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Iwalk into a quiet little French cafe off Green Street right near Fairmount. It’s a leafy neighborhood, lots of expensive red-brick houses, and there’s nobody but a bored-looking barista behind the counter. I order two drinks, both Americanos, and pick the table right next to the door.
Nobody knows me here, but I’m still on alert, watching everyone who walks past. I’m on the edge of Russian territory, technically still within the turf controlled by Don Orsino Milano. It’s something of a dead zone though, a buffer between their two organizations, and I chose it because the chances of someone spotting me are pretty low.
It’s the only way I could get Allegra to meet.
I’m nervous. I fucking hate that. I’ve done risky, dangerous things all my life, gone into combat without a single hesitation, pulled off enormous million-dollar deals without so much as a care in the world, but this makes me sweat. I’m meeting a girl for coffee, and I’m acting like it’s the most important thing ever.
But the ramifications of this meeting could be huge.
If we actually go through with this deal—the fallout is going to change everything.
My brothers are going to hate me, Saul and Renzo in particular. I’ll be betraying them, stealing a woman from the hero, causing a rift with the Rinaldo Famiglia. I told Allegra we’d stay together for a year until our two organizations became tightly linked together, but I’m worried we’ll only destroy whatever tenuous alliance Renzo’s managed to establish.
I still want to go through with it.
That’s the most fucked-up part. I should have second thoughts, but I don’t. All I see, all I can feel, is marrying Allegra. I’ve been obsessing about it since that night, and now I can almost taste her again.
The bell over the door chimes and she steps into the room. Allegra looks around and spots me before walking over. She’s wearing a simple navy sundress, her hair down past her shoulder, thick and wavy, little to no makeup as always. She’s gripping the strap of a bag and holding it in front of her body like a shield. Her tension ripples through her posture.
“You came,” I say and gesture at the chair across from me. “I got your drink.”
She doesn’t sit. “You remember?”
“I got you an Americano every morning for a week. I won’t ever forget it.”
Her eyebrows knit, and I’m not sure if she likes that or not. Truth is, I’ve been drinking the same thing ever since I left for Vegas all those years ago. At first, it was to feel close to her, some pathetic way to cling onto the emotions I ran away from, but now it’s just regular habit.
“I don’t know if you think that’s sweet or something, but it’s kind of creepy.” She sits down and takes a sip.
“Good, right?”
“Not bad.” She’s sitting on the edge of her chair, perched to bolt.
I should say something to put her at ease, but I can’t find any words right now. I can only look at her and feel all those emotions flood back into my guts. She’s still so beautiful, still so perfect, so very much herself. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t think it’d be this.
“I’ve thought about you a lot since college.” I can tell it’s the wrong thing to say. She’s sitting straighter, her lips pressed into a tight line, her hands gripping the coffee mug tightly.
“I don’t want to hear that. I pretty much forgot about you.”
I lean forward, eyebrows lifted. “Really? If that’s true, why are you looking at me like you want to cut my head off right now?”
“I’m not.” She tries to relax. “You just aren’t important anymore.”
“Then why show up?”
“Because you made me a good offer the other night and I reacted emotionally.”
“Meaning you still do care.”
“I think you’re conflatinghatewithcarehere, but okay.”
“I knew I was still important to you.”
She puts her mug down, exasperated. “You haven’t changed one bit.”
“Still gorgeous and charming?”
“Still annoying as hell and exasperating. Still self-centered and frustrating. I knew this was a mistake.” She moves to get up, but I reach out and put my hand on the table halfway toward her.
