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“Okay,” he says in a rush. “Okay, okay, okay. Don’t do anything hasty. Maybe I know something. A couple things.”
I smirk. “Imagine that. Tell me.”
He glances around and then leans in closer to me. “So. So, St. James. He’s got a meeting planned with the Mexican cartel to talk out a deal.”
“When?” I ask, cutting right to the point. “And where?”
“Soon. Couple days, I think. At that Italian place right off Grand River Ave. New fancy one. With the green awning. Uh, Romano’s.” Sinclair sags with relief when he gets it all out and then steps away from me. “That’s all I know, I swear.”
I nod, believing him. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”
And then I turn on my heel and head back for my car.
I’ve never been to this Italian place, and it’s interesting that St. James wants to meet somewhere so public, but I guess it makes sense. He likes to do his deals in his own space, but the other side wouldn’t be comfortable with that. Not if this is a fresh deal. It’s a place that will keep both sides safe, since attacking in public like that would be too risky.
It’s risky for me too, but worth it.
I pull away from the curb, checking the directions on my phone quickly before making my way to Romano’s.
From the outside, it looks like your average hole-in-the-wall place, but the fancy tablecloths inside and the smells coming from it mean it’s probably expensive and authentic. There’s a little patio out front with tables that have to be reserved ahead of time, and that seems more Ivan’s speed than meeting inside. It’ll let his paranoid ass keep an eye on everything, and makes him look good for having the best table. I wouldn’t put it past him to reserve all the tables in advance, to make sure there’s no one else to overhear them talk.
The neighborhood is one of those fancy, up-and-coming areas, but the place where Romano’s is situated is relatively open. There are other restaurants and little shops further up the street, and I know they’re usually crowded with people. It would be easy enough to bolt from the restaurant and blend in with the crowd, or slip into a little antique store or book shop and find a place to hide.
It’s also not far from the highway, so getting away won’t be an issue.
There are rows of buildings on the other side of the street, more shops and a couple of office buildings that stretch up tall. Perfect.
I use the fire escape that zig-zags up the back of the building to climb up to the top of one of them and lie low, opening my bag and digging around until I find my scope.
I find the right positioning that will give me a line of sight on the entire patio of Romano’s.
Even better.
Doing this work makes me feel more like myself. This is how it’s been for the longest time. Just me, working alone, figuring out my plans and how best to execute them. I relied on my own strength and cunning to get results, even if that meant finding someone else to do the final dirty work for me. Either way, I got what I needed and made it happen.
But now there are these four men in my life, getting under my skin. My back twinges a little when the thin cut pulls, and I think about Knox and what we did last night.
It’s weird to be thinking about anything but the job. To havepeoplein my life.
I used to go days without talking to anyone. I even had a one-night stand with a guy once and didn’t say a single fucking word to him.
But now I go downstairs in the morning and they’re all there. Sitting around the table, joking and shooting the shit. Doing fucking card tricks and wolfing down eggs like they’re going out of style. It’s weird, and I don’t like it.
I had a routine. A life I was used to. Where I rolled my ass out of my shitty, lumpy bed when I needed to and then had cereal or toast and went about my day. None of these conversations in the morning or dealing with Ash wanting kisses.
Well, whatever. It’ll be done soon. That’s what I have to remember.
It’ll all be over soon. They’ll be out of my life, and I’ll be out of theirs. And on top of that, I’ll be free of my demons. Every man on the list will be dead, and I can finally move the fuck on with my life. Whatever that looks like.
I drag in a deep lungful of the slightly smoggy air and nod to myself, reaffirming myself in my mission. This is all that matters. Anything else is just a distraction.
I’ve got my target, and I’ve got my spot.
It’ll all work out.
So I take the rickety metal stairs down from the roof, hitting the pavement and heading for my car so I can get out of here. On the way back to the street where I parked, I see a woman walking quickly, her heels clacking on the sidewalk as she power walks away from a man in a hoodie and jeans that seems to be following her at a fast pace.
Her hair is blowing around her face in the breeze, and she doesn’t even reach up to brush it out of her face. She doesn’t turn around to look at the guy, and her tense, worried posture makes it clear she wants to get away from him as soon as possible.
