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Romeo took the tequila bottle from the waitress, pouring us shots. “You look like hell. Does it hurt?”
I barely felt my wounds, but my mouth still throbbed with her kiss. “I’m fine.”
He tossed back his shot. “I haven’t seen you much.”
“Been busy.”
He smiled. “Oh? Bonding with your little boy?”
My lips curved. “Playing with toy trains isn’t my usual routine on a Friday night, but I enjoy it.”
“What’s he like?”
“He’s obsessed with how things work. The other day, he made me explain how water gets into the toilet. He’ll be an engineer. He’s bossy but adorable. Type A for sure.”
That wasn’t me. I followed the rules. Now Romeo, he was the troublemaker. He seemed stressed. His knee jigged, and he couldn’t stop scanning the crowd.
“What’s the matter?”
“Girl trouble,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Romeo was also known for his over-the-top affairs. He loved women, especially the crazy ones. He’d walk through a burning building to date a girl he liked. His relationships ended in a fiery wreck, but he never learned, always going for damaged goods.
I poured myself another drink. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”
He glowered. “Not for long, if she keeps up this shit. She cut up all my ties. All of them. Just because she thought I’d cheated on her—I didn’t. So I retaliated. I broke into her place and burned her lingerie. She texted me this just now.”
He opened his phone, his thumb flicking through a series of hostile messages to a photo of Romeo’s kitchen, the sliding glass door shattered.
“Can you believe this girl?” he hissed, scrolling through more pictures. “She smashed my fucking door. Who does that to me, of all people? How did she even manage? It’s double-paned.”
“You can’t let her do that.”
He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Oh, I’m done with this chick. At this rate, I’ll wake up to a knife to my throat.”
I silently thanked Violet for not being a homicidal maniac.
“Women,” Romeo sighed. “Remind me why we’re here again?”
“To meet with a merc.”
I nodded at the men guarding the door. They opened it. Flanked by guards, V strolled into the VIP area. Bass from the big speakers thumped the ground. He was tall with a fade haircut. Baggy pants and combat boots. He had a weathered, stray cat look. Scars nicked his jaw and arms. V dragged a chair to our table and sat.
“So what’s this about?”
I faced him. “I need information about a gun-for-hire job.”
“I don’t snitch on clients.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
He crossed his arms. “Nothing you give me will cover the damage to my rep.”
“What about an introduction to the boss?”
He straightened, a hungry gleam entering his gaze. He was dying to meet my cousin. No matter a merc’s success in the underground, better clients meant premium cash. The connection alone would be incredible.
I leaned over. “How would you like to be the richest merc in Boston?”
