ENZO BONVENTI
I swipe to answer it, blood smearing across my screen.
"I'm listening."
"Got something for you," he says, his voice smooth, unbothered by whatever he's about to share. "You available?"
"Always available for the right price."
"Good," he says. "Then you're available."
"Chicago?" I ask.
"Boston."
I step over the body, already moving out of the alley. "Target?"
"Protection detail."
I don't sigh. But I want to.
Babysitting. Wonderful.
I pause at the corner, checking the street. A couple passes, but they're too focused on each other to notice me.
"What am I protecting?"
"Irish mafia princess. Main goal is to keep her breathing."
A woman.
I don't ask questions. Questions complicate things, create attachments.
"She's young. Mid-20s. Active in the city," Enzo continues.
I don't respond, and there's a silence between us for a moment as I keep walking, boots splashing through puddles.
"I'm going to bring her brother on this call now," Enzo says. "He's acting Don of the Irish family there. Name's Callum Killaney."
I hear a slight click and a new voice cuts in.
"Voinea."
"Killaney."
"I won't waste your time," Callum says. "My sister's going to fight this. She's not going to want you there."
"Then she'll lose," I say, and stop walking for a second. "Doesn't matter what she wants. If I'm paid to do a job, I do it."
More silence.
I can feel him evaluating me through the phone.
Callum finally speaks. "She's in danger. I want someone who won't flinch when she lashes out. Someone she can't manipulate."
That almost makes me laugh. Manipulate me?
"She'll stay alive," I say as I turn down another street, heading toward my car. "Nothing would stop that from happening."
