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“Why not?”
She gaped at him. “Because there’s a sign on the door that says so! You can’t bring concealed weapons in this place!”
“Tesoro, relax. I carry it everywhere—you know that.”
“Yes, but here?” she asked. “It’s unlawful!”
Now it was his turn to laugh. “We live in Chicago. Me just breathing in the direction of a gun is illegal. Would you rather I get rid of it completely?”
“Yes.”
Her answer was quick and firm, catching him off guard. She looked at Carmine with certainty and he shook his head. “So you’d prefer me defenseless?”
She blanched. “Of course not.”
“Then what’s the big deal?”
“I don’t want you to get caught.”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
“But I do,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”
“All right, but—”
“No buts.”
She huffed at the interruption and completely ignored him. “But why do you bring it places like here? I get that you need it for work, but why when you’re with me?”
He shrugged. “You never know when something might happen.”
“So? You never know when it might rain, but I don’t see you carrying an umbrella everywhere just in case.”
He chuckled at the absurdity of the comparison, even though she was completely serious. “The weatherman usually warns me when that’s gonna happen.”
“And you don’t get warnings? Corrado doesn’t tell you when something’s going to happen? What happened to intuition?”
“Well, yeah, but I can’t always plan. Sometimes I only have time to react.”
She thought he was paranoid. Christ, he probably was paranoid, but rightfully so. He knew how ruthless the streets could be and if she were thinking clearly, she would see it too. He understood, though. His life still scared her. Hell, it scared Carmine just as much, but the best way to deal was to always be prepared.
And regardless of what she insisted, sometimes you had to be mean to make it. It was how the game was played. If you aren’t the predator, you end up the prey.
“Besides,” he added, “last I checked, a little rain couldn’t kill you.”
“But lightning can if it’s a storm.”
“And you think an umbrella would help you in that case?” he asked, throwing one of her earlier arguments back at her.
He waited for her to respond, figuring she would have something to say, but all he got was silence—completely tense, unnerving, motherfucking silence.
“Do you trust me?” he asked after a moment, knowing they were at an impasse and getting nowhere fast.
“Yes.”
“Then trust me about this, okay? We can argue about trees and phrases and any other thing you feel passionate about, but just give me this.”
