Page 31 of Texting My Mafia Boss

“Did you wave back?”

“No,” Emmet says. “Tell her it’s nothing personal. I’ll buy her some cotton candy next time we’re at the fair.”

I nod. “Good man. You did the right thing. Who is he?”

It’s like I can hear Emmet smiling. I lean back in my chair, crossing my ankles on the desk, trying to convince myself I’mnot on the verge of a red, hot rage. “I thought you were going to ask that.”

“You know me well.”

“I had my partner split off and follow him. Got his address and the plate to his vehicle.”

“Good work,” I say, then hang up, drumming my fingers on the desk.

A moment later, my cell phone rings again. It’s Mark.

“Give me some good news,” I snap.

“Cartel lead seems like bullshit. I’ve been asking around. No presence in the city to speak of. Even the local Mexican gangs don’t know what we’re talking about. And Detective Tuffin has taken a leave of absence. He’s in Malta for two months.”

“How convenient,” I say. “So, we’re back to square one.”

“Maybe it really was just a freak thing,” Mark replies.

“Yeah, sure, until the bullets fly. Ruggero wants me to go to his bar in a couple of hours. Meet me there.”

“Will do,” he says. “Should I bring backup?”

I consider this. “No. He’s not stupid enough to attack us in the open. I hope he’s not stupid enough to attack us at all.”

“My mother used to say, assume everybody’s a fool, including yourself, and it makes life a lot easier.”

“Smart lady.”

After the phone call, I go to the window, looking out on my estate. Callum Dray, some jock-looking bastard who thinks he can act tough because Mara is alone and a woman.

I return to the desk and open my computer, finding him on social media. His profile photo is of him with a big, shiny smile on his face. His profile is public, so I click through the photos.

My veins turn cold when I see him, several years ago, with his arm wrapped around Mara. She’s got a smile on her face… but she looks scared. It’s like she’s desperate to get far away from that man.

Or that’s just what I’m seeing. What I want to see. As if the idea of her with anybody else is poison to me. I stare at it for a long time, opening and closing my fist.

My cell phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize, which isn’t highly unusual. It could be one of my men on a burner.

“Speak,” I say, answering.

“Oh, hi?” a woman’s voice, nervous and low. “It’s Ambra Calvi, Ruggero’s daughter.”

What the hell?

“Hello, Ambra,” I say, tone even.

“I wanted to call before our date at my father’s bar later.”

I massage the bridge of my nose. This is some messed-up scheming, even for Ruggero. I think again of what he hinted about my baby, that if I don’t marry, she will one day. Are the Calvis stupid enough to start a conflict over this?

“I’m sorry, Ambra, but this is the first I’m hearing of a date.”

I’m careful to keep the rage out of my voice. This isn’t her fault. And despite how ridiculous it all is, I still have to respect the Calvi name.