Like he was waiting—and prepared—to shoot.
My brows drew together as I watched him, my mind trying to piece the bits of the night together to create some sort of picture that made sense.
Everything had been normal. Okay, a little spicier than normal. But otherwise normal. No creepy characters lingering about.
But as we walked out of that bathroom, I’d been aware of Venezio tensing, even before he could have possibly seen anyone since I hadn’t.
The second he did, though, he somehow knew we had to run.
Why?
Did he know him?
If he did, why would he assume the man was there to harm him?
Was he some sort of enemy?
But who the hell hadenemies?
Ones who would place trackers in purses or chase you through a busy city with a gun?
That kind of thing didn’t happen to normal people.
Hell, normal people in the city didn’t carry guns, period.
So why did Venezio have one?
“Venezio,” I called, tone guarded.
“Yeah?” he asked, turning back.
“What the hell is going on?” Before he could answer that, another question tumbled out, one that maybe had more to do with my feelings than the situation. “Who are you?”
Venezio’s face tightened. He sucked in a slow, deep breath. His shoulders went slack.
Like he knew this would be coming.
Like he was dreading it regardless.
“I work for the Costa Family.”
Costa family? Who the hell was the… wait.
“The Costas? Like… like the biggest donors the charity has?” I asked. I mean, it wasn’t exactly an uncommon name, especially in a city that had a large Italian population. But it felt too coincidental not to draw that conclusion.
“Yes, them.”
“Okay. But… what does that have to do with this?” Was there some assassin out to murder a member of a wealthy family?
“The Costas,” he tried again, with emphasis.
“I heard you.”
“Family.”
“Yeah…”
“Family, babe. As inFamily.”
