“I didn’t mean nothing.” He closed the door. Back in the driver’s seat, he turned. “I’m your third cousin on your Uncle Joey’s wife’s side. I’m trying to work my way up. Apologies. I’m running on fumes here.”
“Apology accepted.” I lifted my chin and said in my best Brooklyn accent, “You know a place open where I can get a slice of real pizza? I’ve been in flyover country for two weeks, and nobody west of Bay Parkway knows what the hell they’re doing with dough.”
“Joe’s is open. I can get us there in under thirty.”
“Make it happen.” I closed my eyes and reclined. I nodded off once, but a bump in the road woke me. It had been a long day.
I hated that Quentin had turned distant and cold. I didn't exactly blame him, but it still carved something hollow in my chest—a space where our easy banter used to live. The thought of him eating those pastries sent panic spiraling through me, a sick dread that had nothing to do with my assignment and everything to do with the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. I'd spent the entire flight imagining our dinner tonight—what I'd wear, whether he'd reach for my hand across the table, if we'd end up back at his place. Now that future had evaporated, and I wasn't sure I'd ever have another chance to be alone with him.
Just thinking about our kiss left my lips tingling, my whole body aching for more.
But that was wishful thinking, especially if he came to the conclusion—however wrong it was—that I'd tried to poison him. They'd lock me out of the building at best. At worst, I'd be walking into a trap on Monday. My pulse quickened at the thought. My only hope was convincing Carlo to help me find the real assassin and expose him. Or her—although another female assassin would be rare.
The thought of a female assassin hit too close to home. If Quentin suspected I'd poisoned him, he'd be wrong. But if he suspected I'd come to kill him? Dead right.
Our kiss hadn't changed that. The mission was still the mission, no matter what I felt.
Though his coldness now—the way he'd shut me out—made it easier to remember why I was really here.
Still, if he was innocent of my father’s death, and someone was targeting him, then that would mean we had a common enemy—and our best chance of mutual survival would be to team up and work together.
Getting past Silvio’s objections would be the hard part. But Carlo would listen if I framed it right. An invisible threat undermining our family's interests? That made Carlo look weak, vulnerable. He couldn't afford that—not with ambitious cousins and uncles waiting for him to stumble so they could take his place.
The limo stopped. “We’re here. Should I park? Or you want to jump out?”
“I’ll get out.” I opened the door before he had a chance to open his. I didn’t need courtesy at nearly three in the morning. I needed pizza. “You hungry?”
“I could eat.”
I stepped to the counter past three drunk college girls who were talking too loudly. I don’t miss those days. “Give me a regular—not too hot—and a pepperoni for the guy in the car.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he was still waiting. I guess all the drama today had me paranoid. “Coke for him. Orange for me. And napkins, yeah?”
“Got it. That’s twelve.” He tapped the register, took a twenty from me, and nodded to the right. “Drinks in the fridge—grab whatever.”
Sitting in the back of the limo on my way to my cousin’s place, wiping grease from my lips, I had to admit some of the best things in life weren't expensive. Then I glanced at my handbag and designer heels and thought,yeah, lucky I wasn’t born on the wrong side of the tracks.
I loved simple pleasures—but a simple life?
It was way too late for that.
∞∞∞
Like last time, the meeting was scheduled for eleven that night.
I’d spent the time before that at my apartment, done some shopping, and took a taxi to Vinny’s place by eight.
The meeting wasn’t here because these old school types never like to meet at the same place twice in a row. Or even in the same quarter.
I suppose it was good policy, but if your cover was blown, it was blown. Wouldn’t matter if the meeting was in the Bronx or Harlem.
“Vin, where’s the meet?”
“Here in Howard Beach. We can be there in under ten.”
“Can I drive the—”
“No!” Vinny shook his head. “Nobody drives that car but me.”
“I’m just kidding, Vin. I wouldn’t be caught dead in a purple and yellow—”
