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And I had waited when I had wanted nothing more than to leave him hanging, my duty to the FBI and this country be damned.
If he said no, I would march up to Wilks and demand a different assignment for all I cared. This time, I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Bastiano’s eyes had already returned to the stacks of paper on the table he sat at.
“Wait at the bar. We’re just finishing up.”
They weren’t just finishing up.
I waited at the bar, on a stool facing away from them, for half an hour. I suspected that was on purpose, too. After all, everything represented a power play with Bastian.
I tried and failed to study the men in the reflection of the frosted mirror behind the bar.
Judging by the size and color of the paper I had seen earlier, they were examining several blueprints. Of what, I didn’t know, but I was surprised to see Asher here.
Word was, he had gotten out of the mafia a while back, yet here he was, sitting in a closed-door meeting with two iconic mafia figures and two other Romanos.
Granted, one of the two was eight years old.
Speaking of the younger Romano, Tessie perched on the bar stool two seats down from mine, her short legs dangling in the air, while her brother ignored my very existence from afar.
Meanwhile, she stared unabashedly at me and had been for the past thirty minutes.
I kept silent, a tad ashamed that an eight-year-old girl could make me feel so uncomfortable.
Finally, I turned to her, and from the corner of my eye, I caught Bastian lifting his head to stare at us.
I did what I did best and ignored him.
“Can I help you?” I kept my voice low.
As annoyed as I was with Bastian, I didn’t want to disrupt the meeting in the off chance I’d get any intel. Unlikely, given the distance, but I’d still try.
Gravity lined Tessie’s face, her brows pinched together as she matched my low tone.
“Finally.” Her voice dropped even lower. “My brother is going to fire you if he finds out it took you this long to take my order.”
She said it with a nonchalance someone her age had no business possessing, but I wasn’t the least bit surprised.
She was a Romano, and if she was anything like her brother, she was well on her way to developing a sharp tongue any politician would be jealous of.
A reluctant smile edged its way onto my face.
“What do you want to drink?”
She scrunched up her nose, eyeing the selection of liquor on the top shelf.
“Mommy says I can’t drink soda. She says drinking soda is like drinking diabetes.” She turned to me. “And I don’t want diabetes. Uncle Benny has diabetes, and he always has to prick himself with needles. I hate blood. And needles.”
By Uncle Benny, she probably meant Benedetto Rossi, the head of the Rossi crime syndicate.
I hadn’t known about his diabetes, and I made a note to pass the info along to the FBI during my next check-in, along with the fact that Asher was here in a meeting with Vince, Bastian, and Gio.
I scanned the selection of drinks. Her non-alcoholic, non-soda choices were limited to water and the sugary juices L’Oscurità used for mixed drinks.
“Water or juice?”
I made my way behind the bar, suppressing a shiver as Bastian’s eyes followed me.
