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“If Santo finds out you gave our names like that, that you linked us with a stabbing, he’ll wipe her out.”
Cars rumble past on the street, engines purring. “Then he’d better not find out.”
I say it lightly, but I know Raul hears my unspoken words. If he gets Leah hurt, I’ll kill him without a second thought, loyalty be damned.
“For fuck’s sake, Nico.” Raul pinches the bridge of his nose, the way he always does when he has a migraine coming on. I’d feel bad if he didn’t keep threatening Leah. “What am I supposed to tell Santo?”
“Tell him some asshole got me by the docks, and you came and stitched me up in a bookshop. Tell him to send a clean up crew over there. And… tell him the owner was out.”
“Nico.”
“She won’t say anything.” I know it surer than I know my own name. “Leah won’t cause us any trouble. Trust me on this.”
Her touch was so soft in my hair. Did she really ask if I’m married, or did I dream that part?
The car slows for a red light, and I tip my head back against the leather seat, trying to remember every detail of the bookshop owner. She was a fiery little thing, all soft curves and pink cheeks. A quick thinker, too.
Thanks to her my belt’s rolled up, studded with teeth marks and stuffed in Raul’s medical bag. Maybe some other asshole can chew on it soon.
“You know if he finds out we lied…”
“I’ll take the fall.”
Raul gusts out a sigh, and I know I’ve won when he takes off his glasses, polishing the lenses on his shirt. His question is an afterthought. “Was it the Bulgarians again?”
I pause, because I forgot about this. In the haze of meeting Leah, I left out a key detail.
“No. It wasn’t them this time.” My throat is dry as I turn to stare out of the window, my head pounding from the whiskey. I’ve got a bad feeling, and it’s not just the freshly stitched wound.
“It wasn’t the Serpicos, either. This was something new.”
Four
Leah
Present day
Nico Falasca thinks he’s so sneaky, but Iseehim ducking inside that bus stop over the way. For the last two weeks, he’s been hanging around my bookshop like a stupidly handsome ghoul, spying on me from different spots on the street.
First it was the bar three doors down, his coat collar turned up against the wind as he leaned against the brick outer wall, cigarettes glowing like fireflies between the teeth of the smokers all around him.
Then it was the neighbor’s fire escape. Then an open topped bus trundling past. One afternoon, he even sat chatting in the barbershop over the road, watching me through the window as the old fella trimmed his hair, bold as anything.
Honestly. Don’t they learn how to lurk properly in the mob? Pretty sure Nico’s not supposed to grin at me this much, shrugging like he meant to get caught.
I don’t mind him hanging around. Not really. Not now that I’ve accepted he’s not here to kill me or shut me up—that if anything, Nico Falasca seems… protective.
A few nights ago, I forgot to lock the front door before checking on all the shelves. He crept up and did it on my behalf, thethunkechoing around the empty bookshop. I stood there waiting in the darkness, but he didn’t come in.
Sure wish he’d talk to me. What’s the point in lurking if he keeps his distance forever?
“Is there blood in this?” A harried voice floats across the store, and I stiffen behind the counter. Crap. I thought I got it all—I scrubbed all night at the stains until my hands were raw, and I swear the next evening when I came home from my barre class, the store smelled like extra strong bleach. A gift from Nico, I figured.
I even sewed a new cover for the reading armchair. Emerald green velvet, good as new.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I force a polite smile. “Blood?”
A redheaded woman with a severe bob and a bored teenage son holds up a new release from the Crime fiction table. “Yes, is there violence in this book?”
