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Paul flashed a grin. “I’m joking, guy. Gina’s a slut anyway, so no harm, no foul. I just don’t want her jawing my ear off about it, you know?”
Real charmer, this guy. Fuck it, I was having another cigarette.
“Zola got some fine-ass granddaughters, though, so at least you got a little eye candy working with you,” Paul rattled on while I lit the third smoke of my break. “You remember Matt Zola, their older brother? Dude always thought he was smarter than fuckin’ everyone.”
“That’s because he is,” I said. “Kid used to get straight As in every class I had with him.”
Before I dropped out, anyway. Matthew Zola was one of those kids everyone loved to hate. The girls all thought he was hot, and the guys who weren’t green with envy wanted to be him. But you couldn’t actually hate him because he was a genuinely good guy.
No doubt Matt was flying through college at this point. And good for him. He put in the work. He deserved it.
“His sister, though…” Paul was saying.
I grunted. “Which one?”
“Lea Zola. Eighteen, barely legal, and fine as fuck.”
I grunted again. I was not interested in talking about Lea Zola with this piece of shit.
Paul wasn’t getting the vibes, though.
“I saw her at the bodega the other day, and, I mean, damn. Girl grew right up. She got this waist and this ass that looks like she wants to be turned right over and have a real man?—”
“That’s enough,” I snapped. “Her grandpa is on the other side of this door. Have some fuckin’ respect.”
Paul just laughed. Almost as if he enjoyed the fact that his insults might be overheard.
“I wouldn’t bother with her, though,” he said. “She’s a real ballbreaker.”
I scowled. “The fuck does that mean?”
“You should have heard her at the bodega. Got super pissed because her chicken cutlet was a little cold. Had the dude remake it and everything.” He shook his head. “If my woman talked to me like that, I’d show her the back of my hand You can tell she’s bossy. Fuckin’ frigid.”
My left hand flexed and fisted, and I had to hold myself back from punching Paul Reyes in the face for even thinking about hurting Lea.
A scowl was probably permanently carved into my face by now. I didn’t know Lea Zola. She probably was bossy, but if you grew up in this neighborhood, with men like Paul Reyes making comments like that, who could blame her for growing a backbone? Not me. And I definitely knew she was the furthest thing from frigid. The girl was hotter than sin.
The real question was: why did I care what anyone said about her?
“Anyway, Sly Ricky was very curious about what you been doing,” Paul continued. “He said Antoni was asking about you too.”
My gaze flickered to him as I blew out some smoke. Now we were getting to it. “Lis or Ares?”
Paul grinned, showing two gold crowns. “You know which one.”
Fuck. I’d heard about Lis Antoni, the newest boss and de facto head of the Mancuso crime family, now that they’d merged with the Albanian mob in the area.
“He’s gonna be very interested to know that you’re working at Zola’s garage. Mancuso’s been trying to get in here for years. Nice, man. Very nice.”
I took a long pull on my cigarette, then exhaled another cloud of smoke. “It’s a job. Glad to be out. Working.”
“As a driver?” Paul asked hopefully.
The little fucker. Like I hadn’t seen what he—and, by extension, Lis Antoni—wanted from a mile away. Drivers were premium lackeys for the mob. They provided trunk space, made it easy to smuggle shit across the region when cars were being towed or dropped off, not to mention they gave the perfect cover for a boss looking to funnel money. While it was possible that Mattias Zola was already on the take, I seriously doubted it if Paul was approaching me like this. And I hadn’t seen a single sign of any cars being ripped up for parts.
Being the only honest mechanic left in Belmont was quite a reputation to uphold. It also made Zola a very valuable commodity to acquire.
“No driving,” I said shortly. “Repair only.” I glanced at him sideways. “And the garage is full, so don’t even think of dropping anything off. They don’t chop shit up here.”
