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“You mentioned Stoneview,” Vito says seriously. “It’s rare to have access to such a protected town.”
I nod my agreement. “The rich kids love their drugs and debauchery.”
“A lot of politicians live there.”
I can see where this is going, and so does Emma. “You want dirt,” she states without question.
Vito smiles at her. “I prefer to call it useful information, but yes.”
“Anyone in particular?” I ask, my right hand playing with the lighter as I sense the exact name he’s going to tell us.
“Senator Delacroix will do.”
A short chuckle escapes me. Isn’t fate so fucking perfect sometimes? For me, at least.
I doubt Alexandra Delacroix will agree.
The second we leave our meeting, I call Logan. I texted him as soon as Luciano mentioned Delacroix, but it lasted another hour while we discussed the minor details of our agreement.
“What’s that about not touching the Porsche?”Logan rages.
“Exactly what I said.” I open my car and get in. “I’m on my way to your garage. Just don’t fucking touch the car.”
“That’s a whole lot of money you’re asking me not to touch.”
I pull out onto the street and accelerate through South Bank until I’m by the bridge leading to the North Shore. “No touchy, Logan. Last warning.”
My friend and I share a strange relationship. We’re both so stubborn it becomes unbearable sometimes. We end up in fistfights more often than we care to admit.
He hangs up on me and I shake my head. What a dick.
The moment I pull into his garage and get out of my car, he’s on me. Black oil stains contrast with his pale skin. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and he wipes them out of the way. He strides toward me in a simple white tank top and dirty jeans.
“You better have a real good explanation,” he tells me. “I was about to go to town on this baby.”
Behind him, in the workshop, I notice Alexandra Delacroix’s Porsche Cayman. The one Zara and Tamar stole yesterday while I was distracting the Stoneview beauty in the shop.
It was kind of fun to see her lose her mind with guilt after she accused me of being part of a gang and stealing her car, then going back on her words.
Little did she know that was exactly what I’d done.
But then she started acting weird. She was here, and suddenly she wasn’t anymore. I don’t exactly have the biggest conscience when it comes to this shit, but something in her called out to me.
Alexandra Delacroix has been through hell, and something inside her is trying to get her back there.
She’s a fighter. I know it.
Or maybe I’m telling myself that to feel better knowing I’m about to use the fuck out of her.
I’m already in her good books for driving her home after her horrible experience on the North Shore. Imagine what kind of hero I’ll be for bringing back her car.
I walk to Alexandra’s car and look at the window Logan broke to steal it. “I need you to fix that for me.”
“What?” he chokes. “Not only are you stopping us from making money, but you also want me to lose some? Did you hit your head?”
“It’s a window, Logan.”
“It’s aPorschewindow.”
