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“Do you think we have a chance of having any kind of future?”
“Absolutely.” Winking, she pulls her hair over her shoulder. “Lucky for us, I have the necessary tools.” She leans closer. “The guard who brought me isn’t the brightest bulb in the criminal pack and was so busy salivating that he didn’t bother making me remove my jewelry.” Sliding her ring around, she smiles like she’s holding two aces. “Rookie.”
“Is there any chance of the cavalry showing up?” I watch her twist a thin gold bracelet on her wrist and smile. I mouth the word, tracker and see her smile. “I could kiss you right now.”
“Let’s save that for when we need to distract the fools standing on the other side of the door.”
I fold my shaking hands. “I wish I could be cool about this, but I don’t think that’s possible.”
“That’s to be expected. You haven’t been trained for this sort of thing since age five.”
“And you were?”
“Yes.” She looks down. “Not that it worked for Gianna.”
“Your cousin?”
“Yes.” She swallows, and I notice she looks a little less confident. “Albanians. No mercy.”
“She survived, though.”
“Thanks to Enzo. He discovered the basement where she was being held and freed her from the cage minutes before she went up on the auction block. Shot everyone in sight and then blew the place to kingdom come.”
“How did he do that? He was a kid.”
“Teenager, actually.” Letting out a sigh, she looks up. “Males born into our world are never kids and train from an early age.”
“That makes my heart hurt.”
“Some people are bakers, some are soldiers. And then there are people from the Cosa Nostra. Ancient rules and customs rule our world, and as screwed up as it is sometimes, we do have a code of honor.”
“I’m assuming that will work in our favor.”
“My brothers will burn down the world before they let someone touch one hair on my head.”
I squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry if my actions had anything to do with you being taken.”
“Meh, if it wasn’t Rodrigo, it would be someone else.”
The door swings open, and I see a tall man in the doorway, looking irritated. He’s wearing a suit like all the other men I see on a daily basis. Buttoned. Sharp pant crease. Shiny, expensive loafers.
He watches us both. Motionless. Almost casual.
“A word of advice: I’m not in possession of a whole lot of patience.”
“Going with the hair trigger, temper thing, then?” Ari asks lightly.
“Yeah.”
I raise my hand as though I’m in school. “Question.” He nods imperceptibly. “So, exactly how close is the end of your rope?”
“Close.”
“Any chance of a sandwich?” Ari asks with a smile. “Your associates grabbed me after my spin class, and I’m famished.”
“Do I look like a fucking waiter?”
“No.” She clucks her tongue. “But it’s rude not to offer your guests a snack.”
