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“Not their first,” Alex mutters. I smile, but it dies when he adds, “Late night?”
“Act less interested in my sex life,” I tell him.
The woman returns only a few minutes later with a white cup and saucer. None of the other patrons around us have been served yet, all of them here before we arrived. She knows.
China clatters as the cup is set down. “Prego.”
“Gratzie,” I respond, lifting the cup and downing most of the cappuccino in one gulp. It’s frothy and scalding, the steamed milk and espresso burning my tongue before sliding down my throat. “Wait.”
The woman freezes, the pink leaving her cheeks like rain sliding down a window.
“Luca Bianchi. He owns this place?”
She nods once quickly. Then again, slower.
“I want to speak to him. Make sure he knows Nikolaj Morozov is waiting. And pass along that I don’t like to be kept waiting as well.”
She nods again, then rushes away.
Alex smirks. “Subtle.”
I lean back in my chair and drain the rest of the coffee.
Iamexhausted. I only managed a few hours of sleep before leaving for the airport to fly here. Most of the trip was spent catching up on work I’ve been neglecting in favor of spending more time with Leo and Lyla. I’ve spent most of the past twenty-four hours awake.
“So…what’s he like?”
I glance at Alex, brow raised.
“Not asking about her. I’m asking about Leo.”
“He’s…” I exhale. “He’s amazing. So smart. I’m teaching him poker. And he’s super thoughtful. Always excited. He loves coming to the warehouse, wants to see everything. We took Roman’s dog to the park yesterday, and he never stopped smiling. He’s started calling me Dad. The first time he did…fuck, I’ll never forget it.”
Alex smiles. “Look at you, all domestic and shit. I want to meet him.”
“He’ll be back here soon enough.” I say the sentence as a reminder for myself, more than anything.
There’s a reason I’m here.
The silence stretches until a new voice speaks. “You’ve got a pair, Morozov. I’ll give you that.”
I glance to the right at Luca Bianchi. He strolls toward our table in a three-piece suit, hair neatly combed back. Both his hair and his suit are black, like an oil slick.
“Consider it a compliment. I hate house calls.”
Luca lets out a dry chuckle before sliding into the seat across from me. Alex moves away subtly as one of his hands disappears beneath the table. There’s no way Bianchi missed it, but he keeps his eyes focused on me.
“I don’t invite Russians into my house. And this isn’t where I conduct business.”
“I’m not here on business.”
“No? What are you here for?”
“Pleasure.”
Luca taps his fingers on his table. His right hand is nowhere to be seen. Probably holding his gun, just like mine is.
“And here I was, thinking you might be here because the county coroner fished a Russian bullet out of my favoritecapo.”
