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But Cezary wasn’t that kind of man. I could see it in the way he watched me with that stupid smile like he knew something I didn’t. I wanted to reach out and wrap my fingers around his throat and watched his eyes bulge as his lips turned blue and he stopped moving, but I kept myself still and ready.
He reached up a hand and gestured at Demian. The young man came forward and Mal shifted, reaching for the baton at his hip. But Demian reached into his jacket and took out a thin, rectangular object, something shiny and metal.
Cezary took it and tossed it onto the table.
It was a placard. The sort of thing you saw bolted onto the door of some rundown old bar tucked away in the corner of nowhere.
It was one, single word.
Lowdown.
Mal grabbed the placard and stared. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his voice a subsonic rumble. He was about to get violent if I didn’t keep control of this situation.
“I heard you did some renovating, so I went ahead and dug through your trash. Found that on one of my outings.”
I narrowed my eyes. They’d thrown all that stuff away months ago—which meant Cezary had been involved in all this for much longer than I realized.
I felt a sudden, intense jolt.
He knew more than I realized. He’d been patient and careful. He’d been watching, gathering data, getting a sense for how my operation worked.
He wasn’t some mindless barbarian here to break down our gates.
He was cold and calculating.
I’d underestimated him, and this was his way of letting me know just how badly I’d fucked up.
“If you’re trying to threaten my business, I would reconsider,” Mal said, leaning forward. He banged a fist on the table and my coffee cup rattled.
Cezary didn’t even flinch. “That’s merely a token of our friendship. You see, despite what you may think, I’m not here to take what’s yours. I’m here to expand my own territory and to work with my new partner, Mauro Balestra. What’s his is mine, and together, I plan on thriving.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “It was nice meeting you gentlemen, and I hope you have a lovely day.”
He walked away. Demian followed wordlessly. They climbed onto their bikes, kicked them to life, and rolled away. Their engines growled like raging tigers as they disappeared around a turn.
Mal shook with anger.
“I’m going to kill that man,” he said quietly. “His little shit-brain cousin, too.”
“You’ll get your chance,” I said. “But he just told us something important.”
“He knows about the Lowdown.”
I gestured that way. “He’s been watching us for weeks. He’s smarter than he looks.” I stood up and shoved my hands in my pockets. “Let’s get back.”
Mal followed me to the car and neither of us spoke. We were both lost in our own thoughts, digesting what’d just happened, and interpreting what was to come in different ways.
Mal was worried about Cap. He worried about his future with her. He worried about her safety and her happiness.
I worried about the whole fucking city burning to ash.
Chapter 9
Jules
When Carmine was gone and Oscar was busy smoking out front, I snuck into the back hall, found Carmine’s bedroom, and slipped inside.
I stood in the quiet for a few breaths and let my eyes adjust. I didn’t want to turn on a light in case he came home and noticed it. I centered myself and did my best to keep calm, but I wasn’t a spy, and I wasn’t a thief. I’d been forced into this by a man that owned me, and I hated him, resented him, wanted to kill him.
And couldn’t do a thing about it.
“Self-pity won’t get me anywhere,” I said quietly. It was like my mantra. No used in feeling bad. I might as well push forward. I was a storm, and I would roll on.
I opened my eyes. Carmine’s space was immaculate. The bed was made with a dark gray comforter and soft cotton sheets. He had several watches in a case on his nightstand, and his clothes were all folded and put away. Even his underwear was kept in some kind of order. It surprised me—Carmine seemed self-confident and controlled, but I didn’t realize he was this obsessive.
There wasn’t a single speck out of place. Which meant I had to be very, very careful about what I touched. If I didn’t return the room to exactly how he’d left it, he might notice and figure out that I’d been in there.
I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. I found cash at the bottom of his sock drawer and shoved it into my pocket. Not the whole roll, just a couple hundred dollars. There was probably a few thousand in total wrapped in tight wads. I smiled to myself. Money in his sock drawer. What a cliché.
