I wasn’t used to being distracted. My personality was on point, refusing to allow any aspect of business to get to me.
When thoughts of the mystery girl continued to pop into my mind, I closed my eyes, pressing my thumb against the bridge of my nose. There was absolutely no reason for me to have a headache, but I didn’t believe in coincidences.
Who the hell was the girl and why couldn’t I get my mind off her?
There was every reason for my dick to ache. The girl was fucking beautiful. In an unassuming way. A caterpillar ready to turn into a magnificent butterfly. Our night had been close to perfect.
Tall and slender, the ridiculous gray running gear she’d worn hadn’t taken away from her voluptuous body. And her rosy porcelain skin had caused her bright green eyes to punch me right in the gut.
Some would call them doe eyes, but they were knowing, sadness ripping through them from years of torment. When you coupled that with the fading bruise on her cheek, all the classic signs of abuse were there.
In a world where violence had once been an everyday fact of life, I’d learned to become immune to anyone’s pain. Taking it all in meant heartache and what was the point? There’d only been two times in my life I’d allowed my emotions to get the better of me.
Once had been when my father had been murdered. While I’d suffered in silence as the Prince brothers tended to do, that didn’t mean I didn’t go through a vast array of emotions.
The other time had been much more difficult to deal with, coming at a time in my life when I’d challenged everything, including my father’s power. I’d been ill equipped to deal with the rage and need for revenge.
If it hadn’t been for the closeness of the family, my guess was that my ass would have been tossed in prison for a few years.
The rambling thoughts on past tragedies were not the best foils against the increasing anger I had for the Italians. We’d mostly considered them nuisances, but as with all enemies, they expressed their need for power from time to time.
Which was why the woman suddenly running into me on the street continued to nag at a portion of my mind. She’d looked at me as if out of recognition, straightening her spine, lifting her head in a gesture of annoyance and defiance.
Even after catching a moment of true fear in her eyes, the steel in her bearing had captured and kept my attention.
When she’d noticed blood on my sleeve, I’d seen instant recognition, yet she hadn’t backed down.
Given my state of mind, I’d accomplished shit.
I shifted to the window, staring out at the street below. I was the only one who frequented the offices in the building housing our various Indulgence operations. While we had a staff here as well as in our other set of corporate offices, being here afforded me a level of quiet I didn’t have in the other location.
Sighing, I rubbed my eyes and studied the people coming and going. What did I know about the girl? A ballerina now with New Orleans. That checked out. She was at least ten years younger, but what had snagged my curiosity and concern more than anything was her accent. Decidedly Italian. Not New York Italian either and certainly not the crude accent I’d heard from the Russo family members.
She was tried and true, born to a family of wealth and power. How did I know that? Because in learning various languages, I’d learned about different dialects for different portions of Italy and beyond. I longed to hear her speak fluid Italian. That would be even more telling.
Fuck.
My brain was obviously fried. I flopped back into the seat, tapping the video and moving to the next one. Every night Indulgence was open, it was packed. Two figures caught my eye, although they were doing nothing that should cause alarm. In truth, they were positioned at a table where there was a direct line of sight with one of the cameras. If they knew it was positioned in the painted rafters, they didn’t acknowledge it.
They had to be Russo’s men. But working for Sergio or Carmine? Even with limited duties, Sergio would have assigned men at his disposal for protection or action if required.
What they were doing was nursing their drinks while studying the crowd. I carefully pressed fast forward. Thirty minutes. Then to one hour later. They’d maybe said two words.
At hour two, they simply got up and walked from the frame, leaving their half full glasses.
That was not normal behavior. Not by a long shot. Yet it also wasn’t incriminating in the least. I wrote down the video’s date for my own personal records and emailed the video’s link to one of our computer experts. While the men’s faces were shadowed because of the club’s dim lighting, I had a feeling our expert computer team could figure it out.
Ralph was the best at what he did. If he could get clearer shots of either one, perhaps he could run it through the system for facial recognition. Maybe Carmine Russo would be helpful or at least expose his betrayal of the alliance. At least if Sinclair kept his cool, which he wasn’t always known for doing.
At this point, I was at a complete dead end, the realization frustrating as hell.
Leaning back, I stretched out my legs and thought about what the dead man had told me. I’d also checked the logs for the warehouses. Two of the men in the group waiting outside had been our regular drivers. No wonder they’d looked freaking terrified. They’d likely been dragged into the delivery at gunpoint. I rubbed my jaw. I’d been so distracted by the woman and her early departure I’d lost all sense of how I handled situations of that nature. I’d need to check with Donatello to make sure they were the ones he’d selected to remain alive.
Fuck. I loathed making stupid mistakes. They should have been the ones interrogated.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
I tossed my pen onto the desk, more frustrated than ever. Maybe the months of peace and prosperity were the problem. I’d forgotten my training.
