Ranger - Jericho's Boys #4 - ch. 8 (Patreon)

Unbeta'd Unedited. I debated about holding off and releasing this on Wednesday like I said but I figured I might as well put it up. Hopefully it doesn't suck or have too many spelling or grammar errors.

8 months, 3 weeks, 6 days and 6 hours since their first night together

Why did police stations all smell so weird? Like canned air, nicotine, and…regret? Seven sat where Enzo had put him, in a chair in the lobby of the precinct. It wasn’t a grubby place with anemic lighting and people handcuffed to benches. It just looked like any other municipal building, except there were cops everywhere. 

Seven hated cops. 

Enzo had left him a bottle of water and a box of animal crackers like he was a toddler. He’d then said not to move until he came back for him. What did it say about Enzo that he had those things in his bag? Better question: What did it say about Seven that he followed his orders blindly? 

He’d spent the last hour absently biting the heads off of circus animals and sipping his overpriced glacier water, while having a staring contest with the officer behind the intake desk. Every ninety seconds or so, the man would glance over at him then stare pointedly at his shaking leg like he thought he could telepathically get him to stop. 

Nothing was going to make it stop. Seven could either bounce his leg or claw his skin off and the former seemed like the slightly saner option of the two. Time worked differently in this place. Like a casino in reverse. Every minute dripped by, making him feel like if he sat for much longer, he’d grow roots. 

What was happening back there? What was Enzo doing? Was his mother okay? What if she’d been hurt…or worse? He’d heard a million horror stories. 

He shook the thought away. 

Rationally, Seven knew what happened when someone was arrested. They would have fingerprinted and photographed her before she’d even had a chance to make her phone call. After she’d talked to Seven, she’d likely been stuck in a holding cell with a bunch of other women to wait for their attorneys. Was she still there or had they moved her and Enzo to one of those stripped down conference rooms where they could speak without fear of being recorded? 

It was bullshit that Seven wasn’t allowed in with him. He worked at the same law firm. He should have been allowed in. Enzo said only one person could go in at a time. Rationally, he knew it made sense, but that didn’t make it any less infuriating. 

Seven had no idea how they would pay for an attorney. Enzo was helping out with the bail hearing but there was no way the firm would let him take on his mother’s case. Even if the firm did allow it, they couldn’t afford Enzo. He charged a fifty thousand dollar retainer on his most basic cases and then an hourly fee of two grand. It wasn’t that Enzo didn’t deserve it, just that they didn’t have that. One hour of Enzo’s time was half their rent. 

They’d just have to use a public defender. And it wasn’t that public defenders were bad at their jobs. They just had heavy caseloads. Whoever had set up his mother wouldn’t make this easy on them. The cops clearly weren’t going to look any deeper than they already had. They seemed pretty convinced they had their man. Or woman. 

Whatever. They weren’t going to look for alternate suspects. Enzo would. He’d do anything to win. Anything. He wasn’t bound by the same code of ethics as most attorneys. He didn’t mind doing bad things for a good reason. He understood that what was right and what was legal sometimes weren’t the same. He’d have made sure his mother walked no matter what. 

Maybe he knew a public defender that they could trust?

Seven sighed, aggressively biting the head off a lion, then munching thoughtfully. How did this happen? How had it even come to this? There was no way his father had somehow talked her into doing-No, that was ridiculous. His mother might be crazy about Stan, but she wasn’t a criminal, not even for him. 

This had to be a mistake. Nothing else made sense. Seven didn’t know much about accounting, but errors happened everywhere. This had to be just some kind of fluke? A glitch? Right? 

“Seven!” 

Seven’s head snapped up at the sound of his name, relief flooding his system as he saw Jericho and Freckles standing in the doorway of the police station. He didn’t even think about it. He just crossed the room and fell into Jericho’s arms, letting the older man crush him against him. 

This was how a real dad behaved. Jericho was more a dad than the man who’d contributed to his conception. Jericho had fed him, protected him, taught him right from wrong. Jericho had raised him right alongside Seven’s mother. Had Enzo not immediately jumped into action, there was no doubt in his mind that Jericho and his father-in-law, Thomas Mulvaney, would have been there the moment Seven called. 

“What the hell is going on, kid?” Jericho asked, his words displacing Seven’s hair. “Francesca called and said Neith was arrested? For what?” 

