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“Killers.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him.
“Ah yeah. It used to be called Mika’s back when Dante and I went there. But I know the new owners.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”
He leans forward, and I catch the scent of him, cologne and fresh air and sex. Damn, he is the finest man to ever walk this earth. “One of these days, you’re going to regret rolling those eyes at me, Joey,” he says with a dark chuckle. Then he takes another slice of tomato from my plate, pops it into his mouth, and strolls out of the room.
ChapterSeven
MAX
Anger bubbles beneath my skin and the ache in my forearms reminds me to unclench my fists. I have no fucking right at all to be pissed about who Joey spends time with, but I want to cut that little fucker Toby’s throat with a rusty hacksaw.
“Hey.” Dante walks up beside me. “Everything okay?”
“Hmm,” I mumble as we head to his study together.
When we’re both seated in his office, he eyes me with concern. “So, Dmitri?”
“He still hasn’t found Pushkin, and although he assures me he’s doing all he can—”
“It’s not enough,” Dante says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“He knows that. I told him as much last night.”
“We need him found, Max, before…” he shakes his head in annoyance.
“He’s kept your father’s name out of it. He alerted the other families to what Pushkin was doing without implicating Sal in any way. Nobody’s going to find out, D.”
Dante nods, but worry etches his brow.
“We’ll take care of it,” I assure him. “And if Dmitri hasn’t found Pushkin by the end of the month, then I’ll just fucking find him myself.”
“No. I need you here. Lorenzo needs us.”
“I know.” I nod in agreement. Lorenzo is spending as much time as he can with his sick wife right now.
Dante sits straighter in his chair, running a hand over his beard. “Besides, this is a Bratva problem. That was the whole fucking point of pinning my father’s murder on Pushkin and backing Dmitri, so he could sort this mess out for us.”
“Maybe he just needs a timely reminder of who he’s dealing with?” I suggest, and not only because I believe that’s true, but also because I need to do something with all this pent-up rage bubbling inside me. I could happily tear someone’s head off their shoulders right about now.
Dante stands and grabs his suit jacket. “You’re right. I think we should pay our friend a visit.”
* * *
“You knowToby Fiore was at your house last night? With Joey?”
Dante’s driving, but he takes his eyes off the road for a second to give me a wry look. “Of course I do.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“They were eating waffles in the kitchen, Max. What do you expect me not to be okay with?”
“It starts with waffles in the kitchen.” I say with a frown. The image of her sitting with him—laughing, flirting, smiling—burns an imprint in my brain. Did he touch her? Kiss her? She said he didn’t, but would she tell me?
“And it goes where?” He laughs. “As she reminds us almost every damn day, she’s an adult. She’s going to date, Max, and Toby is…”
“He’s what?” I scowl at him. Toby Fiore is an asshole. And he’s nowhere near good enough for Joey Moretti.
