“Sorry,” I whispered with a grin. “Does the Blood King have dogs?”
Poppy let out a strangled groan. “Penelope has two.”
“Funny.” I ran my knuckles back down. “I didn’t see them the last two times at their house.”
“That’s because we were at a dinner party, and the second time, because….” Poppy trailed off. A visible shiver shook her frame. She stepped back, putting distance between us. “Because Forte doesn’t like bikes.”
I didn’t give a shit about the don’s animals.
I wanted to keep the pretty little flower talking. Focused on me.
But the kid chose that moment to scoop up a pile of frosted biscuits—and break two in the process.
“Hey! You have to pay for those,” the shop keeper barked. The pretense of friendliness was gone.
“Sorry!” Poppy jumped back into mom-mode and fumbled with the purse slung across her body.
I put a hand on her shoulder and glared at the vendor. “Apologize.”
“Excuse me?” The man turned his attention to me. His eyes narrowed.
Pulling Poppy back and guiding the kid into her vicinity, I put both fists on the booth. “I said, apologize.”
“Her kid broke the merchandise,” he spat.
“And I’m about to break something else,” I warned with a smile. “You don’t talk to a lady like that.”
Poppy dropped two twenties on the booth. “Thanks, have a nice day.”
She pulled her son away, taking the treats from him and putting them in her canvas bag.
It was clear she didn’t like confrontations.
Too bad I did.
The man scooped up the money. “Get lost.”
Looking casual, I sauntered around the table. My knife flicked open in my hand.
“What the fuck!” The man’s loose frame quaked.
“You have two choices,” I mused. “Go out there and apologize for your lack of manners and poor customer service, or—”
I flicked my wrist.
“Okay, okay!” The vendor scuttled out.
I stayed back, watching him track down Poppy. Focused on his fake smile and the rapid movement of his mouth, I didn’t feel the presence of another person until the distinct circle of metal dug into my back.
A smirk tugged my lips. “I’m feeling much better today, don.”
Mancini growled. “Stay the fuck away from my family.”
Flipping my knife closed, I tucked it in the pocket of my pants. “Your orders? Or hers?”
The gun barrel pressed harder. Under the shelter of the canopy, the crowd of oblivious Chicago citizens had not a clue what was going on.
“I tolerate you for business purposes, Mad Dog,” Mancini snapped. “But I don’t like you.”