How had Francesca found out? Had Enzo called her? Why? Not that Seven cared, but it seemed strange to have called his mother about Seven’s mother…like they were family or something. It couldn’t have been just to get Jericho to Seven. Surely, Enzo had Jericho’s direct number. Right? 

Seven felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. 

“Embezzlement,” Seven whispered. “They claim she stole from her job. But she wouldn’t do that. There’s no way. There’s no way,” he said again with more conviction. Right?” 

“Of course not,” Freckles said. “Your mom is a good, hard-working, pillar of the community. Enzo will have her out of here before nightfall.” 

Some of the tension bled from Seven at the man’s words. He wanted to believe that was true. 

When Jericho had first met Atticus Mulvaney—now dubbed Freckles by anyone close to him—Seven and the other boys hadn’t really understood what Jericho saw in him. Like what could a vigilante mechanic from the slums want with a prissy doctor who also happened to be the son of a billionaire. Or vice versa. On paper, they made no sense. 

It certainly wasn’t the money. 

Even now, Jericho still kept his garage open. Except now, he fixed cars pro bono. 

But as they’d gotten to know Atticus, they realized he wasn’t unkind, just guarded. He made Jericho insanely happy and they’d even given Seven two little adopted brothers, Jett and Jagger. Seven trusted Freckles as much as he did Jericho. If Jericho hadn’t been available, Freckles would have been there solo. 

They were his real family. 

It was funny when people called Jericho a golddigger. Freckles was far more generous than Jericho. Freckles would have paid the bills of every one of Jericho’s boys if he’d let him. But they’d all been raised to stand on their own two feet. To work for what they wanted. They now teased Jericho alot about how he lives in a penthouse in the fancy part of town, but truthfully, he’d earned every bit of luxury he had. Karmically anyway. 

A heavy hand settled on his shoulder and Seven knew without looking that it was Freckles. Seven didn’t know how long he stood there, letting Jericho comfort him, but he stayed there until he heard Jericho say, “Hey, man. What’s the word?” 

Seven forced himself to step back, then turned to see Enzo standing there, expression grim. “Is it that bad?” he all but wailed. 

“Relax, baby,” Enzo said, pulling him against him carefully, like he might break. “I’ve got it under control.” 

“What are we looking at?” Jericho asked over Seven’s head. 

“It’s not good,” Enzo said, absently rubbing Seven’s back. “I managed to have my mom call in a few favors and get her pushed to the front of the line so we can get her bailed out.” 

“What are we talking?” Freckles asked. 

Maybe he should have been offended that they were discussing things around him instead of with him, but he couldn’t really think straight at the moment. His rational thoughts had taken a vacation leaving him with ‘I want my mom’ playing on a loop in his head. He didn’t care how childish it was. 

Enzo sighed. “They’re claiming that over the last six months Neith somehow managed to embezzle 1.3 million dollars from the company.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Seven shouted. “My mom didn’t steal anything.” 

The officer at the desk shushed him with a scowl. 

Seven gave him a nasty look in return. “Oh, My bad. I didn’t realize it was a fucking library.” 

A guy sitting on a chair in the corner snickered at that, earning him a glare as well. 

“Don’t piss me off, kid,” the officer snapped. “Or you’ll find yourself sitting next to your mother back there.” 

It was on the tip of Seven’s tongue to tell the guy to go fuck himself, but Enzo just said, “Easy, baby. I can’t help your mom if I’m trying to bail you out of jail for disorderly conduct,” he said, squeezing the back of Seven’s neck in a way that made him want to purr. 

“When’s the bail hearing?” Jericho asked.

“We got about twenty minutes to get across the street to courtroom sixteen. Judge Olivera. She’s usually pretty reasonable. It’s the ADA who’s kind of a twat. He thinks being an attorney is performance art or something.” 

“Is there another way to get to the courthouse?” Freckles asked. 

Enzo stiffened. “Why?” 

“Someone tipped off the press,” Jericho said, disgust evident.

“The press? Why?” Seven asked, bewildered. “We’re not famous. Why would they care about this?” 

Freckles sighed. “It could be anything. It’s a lot of money. It’s a charity. Your dad is a notorious bookie and suspected murderer and she’s one of his many babies mamas. Or it could be that you are one of Jericho’s boys and he’s married to me, a Mulvaney. It could be that your mom and Enzo’s mom are close enough to have been photographed together several times.” 

