“He’s waiting for you,” one of them informs me, gesturing toward the elevator.
Rafe looks up from his desk when I enter, a grin spreading across his face. “The man of the hour,” he announces, standing to clasp my hand. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“You’re pretty forgettable,” I shoot back, the familiar rhythm of our banter as comfortable as it is sharp.
He laughs, gesturing for me to sit. “Let’s talk business first. The shipment’s coming in around midnight. Hundred kilos, split between four containers. My guys will handle the unloading, but I need yours for security.”
I nod, turning the coffee cup between my fingers. “Already arranged. Vito’s got men stationed around the perimeter. Are we expecting trouble?”
“Not specifically, but after…” He trails off, letting the implication hang between us. “After everything, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“Which brings me to my next point,” I say, setting down the cup. “I want your men to stand down if anything goes sideways. My problem, my mess to clean up.”
Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why? You know we have your back, cousin.”
“Because I say so,” I retort.
He’s silent for a moment, processing. “You know I’ll never agree to that,” he shrugs. “And you know that if I do, it’s a lie. So tell me, do you want me to lie to you, Matteo?”
I crack my neck, irritation flaring. “Rafe, I’m not fucking joking. I want you to stay out of it.”
“Really?” he volleys.
“Really.”
He shrugs again. “What do I tell your pretty blonde if you get blown into pieces again? I’m not sure she’d agree with your plan.”
My hand tightens around the coffee cup, denting the cardboard. “You’re having me followed now?”
“Please.” He rolls his eyes. “This is Cleveland. People talk. Especially when Matteo fucking Russo starts acting like he’s in a rom-com.”
I glare at him, but there’s no actual heat in it. “What can I say, she’s a funny one,” I deadpan.
Rafe throws something at me, but I duck before it hits my head. “You’re such a pain in my ass to have a conversation with,” he grumbles.
“I’m in love with her,” I blurt, the words falling between us like a gauntlet.
Rafe stares at me for a full five seconds before bursting into laughter. “Holy shit,” he wheezes, slapping the desk. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack.”
He holds up his hands, still grinning. “Wow… Matteo Russo, in love. Next thing you’ll tell me is you’re picking out china patterns and talking about babies.”
“It’s not like that,” I defend, running a hand through my hair. “She’s different. She pulled a knife on someone one night when we went for ice cream. Would have used it too.”
“Sounds like your type.” He leans back, studying me. “Does she know what you do? What you really are?”
I think of Raven standing over that man with her blade, of the way she watched the Freaky Friday show without flinching, how she responded to my violence with desire instead of fear.
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “And she hasn’t run yet.”
“Never thought I’d see the day,” he chuckles.
“Well, well, well.” I can’t help the satisfaction in my voice. “For once, the great Rafe Russo is speechless.”
“Fuck off,” he laughs. “At least I’m not in love with a professional liar who stole from me.”
“What can I say? I like them complicated,” I grin.
