out the door.

I'm angry and on edge. "Dammit!" I yell, slamming my fist on the desk. Everything rattles and my men act as if nothing has happened. They know this isn't the worst reaction they'll probably see today.

After about forty minutes of tortue, my phone buzzes. A text from Willy. Confirmed.

Walking into the bedroom, Silvie is spread out on the mattress like it's her office. Papers are scattered, her laptop is open, and she's sitting up on her knees moving between things. She picks up a folder, takes something out of it, scribbles a note and then puts it back.

"Silvie baby, I've got something to tell you."

She jumps up excited. "No," she cuts me off. "I've got something to tell you." Without giving me a chance to stop her, she says, "today is a great day, and I'm going to tell you why."

Her hands wrap around my neck and I instinctively reach for her waist. Happiness shines in her eyes and I want to bottle it up, because I'm about to dull that shine real fucking quick.

"We are now season ticket holders for the Bucs. I just aced two of my quizzes and got a perfect score on my Mythology paper. Remember the one I wrote about Hades and Persephone?" She doesn't wait for my response. "And now," she runs her hands down my body, "I want to celebrate."

Grabbing her wrists, I stop her and she frowns. She takes a step back and starts to process that something isn't right. "What's wrong?" she asks, shoulders tense.

"Come here?" I say, flicking my fingers in.

"No," she starts breathing quicker. "What's wrong? What happened?"

I wanted to hold her to my chest when I tell her. This will be easier if I don't have to look her in the eye. I rehearsed it in my head, but now the words don't feel right.

"Joey..." I say, trying to find the words. It's all his fucking fault, but it doesn't feel right to start with blame.

"What did he do?" Her eyes are dead and her voice is flat.

"Fuck, Silvie. He pissed off the cartel-"

"He's dead isn't he?" she asks, still emotionless.

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat. She took that better than I expected, but I can see her jaw tense. She's trying to process everything without tears. "Come here?" I say, and she finally does. Pressing her to my chest, my hands wrap around the base of her skull. "They killed them, Silvie. I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything. It's like she didn't hear me. Then I feel her muscles tense beneath me. "Them?" she whispers.