Francesca and his mother’s friendship wasn’t exactly new information. They’d been acquaintances before they’d joined forces and had only grown closer. 

Apparently, Freckles wasn’t done yet. “Your best friend is also a Mulvaney and you guys have a fanbase with your channel.”

Enzo looked at him. “Channel?” 

“Seven and the other boys have been playing a game called Paladin for what? Ten years? Fifteen?” Jericho said. “They have a guild. Knights of the Kids Table. They’ve gotten pretty popular not just because of Felix but because their guild has been around so long. But when my brother went from Felix to Felix Navarro Mulvaney, fashion designer, they definitely started to get more attention online.” 

Seven stared at Jericho with wide eyes. “I can’t believe you know all that.” 

Jericho looked hurt. “I know about all the stuff that’s important to you.” 

Seven felt a sob building and covered it with a cough. “I doubt the press cares enough about our little guild to know who I am. Someone had to tip them off about this. It hasn’t even been two hours.” 

“Probably whoever’s responsible for framing Neith in the first place,” Freckles said. “Create chaos, muddy the waters. Give the DA a reason to deny bail.” 

“They won’t do that. Will they?” Seven asked, jerking his head to look at Enzo. 

“I’m not gonna let that happen. But we need to move to the courthouse. If I’m late Olivera will be a nightmare,” Enzo said, he looked at Jericho and Freckles. “You know the drill.” To Seven, he said, “Keep your head down. Stay glued to my side. Say nothing. They’re gonna try to bait you. Don’t let them. It’ll be hard but just…hang in there.” 

Seven nodded, then let Enzo guide him past the guards and out the double doors. He blinked rapidly, his brain telling him to freeze, but he couldn’t. Enzo was propelling him forward with a tight arm around his shoulders, fingers digging into his biceps. Seven squinted against the midday sun, raising his hand so he could see in front of him. 

It was like something out of a movie. They were like a hoard of zombies, closing in on him. How were there so many of them? Did their city even have this many news channels? 

Enzo hugged him close. Jericho remained plastered to his right side, walking in lockstep with him. Freckles was behind him. But there was nobody to stop the crush of reporters walking backwards across the street as they shoved microphones in his face and shouted over each other. 

Did your mom steal that money?

Is it true she’s ‘the Ledger’s’ ex-wife?

Does that make him your father?

If your mom didn’t steal that money, how is she able to afford Lorenzo Conti as her attorney?

 Is it true she’s connected to the Conti’s? 

Is it true she’s dating Rocco Conti? 

Seven’s head snapped up. “What?” 

“Ignore them,” Enzo muttered into his ear. “Keep walking.” 

How did he ignore them? How did they know all this? Who tipped them off? And why? 

Is this Conti family loyalty... or just family business? 

Why are the Mulvaney’s involved? 

Atticus, are you covering the bill for this? 

Finally, they reached the inside of the courthouse. Seven had never been so happy to see a Sheriff’s Deputy standing next to a metal detector. They all dropped their devices into the little bin and walked through the scanner. Seven’s belt triggered the machine so the deputy wanded him, then waved him through. 

Once Enzo grabbed their belongings and stuffed them in his bag, he took Seven’s arm and speed-walked them to the courtroom. Seven just…went. He let Enzo guide him, then sat on the wooden pew where he deposited him. It was relatively empty. Enzo sat beside him. A moment later Jericho and Freckles joined them. 

The judge in the case looked like she was in her sixties. She had black hair and tan skin and glasses that perched on the tip of her perfectly straight nose. Her name plate said Hon. Christina Olivera. She looked…bored. She was chatting with her bailiff—a tall skinny man who looked like Lurch from The Addams Family—and the court stenographer—who looked like Ms. Frizzle from The Magic School Bus. 

Seven fought the urge to laugh, afraid if he started, he might not stop. The door behind the judge opened and a deputy led in a defendant in an orange jumpsuit. The judge immediately broke off their conversation to give them her full attention. 

Seven zoned out as the judge set bail for three more people two in orange jumpsuits and one in street clothes. Would his mom be in an orange jumpsuit like his dad? Seven’s stomach heaved at the idea. At least he hadn’t eaten in hours. There was nothing to throw up. 

He dug his thumbs into his closed eyes, the pressure temporarily causing sparks behind his eyelids, distracting him for a few precious seconds. But when he opened his eyes they were still there. Still in this stupid fucking courtroom. Still waiting for a bunch of strangers to choose his mother’s fate.

