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“Let me jot this down,” he said. “Oh, by the way, Widow Maker made a local call from the lobby of her condo late last night.”
“And?”
“Viko Fedorov.”
Boss frowned. “Any recording?”
“We didn’t have the lobby tapped. She always uses her secure cells.”
“She must know we’re tracking her. Why the fuck would she call him from a public place?”
“When I traced the call and saw the name, I thought you’d be interested.”
“Send the bios of the men to me when you have everything,” said Boss. “But Viko and Widow Maker are top priority. Get all hands on this.”
He was pissed off Maurice had waited this long to tell him about the call. And why the fuck would Graciella be involved with the Circle of Monsters? The call had been local, which meant Viko was in his city. Boss didn’t like to be in the dark about anything.
She must have gotten herself into trouble, or was she working for the notorious group of assassins? Either way, he planned to find out.
He wasn’t sure why he cared—that woman should have been wiped off the face of the earth once she started causing problems for him. Instead, she piqued his curiosity. He found himself drawn to her. Boss was used to getting what he wanted, and right now, he wanted the Widow Maker in his bed.
Boss slammed his fist down on the desk, his monitors rattling. He didn’t like how Graciella invaded his thoughts. She was a dangerous distraction, and he had to be focused or he’d make mistakes. He wasn’t following his own advice, and it had to stop. It was time to get El Diablo’s little sister off his mind.
He did a little digging, called in a few favors, then messaged Killian for a ride. It wasn’t Friday, but another woman was the perfect way to get Graciella off his mind. Maurice and his team would be all over this Viko Fedorov bullshit.
“Pick me up in an hour. Bring a new bitch. I feel like going out for dinner.” Boss hung up and hit the shower.
Before the hour, Killian rang the doorbell. Boss finished adjusting his tie as he made his way to the front entry.
“Ready?”
“I will be in a few minutes.”
Killian came in and sat on one of the armchairs, making himself at home. Although he was one of his best hitmen, he liked to use the Irish assassin as his driver most days. Trust was key in this business, and he’d taken Killian under his wing ages ago.
“You look like shit,” said Killian.
Boss ignored him, checking his collar in the hall mirror. “How are the kids?”
“Growing like fucking weeds,” said Killian. “I think we’re going to try for another.”
He scoffed. “June must have the patience of a saint to deal with you.”
“She does.” Killian got to his feet, brushing his unruly blond hair off his face. “What about you, Boss? What are you now? Fifty? Sixty?”
“Fuck off.”
“No, seriously, you going to live alone in this huge house forever?”
“That’s the plan,” said Boss. “I have enough trouble keeping up with you assholes and your family dramas.”
Killian laughed. “Well, you won’t want to marry the one waiting in the car, but she’ll stave off the loneliness for a night.”
“She cute?”
Killian shrugged. “Does it matter? She has a pussy and an ass. That’s all you’ve ever requested, no?”
Boss slipped his jacket on over his gun holster. “Okay. I’m ready.”
