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I perk up, my hands clenching the steering wheel when I see Alessio in a fresh suit come out of the hotel. Other than looking a little tired with more shadows around his eyes than I saw in the club last night, he looks fine. His jaw twitches as he glances around, never looking in the direction of my truck. His head is held high, a cocky, indignant look on his face. I picture it shattering into a million pieces with a shotgun blast despite not having a shotgun with me on this trip.
I pull my hands from the steering wheel, the off chance that he’ll get away before I can do something coming to life inside of me. One hand is on my gun, the other on the door handle because I have to do something. I want to take him, torture him, have him beg for his life before killing him, but I’m outnumbered. I’m logical most of the time, and I know that it’s very unlikely that I can kill all his men and get him to a place where I can live out all my sinister dreams as I cut away pieces of him. Killing him quickly wouldn’t offer the same thrill, but it will have the same conclusion.
Then I see her.
She’s no longer covered in pieces of Marcello. She’s no longer wide-eyed and shocked.
Her head is held just as high, revealing the smooth column of her throat. Her dress today is less revealing than the one she was wearing last night, but the way it clings to her breasts is no different. She’s vulnerable right now. Her body on display would make it easy to strike out and hurt her too. Her makeup is perfect, her eyes bright and shining, lipstick as flawless as her skin.
It’s a slap in the face, both her air of indifference and Alessio’s freshly pressed suit. It tells me both of them were less affected by what happened last night than I’d hoped. I wanted to watch the Severino family crumple with the loss of their youngest male, but it seems it’s business as usual.
I realize I’ve lost my chance to go after him by simmering in my hatred, as he climbs into the back of the SUV after the woman enters. I have no doubt they verified the safety of Alessio’s armored vehicle after I so easily broke the window on the other one last night. Getting to him the same way I did his brother would be impossible.
For some reason, I can’t stop picturing her face when they pull away from the hotel.
I have no clue who the woman is, but she walked in with Alessio last night and walked out with Marcello. She has to be important to them in some way. I doubt Alessio would keep a whore around after the death of his brother. If anything, they would close ranks and only allow those closest to his family around.
Yet, she had Alessio’s hand on her back at the club, but she was getting ready to suck Marcello off in the alley. Sexual kink and perversion wouldn’t surprise me. It’s her presence after tragedy struck the family that’s confusing.
I keep back some distance as I follow them, grateful for the heavier traffic in downtown that helps me stay off their radar. The SUV pulls up to a restaurant as I drive past them, circling the block before finding a parking spot of my own.
It’s a stupid choice, one that may land me in water hotter than I can get out of, but I climb out of my truck and head into the restaurant. The hostess at the front frowns at my jeans and t-shirt. It’s very clear that I don’t fit in with the unspoken dress code. Another mistake is drawing attention to myself.
“Trabajo,” I tell her, asking for work.
She nods, waving me toward the kitchen without a word. I’m fluent in Spanish, something I worked hard on after deciding to enter into this line of work, but I don’t want this woman to know that I speak the language. People say a lot of shit they shouldn’t when they think they’re in the presence of people who can’t understand what they’re saying. It’s as if it thrills them to spill secrets in front of unknowing witnesses.
Our trip to the kitchen doesn’t put me directly in Alessio’s line of sight, but I’m still able to track them to the far corner of the restaurant. I slow my steps as I watch him shake hands with Raul Cortez, leader of the same cartel he met with at the club last night. I want to flip the nearest fucking table at witnessing Alessio’s business-as-usual behavior only twelve hours after I blew his brother’s brains out.
I flinch as something is pressed into my chest, and it’s troubling that I’m losing focus and getting sloppy. I look down and see the hostess that escorted me back in this direction.
