COMMAND | MAFIA ROMANCE | SMUT

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I assembled the playpen in the kitchen's adjacent reception room to limit the baby's waywardness. Emptying the container of age-appropriate toys on the roll-out mat, I lowered Dominic into the safety of four plastic walls, encouraged independent play, then worked at the stonework island.

Three mugs of coffee later, I hit send on today's final email and checked the list of unfinished assignments on my phone. I am nowhere near retribution. Christ, I have barely scratched the surface.

I studied the list of names.

Jessica Pearce.

Chloe Stone.

Harold Stone.

Saverio Bosqui.

David Michaels.

Alberto Moretti.

Ignazio Corrazzo.

Beverly Bennet.

Juror number eight, Helga.

What about the other jurors, though?

The Judge.

My stare went to the plethora of Macallan bottles. Palming one bottle, testing the weight, I picked the label with investigatory fingers and read the small orange sticker stuck to the barcode. Nothing in today's world is free. Everything comes with a price. The sender, the person responsible for the conveyance of alcohol, is trying to buy me with gifts.

Typing the name of the brand into Google, I clicked on the Macallan website and scoured contact details. As their team is available to support customers by telephone, I dialled the number, went through options, then awaited an operator. "Good afternoon, this is Jayne. How can I help?"

"In accordance with terms and conditions, I have the statuary right to return products within fourteen calendar days from the day of delivery," I said, reading the website's returns information. "Is that correct?"

"Products must be returned in good condition," she replied. "And all packaging must be intact. Refunds and reimbursements will be within thirty days if we choose to accept the returns. Is the product within its original package and unopened?"

I stopped picking the label. "Yes."

"Do you have the relevant paperwork?"

"No," I said, listening to the sound of keyboard clicks in the background. "It was a gift, I think. I did not make the purchase."

"Oh." She was less than impressed. "Well, do you have the order number handy?"

Balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder, I flipped open the notepad and read out the order number.

"Red collection?" she asked, and I confirmed with a grunt. "Yes, I found the order and the delivery instructions. I do not, however, have the customer's purchase details. Also, you cannot cancel or return personalised items unless the product is faulty or damaged."