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He holds up a finger, reaching into his vest pocket with his other hand and fishing out his phone. He clicks around for a moment, and I speak up helpfully. “The only one that probably would’ve caught your attention is the Jimmy Keys story.”
Dominick laughs, setting his phone down. “You broke that story? That guy’s a total douchebag, tried to stiff me on the bill too. I was glad he got busted . . . but not in my damn club.”
His voice is hard again by the end, and my momentary hope that maybe he wouldn’t be too mad, at least about that part of our revelations, are crushed.
I lower my eyes, unable to help it because I know there’s worse news coming. “Dominick, please. There’s more.”
He huffs, sitting up as Allie lays a hand on his shoulder, helping to calm him. He glances at her and nods, waving a hand at me. “It’s your show, apparently. Tell me.”
I glance at Shane, but he gives me a reassuring nod. I’m doing fine. Keep going. “So, the night of the shooting . . .”
I see Allie flinch and give her a soft smile of apology for bringing up something that must be scary for her to think about. “That night, I was in the hallway after delivering the scotch, so I saw the hitman. I don’t think he even registered me at the time. I’m just kinda invisible to most folks.”
I shrug because it’s the truth, but Shane squeezes my hand, and I know he sees me. He always sees me, and it gives me the strength to continue.
“But yesterday, when Shane and I were lying low, the hitman found us. He’s tracking me, tying up loose ends because somewhere along the way, he realized I’d seen him and could recognize him.”
Dominick steeples his hands, fingertips pressing together under his chin. “And this hitman chasing you, you want me to do something about it, I take it?”
I nod, the plea in my eyes. “Please, Dominick. Help us.”
“Tell me, Maggie Postland,” Dominick says, leaning forward again and studying the both of us. “The suit with the scotch. Do you know who he was?”
“I didn’t then, but I do now,” I admit. “Carlos Rivaldi. This is where Shane comes in, I think.”
Dominick looks to Shane, annoyance and anger clearly written on his face. “It appears you’ve been tagged. You’re it.”
Shane holds Dominick’s glare with steady eyes before beginning. “Dominick, I want you to take a minute and think back on the time I’ve been working for you . . . the things I’ve done, the things I’ve seen, the things I’ve told you.”
Dominick smiles, but it feels threatening, not friendly. “Yes, we have done some rather interesting things in your time here. And until this little incident, I thought you were a fine employee, one of the best I had. But what’s that got to do with this?”
“Have the guys step out for this. Just you and me, and the girls. Trust me. Please.”
They seem to be communicating with their eyes, taking each other’s measure, but I think it’s the ‘please’ that does it.
Dominick turns, his voice clear and sharp as he looks at the guards. “Leave us. Secure the building perimeter.”
The security guys disappear at once, and I hear both the front and back doors open, then close. Dominick waits, then looks back at Shane. “Okay, we’re alone. Out of respect for what you’ve done and the honor you’ve shown toward all the ladies who work here, I did that. Don’t make me regret it. Now tell me what’s so important.”
Shane nods and leans forward, his elbows wide on the table as he looks at Dominick. “Approximately twelve months ago, word on the street was that Sal Rivaldi was making progress, increasing the size of his operation, but doing it quietly and in small pocket areas that are only loosely in your control. The way things were looking, he was positioning himself to divide East Robinsville, or maybe take over the whole city.”
Dominick leans forward, his eyes intense. “And you know this how?”
Shane looks Dominick in the eye. There is no fear, no hesitancy, no apology on Shane’s face. “Because I’m FBI.”
Dominick explodes, standing so fast his chair clatters to the floor behind him as he slams his hands to the table. Allie and I jump at the sharp sound.
Shane stands too, holding his ground as Dominick stalks around the table to grab him by the shirt. Dominick rears back for a punch and Shane doesn’t try to block him, just keeps his voice level. “There’s more . . .”
Dominick pauses, and I think for a second that he’s not going to punch Shane in the face. But he redirects the punch to Shane’s gut, the powerful hit echoing in the empty room.
