“Is Famiglia as good as Milo claims, or is he just partial?”
To that, Domenico moved into the living room and dropped down on the couch.
I tried hard not to think about how Milo had been in that exact spot a few moments before, wearing me like a necklace.
“Wondered that myself. Grew up on the food, so I thought maybe it was just my taste buds. But prison fucked up my taste pretty good. And when I came back out and ate through every restaurant in a twenty-mile radius, it is still at the top for Italian. He told you about it?”
“At our first meeting, he mentioned a family Italian restaurant. When I learned your last name, I… came across it.”
“Fucking women,” he said, this time giving me a grin, “you all need to be running the CIA and shit.”
“To be fair, sometimes our safety relies on us being able to thoroughly investigate potential dates or boyfriends. Or… espionage partners,” I added when I panicked that he might have thought I was referring to Milo as one of those things.
I didn’t know anything about the rules in their organization or on this job, but I didn’t want to get Milo into trouble. He’d been nothing but good to me.
Before either of us could say anything else, though, the door lock bleeped. Then there was Milo again. Looking a little worried. Like he’d been really uncomfortable leaving the two of us alone together.
“Lucked out that the diner food showed up when I was grabbing the Italian,” he said, seeming to force a casualness in his tone that was belied by the tension in his shoulders.
“Why so much food?” Dom asked, looking like he had no plans on leaving.
“That’s my fault,” I admitted, taking the soda Milo passed me. “I admitted that my apartment has no way to cook. And that I missed hot food. Milo took it from there.”
“We got a ton if you didn’t eat yet.”
“Had another fucking liquid dinner,” Dom admitted, grimacing. “Gonna have to get hazard pay for what this job is doing to my liver.”
“There’s a great spa in town with a sauna,” I offered, seeing the warm look Milo shot me out of the corner of my eye. “Sweat out some of those toxins.”
“Sitting naked in a room without a beautiful woman to join me sounds like a waste of time to me,” Dom said as he walked over to the mini fridge and came back with a bottle of water since we hadn’t expected him and didn’t get him a drink.
“Here,” I said, digging around in my overstuffed purse to produce a plastic bag with several electrolyte packets. “There are a bunch of flavors. Pick one. You need to rehydrate.”
“Thanks, babe,” he said, giving me a curious look. “Am I allowed to ask what’s going on yet?” he asked as Milo set out all the food and utensils.
“I was checking out Frank’s office.”
“Yeah?” Dom asked, shoveling a pile of lo mein onto the top of a clamshell from the Mexican place to use as a plate. “Went bad?”
“Sort of. I was caught.”
“Frank?”
“No.”
“His goons?”
“No. Um, the pit boss.”
Dom’s head snapped up.
“The pit boss? With the hair?”
“God, she really does have great hair,” I agreed. “But, yeah, her.”
“Long story short, she gave Roe the heads-up she needed to escape without being seen. And she did manage to snap a few pictures before it went south.”
“Oh, right,” I agreed, reaching for my phone and plugging in the code. I quickly swiped away my texts with Milo before finding the camera feed and handing the phone over.
