I smirk. “You read my mind.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Macallan, neat.” I give the girl a sidelong glance, feeling her glare sear my skin.
He hands me a full glass. “I’ll check on your table, Mr…?”
“Just Joe,” I reply, holding up the glass. Average Joe. I never give my real name. It’s too recognizable, and I’m the guy who likes to blend into the shadows. Makes me more menacing. More of a ghost.
I turn toward Chella, but she’s already storming off toward the back room, her long brown ponytail swishing behind her, the scotch-soaked ends slapping against her back.
Mmm.
Booze and pheromones.
Fucking magic combination. Lethal in their complexity.
I look around the crowded room. None of my guys have shown up yet, and even though I’m anxious to get answers and figure out how to handle the scumbags who snatched Zoe and my blow, something about Marchella makes me forget what’s at stake.
Luckily, it’s no longer Zoe’s life.
Whoever pulled the job the other night stuck her in a nearby hotel room, half-naked and a hundred-percent panicked. They tied her up just enough to give themselves time to escape, but not so tight that she couldn’t free her wrists from the restraints.
They wanted me to know what they did.
They wanted to show me that I could easily be duped.
And I fucking was, something Matteo will not let go of if he finds out about it.
I’m supposed to be his right hand, his eyes and ears while he’s away!
How the hell do I tell him I that took my eyes off the ball and let piece-of-shit Salvatore manipulate me?
Salvatore.
Fucking guy is lucky I didn’t choke him with a chained cinderblock and sink him to the bottom of the Hudson River.
Although, I still may do that.
I should have just set him on fire and let his ass burn when I had the chance!
I loiter at the bar, waiting for Marchella to reappear after she stormed into a back room. Another glance at my watch confirms that my guys are officially late.
I toss back the amber-colored liquor, enjoying the heat snaking through my insides when a finger taps me on the shoulder. A pretty blonde smiles at me when I turn around.
I came here tonight because I wanted to keep a low profile in the wake of the supposed heist. I didn’t want any of my enemies watching me strategize…and sweat. There are plenty of other places down here in the West Village where I’m considered a regular but tonight, I wanted…no, needed…anonymity.
“Joe, right? Your table is ready.”
Yes. Exactly what I ordered.
The hostess shows me to the table and places a stack of menus in the center. “There’s a girl working here tonight. Chella is her name?”
The hostess smiles. “Yes. She’s one of our best servers.”
“I’d like her to handle my business tonight,” I say, sitting down in the corner with the entire room in my view. I don’t speak another word to the hostess. I just nod. She flashes a quick smile and hurries toward the back room.
I’m not a guy who likes to hear the word ‘no’. I’m glad she got the memo.
And I’m damn curious to see how well-received it is by my waitress for the evening, Marchella.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket. My brother Dante’s name flashes across the screen.
Huh.
It’s not like Dante to just pick up the phone and shoot the shit with any of us. He’s usually on assignment…paid assignment. He’s basically a problem solver. Whenever there is someone causing a problem, he makes them disappear.
And voila! Problem solved.
He is truly the best at what he does, but he always keeps a low profile as a result.
He has to pretty much be invisible at all times in order to do his job as swiftly as possible.
If you so much as see him coming, it’s already too late.
You’re dead.
Dante thrives on the element of surprise in his kills.
He’ll get you either way, but he favors the sneak attack.
I stab the Accept button. “What’s the good word, bro? I thought you were holed up somewhere in South America.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m in your living room,” he says with a loud yawn. “And I need some pizza. Who do I order from?”
“Bleecker Street Pizza,” I say. “Best around and they’ll deliver fast.”
“Good, I’m starving. What time will you be home?”
“A couple of hours,” I say. “Hey, you’ll never guess who I just ran into. Marchella Amante.”
“Get the hell outta here. She still hot as fuck?”
“You have no idea.” I crane my neck to see if she’s returned to the seating area, but there’s no sign of her yet.
“Too bad her father fucked shit up. I’d have loved a chance to get her on her back.”
“Shut up,” I grumble.
“Still so sensitive about that, huh?” Dante chuckles. “You never could close the deal.”
“Like I ever had the option.”
“Yeah, Frankie was a sick bastard. He’d have castrated you.”
“Or worse,” I quip. “I wonder what she’s been up to. Her father caused a real shit show when he killed that Russian. I hear he’s in gen pop on Rikers Island. His days are numbered, that’s for sure.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna make a play to comfort her?”
“Nah, she didn’t recognize me,” I say, seeing Ray and Bobby finally walking into the restaurant. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. The guys are here. Don’t drink all my booze. I’m gonna need some when I get home.”
“I’ll try to save some of the booze. But don’t count on any pizza.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” I smirk, clicking to end the call.
Ray and Bobby shuffle over to the table. I watch the patrons peer curiously at them as they walk over to meet me. They stick out like sore thumbs with their slicked-back hair, wearing expensive suits and shoes.
Definitely not the uniform for this type of place.
The guys pull out their chairs and sit down. Their eyebrows are knitted, their jaws tight, and I’m damn anxious to find out what they know.
And ready to take action against the pricks who tried to pull one over on me.
I lean forward, my hands folded. My eyes dart between their faces for a minute or two. “Are we speaking tonight? Or are we doing the whole mental telepathy thing for privacy’s sake?”
Ray takes a deep breath, raising his eyes toward mine. “Sorry, Roman. We, ah, have some information for you, but you’re not gonna like it.”
My back stiffens. “Tell me why.”
“Well, first, Dario was the one who was shielding the coke.”
I rub the back of my neck. “And why did he leave his post?” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“He was banging one of the cocktail waitresses from the club. She went looking for him, flashed her pussy, and bing, bang, boom. The blow disappeared while he was getting a blow.”
I drop my head into my hand. First Salvatore, then Dario. The guy thinks with the head of his dick, so luring him away from his domain isn’t much of a challenge. I slam my fist on the table, vaguely aware that people are beginning to whisper and point.