His breath caught as the door opened and the deputy walked his mother in. His lungs seized as his eyes fell to the handcuffs around her wrists. She was still in her work clothes, a black pencil skirt with a red blouse with a giant bow at the neck. She was wearing flip-flops instead of the heels she’d had on that morning. It was clear she’d been crying but other than that, she was flawless. 

Even the judge looked surprised. 

Enzo stood and walked to the front, pushing past the swinging gate to meet his mom at the podium. 

“Who have we here?” she asked, staring at his mother over her glasses. 

The bailiff glanced down. “The State vs. Neith Gamal. One count felony embezzlement. Here to set bail.” 

“Way to mix it up, Ms. Gamal. It’s been robberies, homicide and carjackings all day. Right Paul?” The bailiff—presumably Paul—nodded. To his mom, she said, “Cute top.” 

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Neith said softly, giving a side-eye to Enzo, who smiled at her. 

A man Seven hadn’t noticed before stood up. He wore a tan suit with a white button-down shirt and a tie that was the same naked-mole-rat pink as his skin. He had strawberry blonde hair that was making a run for the back of his head and watery eyes that made him look like he was having an allergy attack. Hell, maybe he was. 

“ADA Dorian Hampton for the state, Your Honor,” the man said, his voice high but sharp. 

“Lorenzo Conti for Ms. Gamal, Your Honor.” 

The judge gave Enzo a sardonic look. “Mr. Conti. Haven’t seen you in my courtroom in a minute.” 

Enzo chuckled. “Aw, did you miss me, Your Honor?” 

“No,” she said flatly, though she was clearly biting back a smile. “Proceed, Mr. Hampton.” 

The prosecutor nodded, opening a file folder on his desk, then squinting at it like he’d forgotten his glasses. “Thank you, Your Honor. The State is requesting that bail be set at two million dollars—” Seven couldn’t stop his choked gasp. “—based on both the severity of the charges and the defendant’s significant flight risk.” 

Jericho’s hand landed on his leg and squeezed. Seven closed his eyes and tried to find some sense of inner peace. 

“That’s excessive, even for you, Dorian,” Enzo interrupted. 

The prosecutor sent him a withering look. “It’s ADA Hampton, to you.” 

“Oh, don’t be like that, Dorian,” Enzo taunted. “We’re all friends here.”

“Your Honor!” Dorian cried, all but stomping his foot. 

Just a few hours ago, Seven had been killing it during his mock trial. Now he was there in a real one. Had that only been this morning? It felt like days ago. Seven’s eyes felt like sandpaper. He was so tired. 

“Mr. Conti,” Judge Olivera chastised. “Stop picking on him.” 

“Your Honor,” Hampton all but whined. 

“What?” Judge Olivera asked innocently. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” 

“I just want him to act like a professional,” Hampton fired back. 

“You’re aiming too high,” she said. “Now can we get on with this?” 

Hampton huffed. “Ms. Gamal is charged with felony embezzlement of just over $1.3 million in charitable and public funds. Evidence includes a detailed paper trail, electronic communications, an in-depth analysis by a forensic accountant and witness testimony indicating she was behind the scheme.”

Witness testimony? What witness? Enzo seemed unbothered by this information. Had he already known this? Had Neith told him that in their meeting? 

“The defendant has close ties to several individuals who are either currently incarcerated or under active investigation for organized criminal activity. Her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Stanley ‘The Ledger’ Symanski, is a known bookie with multiple felony convictions and a list of clients that mysteriously go missing when they don’t pay up. 

She’s also involved with opposing counsel’s shady uncle, Rocco Conti, who—as you know, Your Honor—is widely suspected of being involved in racketeering operations under the guise of community outreach.”

Judge Olivera rolled her eyes. “We can do without the colorful commentary, Mr. Hampton.” 

Enzo shrugged. “It’s fine, Your Honor. Rocco’s been called worse—as you know, Your Honor,” he said, mocking Hampton to his face. 

Was his mother really dating Rocco Conti? She just couldn’t resist a criminal. But Enzo wasn’t exactly squeaky clean. That’s what Seven loved about him. 

Liked. 

Liked about him. 

