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Carlton doesn’t say anything about my loose grip, giving my hand two big shakes before he lets go.
Okay, that wasn’t so bad. I can be normal about this.
“I’ll keep you posted.”
I tuck my hands into my apron pocket. “I’m looking forward to it.”
That sounds like the right thing to say, even though I’m not sure if it’s a lie or the truth.
Movement just outside the cafe catches my attention. And when my eyes follow the distraction, my lungs clench.
It couldn’t be.
Carlton, following my gaze, turns to look back through the large windows onto the street. “Something wrong?”
He’s unintentionally blocked my view, so I have to shuffle to look around him, but the sidewalk is empty now.
Or was it always?
“Payton?” There’s concern in his voice as he shifts his attention back to me.
My attempt at a smile is brittle. “Oh no, it’s fine. I just thought I saw…” I trail off. Because what I thought I saw, I can’t vocalize.
I thought I saw a man in a suit. Staring at me. And Carlton. Jaw tight, fists clenched.
“Earth to Payton.” A hand waves in front of my face, and I jump.
“Sorry.” I press a hand to my chest. “I thought I saw a, um, dog.” My cheeks flush at my lie, so I follow it up with a truth. “I really want a dog.”
I’m saved from further awkwardness when Jean calls out Carlton’s name, signaling that his sandwich is ready at the other end of the counter. Gathering his lunch, Carlton holds the wrapped sandwich to his forehead in a salute goodbye, while backing out the door.
When he steps out of view, my eyes scan the street again.
Sill finding it empty, I wonder if maybethisis how I’ll die. Slowly losing my sanity, until even the nicest of customers stops talking to me.
CHAPTER9
Nero
“Take care of it,”I snap.
“I just wasn’t sure—”
When my second-in-command, Rocco, starts to make an excuse, I lose my patience. “I said, take care of it. Have the men get the money from himnow. Or take limbs as payment. I don’t give a fuck which.”
I hang up before I become more pissed off.
My men are loyal. They have to be. Sometimes I want to slit their throats. But King and I can’t do it all on our own––we’ve tried, right after we destroyed the previous regime––it’s just simply too much work to run a criminal empire without cannon fodder.
Striding into my bedroom, I kick the door shut behind me.
I don’t lock it. I don’t need to. No one would dare walk in.
Leaving a trail of clothes as I go, I strip my way into the bathroom.
Peeling off my socks, the black marble floors are cool on my bare feet.
The black-on-black design in my suite of rooms is cliché. The classic mobster aesthetic. But black is fitting, as it matches my cold dead heart.
