Already knowing the answer to my question as to who runs the place because I’ve done my research, I ask it anyway to get verification.
She shakes her head. “It’s my family’s pharmacy, and I’m the licensed pharmacist, but my uncle handles most of the day-to-day business.”
I move to step in close enough so that she must tip her head back to look up at me. Total asshole move on my part because I’m much larger and taller than she is, but she holds her ground, even as her pulse hammers in the hollow of her throat. For some reason, this makes me proud. She’s got a backbone.
“What’s being made here?” I nod my head toward the lab.
She blinks. Her eyes are wide, clear, naïve, but not dumb. “Prescriptions,” she says matter-of-factly. “We compound for hospitals and physicians...”
I make a noise in my throat, the kind that warns people to stop talking. She stops.
“Not here for the legal prescriptions,” I say impatiently. Not willing to reveal any more, letting her fill in the blanks herself, gauging her reaction.
She looks perplexed at my response. A wrinkle formed between her brows.
I know I should get to the point. Should tell her exactly what her uncle has been doing to piss off the wrong people, and to anger me, but I don’t. There’s something about her, a streak of pride mixed with her fear that makes me want to see how she plays this, if she reveals anything.
The doors whoosh as Luca pushes through them and strolls over, flicking his switchblade out of habit, mouth quirked in a half-grin as he takes in the scene. “Boss doesn’t look like Hart’s here. You want me to find and fetch him?” His eyes gleam in anticipation, hoping I’ll say yes. “You know I’m very persuasive. Didn’t think you’d want a wasted trip.”
But I wave him off, not taking my eyes off the girl. “No. She can answer my questions. Can’t you?”
She straightens her shoulders. Her lips tremble, finally sensing the danger she’s in, but she’s not going to cry, not in front of me. And I respect that.
“I’ll try to,” she says.
Leaning casually against the glass window of the lab, with my hands in the pockets of my dark wool overcoat, I let the silence stretch. “What about back there?” I ask,nodding my head toward the back of the large, older building where several people are preparing to leave for the day.
None of them is looking our way; their heads are down, and they’re scurrying out the back exit, obviously nervous. From here, I can see boxes stacked on long tables that appear ready for shipment.
“Whatexactlyare you packing and shipping?“ I growl, getting more specific in my line of questioning.
“That’s another part of our business, not the medical pharmacy, but where we ship special orders of lotions, essential oils … things you might see displayed in the front or in our online retail store.”
“And what if I were to tell you that wasn’t all you were shipping?” I ask, reeling her in, testing her reaction.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. “That’s not possible,” she says, but I can see her logic wheels start to turn. She’s a scientist, which means she wants to disprove me. That’s good. If she were the type to panic, I’d already have her by the throat. She would be guilty.
“Do you sign off on every shipment?” I ask, pressing for more.
Her mouth goes flat, and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating. What we do here is entirely legal, Mr. Vescari. Besides, why do you care?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest. “You don’t look like the FDA or the authorities.”
Luca snorts and rolls his eyes and gives a derisive scoff. “Sweetheart, the police only wish they had our budget or manpower.” He continues to play with his knife, not even bothering to look at us.
I ignore him, still watching the girl. “Icarebecause your uncle has made promises to people who don’t like to be disappointed,“ I say, deliberately vague. “And because those people know how to send a message.”
“And,” I straighten and once again step close to her, “my family made a promise to yours a long time ago. One I intend to keep.”
The implication is clear. Her livelihood is threatened, and she doesn’t know what’s happening beneath her very nose.
She should be afraid, so I can tell she’s listening. Noticing. Paying attention to my words and my voice.
Smart girl.
She’s taking in my message, because this is her family’s shop, but she’s also studying my mouth. I can tell she’s trying to trace the damage to my voice, put together what broke me, and why I survived.
Her curiosity is dangerous. It makes me want to lean closer, to drag my words across her skin until she shivers for me. Me, a criminal with a throat full of gravel whispering dirty promises in her ear, wanting to make her beg.
Piccola Strega. What a sweet little witch.