Hampton looked down at his file again. “Additionally, Ms. Gamal has access to substantial off-book financial resources through her long-standing relationship with both the Conti and Mulvaney families. She also has several family members living in Cairo. This leads the State to believe the defendant poses a credible flight risk given her access to money and her ties to her home country.” 

Home country? His mother was a citizen. Fucking asshole. Just because they had family in another country didn’t mean they would flee. He barely knew his cousins. They’d practically disowned his mother when she got pregnant out of wedlock. His grandparents were still alive and living in Ohio somewhere, but Seven had never met them. 

“Therefore we request a high bail amount or that she’s remanded to custody until trial,” Hampton finished, looking satisfied with himself. 

This was fucking crazy. How was this happening? His mother was a good person.

“Your Honor, as usual, ADA Hampton is grandstanding—” 

“Me?!” the man sputtered, turning an unflattering shade of red.

The court erupted in titters of laughter that quickly died. 

Enzo ignored him. “May I remind opposing counsel that bail is not meant to be punitive but to ensure the defendant returns to court. Rumors in a gossip rag or terrible choices in men shouldn’t factor into a decision about bail. Given the prosecution's numerous divorces, I’d think he’d sympathize with my client on that front.”

“Your Honor!” Hampton cried again, sounding like a child tattling in class. 

Judge Olivera raised a brow at Enzo. “Cool it, Mr. Conti. It’s been a long day and you’re not as charming as you think you are,” the judge mused. 

“Sorry, Your Honor,” he said, not fooling anyone with his overly apologetic tone. “Ms. Gamal has been a dedicated employee at the Women’s Empowerment & Reentry Center for over twenty years. She’s a single mother, a longtime resident and she has no prior criminal record. She’s never even gotten a speeding ticket.” 

Enzo’s voice was like a balm on his raw nerves. He was always so cool, so confident…at least when it came to work. 

“The prosecution is trying to paint my client as some kind of mobbed-up mastermind with a vault full of coins and secret underground escape tunnels. The evidence shows a woman who made a career out of helping underserved families. She ran coat drives and food banks, filled out grant paperwork in triplicate. She’s not Tony Soprano in Louboutins. She’s a social worker with rent and a son in law school. 

She has strong ties to the community and she’s willing to surrender her passport immediately. If the court deems it appropriate, she’s also open to electronic monitoring or weekly check-ins with a pretrial officer. Asking for two million dollars in bail based solely on her personal relationships is not only excessive, it’s unconstitutional. 

The State has offered nothing but speculation and rumors. Ms. Gamal poses no flight risk and is no danger to the community. We respectfully request she be released on her own recognizance or, in the alternative, that bail be set in a reasonable amount that reflects her actual risk profile, not the prosecution’s reality tv narrative.”

Please let this work. Please let this work. Please let this work. Please let this work.

He needed his mom home where he knew she was safe. 

The judge sighed then took her glasses off, wiping them on her robe. “I’m inclined to agree, Mr. Conti. After reviewing the charges and hearing arguments, the court finds that Ms. Gamal shows no significant flight risk.” Seven’s heart soared, then plummeted as she continued. “Bail’s set at fifty thousand, cash or bond.” 

The judge kept talking but Seven turned inward, his thoughts going a mile a minute. Fifty thousand dollars? It wasn’t two million, but it might as well be. What was the usual bond? Ten percent? But you had to offer something as collateral. They didn’t own anything. Did they? No. Where was he gonna get fifty thousand dollars?

The judge banged the gavel, making Seven jump and yanking him from his crash out. He watched Enzo and his mother chat quietly, dread hanging heavy on his shoulders like a cloak. They nodded and smiled at each other, chatting like old friends, then Enzo kissed her cheek. 

His mother turned to him then, giving him a soft look and blowing him a kiss. He tried to return it but just…couldn’t.He could only just nod in acknowledgement. The way her face fell gutted him. He was such an asshole. 

He watched as they led her away. Once she was gone, Enzo strode to them, then sat beside Seven, giving him a soft smile. “She’ll be out within the hour. Okay?” 

“What? How?” Seven asked, bolting to his feet. 

“They’re already working on the paperwork. She won’t be stuck here for the weekend. Hell, she won’t even be stuck here for the night,” Enzo said, as happy about this as Seven should have been. “She’ll be in a comfy bed before nightfall.” 

