Marco’s grin fades, replaced by concern. “Boss, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I didn’t ask what you think.”
“Yeah, well, I’m going to tell you anyway.” He turns in his seat to face me. “You’re at war with the Russo family. Greco is actively trying to provoke you into a confrontation. The last thing you need is a civilian girlfriend who could be used as leverage.”
He’s right, of course. He’s absolutely right.
“It’s just coffee,” I say.
“It’s never just coffee with you. When was the last time you took a woman on a date? Actual date, not just screwing in the back of a club?”
I don’t answer because I can’t remember. Five years? Six?
Marco sighs. “Look, I get it. She’s beautiful. She seems nice. But you know how this ends, right? Either you walk away and break her heart, or you don’t walk away and she becomes a target. There’s no happy ending here.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“And you’re doing it anyway.”
“Yes.”
He studies me for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You’re in deep already, aren’t you?”
Am I? I’ve barely spoken to the woman. Two conversations, maybe fifteen minutes of total interaction. It’s absurd to think I could be “in deep” based on so little.
But then I remember the way she smiled at me, like I was someone worth smiling at. The way she talked about her grandmother’s garden with such love. The way her eyes lit up when I asked her to coffee.
“Drive,” I tell Marco.
He starts the car, muttering something in Italian I choose to ignore. As we pull away from the curb, I look back at the shop one more time.
And freeze.
There’s a man standing across the street under an awning, partially obscured by shadows. He’s watching the flower shop with an intensity that makes every instinct I have scream danger. He’s wearing dark clothes, hands in his pockets, seemingly unbothered by the rain.
“Marco. Eleven o’clock. Black jacket.”
Marco’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror. “I see him.”
“He was there when we arrived.”
“You sure?”
I’m sure. I notice everything, especially potential threats. The man has been standing in roughly the same spot for over half an hour, barely moving, just watching.
“Circle back. I want to get a better look at him.”
But by the time Marco navigates through traffic and comes back around, the man is gone.
“Probably nothing,” Marco says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
“Add him to the surveillance reports. I want to know if he shows up again.”
“You think he’s one of Greco’s?”
“I don’t know.” And that’s what bothers me. In my business, unknown gets you killed. “But I want to find out.”
Marco nods, already pulling out his phone to relay instructions to our surveillance team.
