I intend on ignoring it, but I realize it’s Jake, and I owe him some money.
“I got your money,” I tell him, reaching into the envelope and pulling out a stack more than I actually owe him.
“It’s not about that,” Jake insists. “Got somewhere here who needs to talk to you.”
I turn to look at him, and see another man walking up just behind him. He’s built like a brick house. About the same height as me, but broad, muscular, and square jawed.
“Not right now,” I insist. “You know I don’t talk after a job.”
Jake shakes his head. “I tried to tell him that, but…”
The unnamed man steps forward past Jake, and I realize who he is as the light shines on his face.
Tommaso Dresvanni.
“I think you’ll find yourself more amendable to changes,” Tommaso says as he glares at me with all the intensity of the sun.
“Tommaso,” I say slowly.
He blinks. “How the fuck do you know me?” he asks, then chuckles. “Guess that’s a stupid question. Aleksandr.”
I growl under my breath. “You told him my real name?” I ask Jake, who looks a bit panicked.
“Look, this is between the two of you.” He takes the money I still have in my hand and then steps backward.
“Just don’t kill each other down here. Or if you do, try not to make a mess.” Jake points at us.
Tommaso steps even closer, and I feel the pure heat rolling off his body.
“I need to know everything you know about the Bianchis,” he insists.
I stare at him. “Why exactly do you think I’m willing to tell you?” I ask him.
“Jake and Travi owe me. They told me you’re the man to talk to,” he explains.
I eye him from head to toe. Dark t-shirt that clings to his chest, leather jacket, designer jeans, but scuffed boots. A gun clip on his hip. He’s bigger than me…but I’m the one with the bigger gun right now.
“That’s Jake and Travi. I do not owe you,” I tell him point blank and turn to continue walking.
I hear him walking after me.
“You got nothing to lose tellin’ me, but an awful lot to lose by refusing,” he threatens me.
I put a hand on my gun at my back and turn to look at him again. “I know why you want to know, and I don’t care. I just killed a man in front of his family. I’m going to my room to get a drink, and you will not be coming with me.”
Tommaso seems to eye me now and I scoff and turn back to walking.
He doesn’t get the message and continues following me.
“The kind of man who would do that don’t seem the type to turn down a little information exchange for an ally,” he tells me.
I get to my door and shove it open with my boot.
“You might be an ally to this group, but you’re not mine,” I remind him. “I have no reason to trust you.”
He steps into the small room along with me. One single chair, a twin bed, and a small table where a bottle of scotch sits half empty.
“Get out,” I say, cold and low.