Seven was shaking his head, gripping Enzo’s hands. “Enzo, I don’t have fifty thousand dollars. My mom doesn’t have fifty thousand dollars. We don’t own anything. I don’t own anything.” 

Enzo frowned. “What are you talking about? It’s handled. Don’t worry about it. Mama and Rocco are gonna pick her up as soon as she’s processed and then she’ll stay at my mom’s until the media frenzy dies down.” 

“Oh,” Seven said dully. 

It’s handled? By who? Had Rocco paid his mother’s bail? Francesca? Thomas? Atticus? 

Enzo glanced at Jericho and Freckles who were now also on their feet. “Seven can’t go back to their place. It’s bound to be swarmed with press. I’ll take him home with me for a few weeks or however long it takes to get this mess sorted. Do you think you can grab his personal belongings and have them sent here?” 

He pulled out a piece of paper with what Seven assumed was his address on it. Jericho turned to look at Seven. “Do you want to stay with Enzo? You know you’re welcome to stay with us.” 

Enzo’s gaze jerked to him like it hadn’t even occurred to him that Seven wouldn’t want to stay with him. “You can stay with Neith at my mom’s if that’s what you want. I just thought…” he trailed off, cheeks flushing. 

It hadn’t really occurred to Seven to stay anywhere else either. Still, he looked at Enzo. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” 

Enzo’s gaze softened. “I wouldn’t have offered if I minded. Besides, your mom already said you could stay with me.” 

Seven heard the sharp laugh before he realized it was his own. He really felt two seconds away from losing it. “You asked my mom for permission?” 

Enzo’s brows creased. “Of course, I did. My mother would have slapped me if I didn’t at least check with your mother before I had her son living in sin.” 

Seven huffed. “You’re ridiculous.” 

Despite his words, Seven melted into Enzo’s chest, pressing his face into his sweater. The one Seven had asked him to wear. The one he’d worn without question just because he’d asked. 

Jericho sounded worn out as he said, “There’s a car waiting for you out back. They’ll take you home. I’ll arrange for someone to transport your car back to your place so you can avoid the press. You have a private garage in your building, right?” 

“Yeah, even if they somehow make us out in this car, security won’t let them near us.” Enzo took Seven by the shoulders and spun him towards Jericho. “Can you keep an eye on him for a minute so I can go pay the court cashier?” 

Jericho nodded, pulling Seven in. “Yeah, no problem.” 

“Did he just say he was gonna go pay the court?” Seven mumbled against Jericho’s chest, inhaling the soothing scent of motor oil and brake dust. 

He was so exhausted. He just wanted to lie down and sleep forever. 

“Yeah, kid.” 

Seven stepped back to meet Jericho’s gaze. “Where did my mom get fifty-thousand dollars?” 

Jericho and Freckles exchanged a long look before Jericho carefully said, “I’m pretty sure it’s Conti money,” Jericho said. 

Seven shook his head. “That can’t be right. Who just has fifty thousand dollars at their disposal? Other than Mulvaney’s, I mean.” 

“The Conti’s are loaded,” Freckles said. “Don’t let Francesca’s ‘Mama’ facade fool you. That woman is ruthless when it comes to business and revenge. There’s a reason the cops are always trying to bring her family up on RICO charges. But she’s too slippery. They can’t prove a thing.” 

“And she’s just going to give us fifty thousand dollars and expect nothing in return?” Seven asked. 

“I said the Conti’s were rich, not that Francesca paid Neith’s bail,” Freckles hedged, once more looking at Jericho.

“I don’t understand?” Seven said, shaking his head. 

Jericho gave him a strange look. “I don’t think it’s Francesca who paid your mom’s bail. I’m pretty sure it’s Enzo.” 

“No…” Seven said. 

That couldn’t be true. 

“Don’t look so stressed, kid,” Jericho said. “I doubt Enzo’s dipping into his 401k for this.” 

“Yeah,” Freckles agreed. “That penthouse he lives in cost him almost four million dollars to renovate. And that’s on top of the cost to purchase and demo the entire top two floors of the building.” 

 Jericho gave his husband an amused look. “How do you know that?” 

Freckles shrugged. “It was in an Architectural Digest. Asa sent it to me because he knew I looked at one of the penthouses there before I settled on the one we live in now.” 

“Yeah, that sounds like Asa,” Jericho muttered. 

Seven huffed out a humorless laugh. He really was Enzo’s sugar baby, after all.