I grinned. “If I tell you—”
“Yeah, yeah, you’ll have to kill me, seen the movie.” She rolled her eyes, laughing. “Jokes aside. I don’t want you walking into something that might get you killed. I’m grateful you’re helping me find my nephew, but—”
“Relax, Jaz. I’ve got this.”
“Don’t you find it strange, though, that they left the message for you and not me. I mean, he’s my nephew...”
“I wondered about it but if someone is prepared to give me information instead then I’m glad to help.” Regardless, I remained wary that some fucked up shit from my past was about to hit the fan. If it was my time to go then so be it. “Quit worrying, Jaz, I can handle myself.”
“Okay.” She walked over to the couch, dropped into it, and reached for the remote. About that ball, changed your mind yet?”
“Not my thing.” Two days ago, Jaz mentioned her friend had given her an invitation to a fundraising ball being held at some castle. The father couldn’t make it and he’d given it to his daughter.
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know, I still don’t have a date and my friend still isn’t sure she can make it.”
Crossing my hands over my chest, I leaned my butt against the window ledge and asked, “what’s so intriguing about this castle?”
She wiggled her brows, grinning. “If my sources are correct, it belongs to a mafia crime lord. It would be cool to see how these crime lords live because I love the Sopranos. It’s a series about the mafia.”
I chuckled. “You do know that’s television, right?”
She shrugged. “That’s why I’m intrigued. I want to see how real-life compares.”
Vigilant, my interest spun the other way. “What does your friend’s father do anyway, to get an invite to that place?”
She leaned her head against the backrest and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them. “I have no cooking clue. He’s some big-shot businessman or something. Why do you ask?”
I rubbed my jaw, reminding myself that I needed a shave. While I was still coming out of my doldrums and granted it’d been years since Ria disappeared, I’d neglected my appearance. Sometimes going days without a shave. “Just curious.” I glanced at my watch. If my ride was punctual, I still had a good fifteen minutes to go.
“Can I ask you a question?” I looked up, frowning then noticed the change in her expression and I knew what was coming. I nodded. “Who broke your heart?” she asked. Okay, her question was different. Usually, it was, why wasn’t I interested in either dating or fucking a woman.
“What makes you think someone did?”
She licked her lips and I could see the uncertainty in her eyes. “Um...for a good-looking guy, you never look at women. I mean, like admire them or even talk about them. I’ve seen you give women the cold shoulder so many times I’m beginning to wonder if you’re gay,” she blurted the last part, her cheeks crimson.
Laughing, I cupped the back of my neck and rolled the tension out of it. “I’m not gay. And no one broke my heart...well, I’m not sure if she did...” I glanced out the window, wondering why I never moved on, why my heart was still stuck in the past, why I couldn’t bring myself to be with another woman.
“True love tends to do that to a man, you know.”
I shifted my gaze back to her. “What?”
“Leaves you questioning yourself over and over. Leaves you lonely for a long time. Leaves you wondering if you’ll ever move on.”
“Been there?”
She fidgeted with her nail polish before lifting her head. “Unlike you, he broke my heart and it took me a long time to recover.”
“Sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Thanks. It was a long time ago. I got up one day, said fuck it and the rest they say is history.” She laughed, flopping across the seat. “Anyway, you and I can have a date night tomorrow if you’re up for it. An all-expense-paid free dinner.”
I glanced at my watch and straightened. “Time to go. I’ll let you know about the free dinner.” I paused with a frown. “Didn’t you say fundraising ball?” She nodded. “What’s a mafia crime lord raising funds for?”
“Guns maybe.” She snorted a laugh.
Grinning, I walked out and reached the curb as a black SUV with blackout windows pulled up. The driver, a heavy dressed in a dark suit and black button-down that screamed bodyguard climbed out and came around the vehicle.
“Turn around with your hands behind your back,” his deep no-nonsense voice demanded. I did as he asked and grinned when he cuffed my hands with flex-cuff then did a quick pat-down. He slipped my Colt out from my waistband at the back of my pants and palmed it. “Nice piece.”
