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“You have friends here?” I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth, catching all the crumbs before they fall to my lap. Maybe I shouldn’t be eating these in his car.
“Of course I have friends here.” He shoots me a glare. “I have family here, too.”
“Right.” I nod. “The Romanov family, I forgot.” Except I didn’t, not really. That little dangerous fact dances in the back of my mind, reminding me exactly how crazy I am for agreeing to spend time with this man.
“And you?” He speeds up to match the traffic. “Other than that boy at your school.” His voice tenses when he mentions James.
“Boy? James is nearly twenty-five.” I laugh, and then it occurs to me. I’m not sure how old Luka is. “How old are you?”
“Older than that.” He huffs. “I’m thirty-one. And you’re twenty-two.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, though I shouldn’t be surprised.
“It’s not hard to find information on people if you know who to ask.”
“Is that so?” I settle against my seat. “What else do you know about me?”
“Almost everything. I know you’re trying to get your certificate for Medical Assistance at that small college I found you at earlier. I know your parents both died when you were a little girl, and you were raised by your grandmother who passed away three years ago.”
A dull pain twists in my chest when he brings up Grandma. She was in her late eighties and died peacefully in her sleep. No one could ask for a better way to go, but still… when I think of her, it makes me ache to see her again.
“But you don’t know if I have friends?” I shake away the painful memory.
“I found nothing about associates.”
“Associates?” I twist toward him. “Friends, Luka, aren’t associates. Associates are people you work with.”
“I’m friends with people I work with.”
“Do you have friends outside of people you work with?” I question.
He shrugs. “Everyone I know works in the same circles as I do.” Another non-answer, but it does give me a sense that he’s too busy with whatever he does with the Romanov family to have any sort of friendships outside of that. Then again, do mafia men even have time to have relationships outside of their criminal escapades?
My cell phone dings with a message from Kevin.
“A shift opened up at the bar for tonight,” I say.
Luka glances over at me. “No.”
My fingers pause over the screen. “What?”
“I said no.”
“You can’t say no, Luka.” I’m not sure how I could think he’d say anything else, though. He’s declared this time to be his, and he doesn’t strike me as someone who likes to share.
“I can. I just did. No. You aren’t taking the shift.”
“There’s a game tonight, and Kevin offers dollar beer on Mondays. It’s a good tip night,” I explain, but it flies right over his head.
“Mario Bellittini goes to that bar a lot, yes?”
“So?”
“So, he’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be around him.”
“He’sdangerous?” I don’t even bother trying to hide my frustration with his hypocrisy. Noticing the glove compartment has no lock, I open it. Sure, enough there’s a gun inside.
“Avery!” He slaps my hand away and slams the compartment closed before I can even get my fingers on the butt of the gun. “Don’t touch that. Or any other gun. Do you understand me?”
