The words stayed low enough that the tourists didn’t turn. A colder sweat gathered between my shoulder blades. Quiet men with nice watches were how trouble wore cologne.
I reached for the little plastic cup and slid it across the bar. “Then you can multitask. It’s a limoncello margarita, the house test batch.”
Nico studied the cup.
I waited him out.
“Is there a problem?” I asked.
“I came to collect a debt, not get emotionally assaulted by lemon.”
“You came into an Italian beach bar in Miami. Lemon was always a risk.”
He almost smiled.
I stirred the garnish tray with a spoon so I had something to do.
He picked up the cup and smelled it first, like he was on a yacht instead of in a bar where the equipment was threatening my life.
Then he drank.
His eyebrows lifted a fraction.
I leaned both palms on the bar. “Careful. If you compliment it, a fairy dies.”
“It’s too sweet.”
“You’re too overdressed.”
“It needs more acid.”
“You need less jewelry.”
Nico showed just enough teeth. They were very white, very straight, and just sharp-looking enough to make me remember I had survival instincts. Unfortunately, my survival instincts had a long history of confusing danger with dinner plans.
He set the cup down. “You always talk this much when you’re cornered?”
“I’m from New Jersey. This is how we say hello.”
“Is that what this is?”
“No, this is customer service. If I were saying hello, your shirt would already be part of the conversation.”
He glanced down at his open linen shirt, then back up at me. “What’s wrong with my shirt?”
“It looks like it came with a bottle-service minimum and a cousin named Rocco.”
Shay coughed into her towel.
He stayed focused on me. “You’ve got a lot to say.”
“I’ve got a liquor license, a fryer, and a man in designer swim trunks trying to scare me before dinner rush. Commentary is the complimentary bread.”
Mari slapped the bell. “Two mozzarella, three calamari, one tomato pie square, and somebody better run food before I start throwing cones.”
Dusty appeared from behind Nico with a tray balanced on one hand. “I’m available for mozzarella transport on a human level.”
“Be physically available,” Mari called.
