She jackknifed again. “THIS HAS HER WHITE-HAT STENCH ALL OVER IT!”
“Do you think you should take a Valium?”
“What? And dull my edge? Goddammit, Minerva.”
Minerva was, I knew, the head of BDSec, a hacking collective that Star had recommended when she’d stopped working for us. Hunter had backed up the suggestion too when he had to cut down on our work to handle the Camorra’s needs on his own.
“I know this is to get back at me for Ovianar?—”
“Who’s Ovianar?”
“Minerva’s partner.” She stared at her lap. “I may have helped get her killed.”
“Porca troia,Star! And you recommended her to us?!”
“What?! It wasn’t on purpose. We used to be fucking friends.” She huffed. “Okay, leave the hacking job with me. I’ll get you someone good.”
“Who you didn’t make a deadly enemy out of?Preferably.”
“Custanzu, if they want me dead, that’s how you know they’re good at their job.” She squinted at me. “What are you doing in this part of town anyway?”
“I told you—I dropped off the Frasier sisters at their home.”
“Yes, and your house is in the opposite direction. What’s going on?”
“I’m looking for someone.”
“I’m the best at finding people and I could use an appetizer before getting started on an entrée…”
“You looking to make someone as miserable as you?”
Her smile was sharper than a butcher’s cleaver. “Always, Custanzu. Always.”
FORTY-THREE
STAN
Playlist recommendation:
West End Girls - Pet Shop Boys
When Star tracked Diana’s location to a dive bar between Chinatown and Two Bridges, I knew the cunt had figured she’d covered the ‘V’ on her cheek well enough to scurry around the city like a cockroach wearing a rat’s coat.
But I begged to differ—makeup plastered the scar, giving it a faintly green cast, but I was a pro at scouting the proof of enmity with my family.
I’d been there when Diana had earned that scar so she recognized me. Her eyes widened before they darted left to right. Clearly, she was up to her old tricks, what with the way she was drooling over some asshole who had no hair, no teeth, and a paunch that weighed as much as she did—soliciting, as Aurora would call it.
My lips curved when she dashed around a pool table but didn’t move fast enough to avoid one of the cues hitting her in the side.
“What the fuck?” the player snarled because it screwed with his shot. “Get outta here before I shove this down your throat.”
“I don’t know,” I rumbled. “I’d pay to see that.”
Diana’s perfidy didn’t hinge solely on her returning to the city. It was lingering in a bar onourturf.
Was this a special brand of ‘fuck you’ or proof that drugs had addled her brain?
My statement, too low to carry over the TV, still settled like snow onto the busy bar.
