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“Yet another reason you fit in with the Morettis.”
We stood in silence as the band started yet another dance standard. I tried to make out their expressions, but of course, Marco had chosen a darkened corner like the criminal mover and shaker he was. Tapping my foot, I sipped my drink. Laughter and good humor surrounded me, but all I could focus on were the four men that could bring my husband home.
What was there to talk about? The Chronis brothers knew their cousin Cy tried to kill Zoe, yet here they were, partying with the bastard, acting like they had no recourse.
But then Frankie made it so simple.
Shoot him in the fucking head.
I finished my drink and gestured for another. Fresh gin and tonic in hand, I turned to Frankie. “I’m going over there.”
He hung his head and let out a sigh. “I can’t talk you out of it?”
“Nope.”
“And you’ll make a scene if I throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.”
“I think the sight of you going all caveman will be what makes the scene.”
Frankie studied me, his mouth tight and eyes narrowed. “Fuck it. Hey—” He waved down the bartender. “I need five scotches, neat, on a tray.”
A slow smile spread across my face. “Are you helping me disobey Marco?”
“If he asks? No.”
“Why?”
Frankie was one loyal motherfucker. The fact he was willing to let me barrel into a meeting I was explicitly told to leave was weird.
“Maybe I’m sick of all the hurry up and wait shit they’ve been spewing. It’s time for a change. Time for shit to pop off.”
Shrugging, I took the tray from the bartender and started to walk away. When Frankie didn’t follow, I turned. “You’re not coming.”
“Not my battle. I’ll keep an eye out from here.”
“Coward.”
“Nah. I just know my place.” He shooed me away as he crossed his ankles and relaxed against the bar.
Somebody was ready for a show.
