Scratch my earlier comment about shit not being awkward. It was about to get pretty damn weird when he lost all of his teeth.
“Aren’t you in the market for a bride as well?” I shot back. “A single pakhan is a weak pakhan. Time’s a wastin’. You need an heir.”
He snorted. “Got anyone in mind for me?”
“What’s your taste?”
If he answeredTierney, I was going to kill him. I didn’t care that Tiernan liked him. He could find himself another pet. I’d get him a fish or something.
“My taste for women tends to run toward hellions with the potential to ruin my life.”
“Sounds healthy.”
The line connected, and a deep voice grumbled, “Hale.”
“Tristan, this is Alex.”
No answer from the other line. Conceited, little shit. He was waiting for more.
“Achilles Ferrante is ready for your meeting.”
“Is he, now?” He sounded amused.
“Yes. He is right here with me.”
“And where are you?”
“Fermanagh’s. Need the address?”
“I got it.” He sounded American, but that didn’t mean jack shit. Conflicting reports had surfaced about him throughout the years. Some said he was Italian, some from Scandinavia, and some insisted he was from an undisclosed country in Africa. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He hung up.
Interesting that he didn’t ask for any guarantees on his life. Then again, if he couldn’t keep himself alive, he was a shit assassin to begin with.
Tiernan returned, looking very much like the cat who ate the canary. I didn’t ask him if Lila was pregnant. I wasn’t in the mood for anyone else’s good news.
“Hale’s on his way.” Alex stood and collected his gun and phone.
“Leaving already?” I drawled. “I thought you and Tiernan had a slumber party scheduled.”
“No sense of humor, no looks.” Alex stopped midstride on his way to the door to clap my shoulder. “Hold on to Tierney as hard as you can, because you’re punching way out of your league.”
I was fully prepared to stand up and go after him, but Tiernan stopped me when he rounded his desk and turned his screen to face me. “There’s something you need to see.”
Fermanagh’s CCTV footage was on display. In the grainy alleyway, I spotted a tall figure donning their mask.
Tristan Hale.
He was getting ready, putting on elastic, fake finger pads to disguise his prints. The little shit was good.
“You can probably catch him if you hurry up,” Tiernan said.
“Which way?” I grumbled.
“Take the back door from the kitchen and break right. He’s locked in. A mountain of trash blocks the exit from the other side.”
I stood up and charged in the kitchen’s direction. Cooks and waiters bustled across the small space, and I shouldered through them, the heat and scent of deep-fried bar food assaulting my nostrils. I elbowed the door open, slamming it so hard against the wall it rattled. Tristan twisted his head in the direction of the noise, but I had the element of surprise working for me.
That, and my alluring personality.
