Page 237 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
“We need to talk business.”
“My business or yours?”
One of his cufflinks fell to the floor. He kicked it under my desk, removed the remaining one, and tossed it in the trash like it hadn’t cost a month’s worth of rent in Greenwich. “Ours.”
Translation: Romano business. Translation of translation: nothing I cared to delve into. I bit back a curse. I went to L’Oscurità to get away from the mafia business, not to have Gio throw it in my face every chance he got. At any given moment, at least a dozen mafia contacts or members wined and dined inside the building, but the actual revenue L’Oscurità made was a hundred percent legitimate.
Gio ignored my irritation. “Your Uncle Frankie’s caught wind of a rat in our midst.”
I laughed away my disbelief. “No kidding? You see anyone suicidal lately?”
“This isn’t a joke. Our man in the bureau confirmed this.”
And our FBI informants never made mistakes.
“Shit.” The curse hissed past my lips, and rightfully so. By nature, a delicate ecosystem tethered the family business together, and even the slightest tremors could disrupt it. “Why tell me this?”
Exterminating rats fell within the jurisdiction of the head of enforcement for the Romano family. Uncle Vince. My favorite uncle. The most compassionate Romano. Go figure he’d have my least favorite job.
“Vince has narrowed it down to a list of four possible people. We’ve got tails on three of the four, but we need you on the last.”
I gestured around the bare room. No shelves. Just a desk and chairs. “I’ve got a business to run.”
“He’s here. Works for you, Bastian.”
I knew Gio hadn’t meant it as an insult, but I took it as one anyway. “Are you telling me I hired a rat?” Each and every employee here had undergone a careful vetting process. I held a grudge against Gio, but I’d never take it out on Asher and the rest of my family or risk their lives.
Then again, you hired that incompetent bartender, the asshole in me reminded.
You don’t even remember his name, the rest of me agreed.
The judgment in Gio’s eyes didn’t escape my notice. They flicked to the security monitor in front of me. “I’m telling you to be damn sure your house is clean. Before it starts infesting mine.”
I ran a tired hand down my face. Ever since he’d paid off Elsa, Gio had been looking for a way to reshape our relationship. He had never drawn a line between me and the family like this before. He was serious about this, which made me more alert than I wanted to be while tipsy.
A rat meant everyone I gave a shit about was at risk. I would have taken care of the rat without being asked. When people fucked with what was mine, I left them without a dick to fuck with. Simple as that.
“Fine. I’ll take care of it.” I slid my phone out of my pocket and unlocked the screen, dismissing Gio.
He nodded. “See you around, son.” His footsteps paused a few feet short of the door. “You see Old Man Tony’s daughter lately? She’s got tits out to here.” He stretched his arms out a foot away from his chest.
I spared him no attention as I said, “Kindly fuck off, Gio.”
He laughed all the way out the door, and when the handle clicked shut, I let out a long exhale. This—caring for my family—was how I always got roped into the mafia life. I had gotten away with just running L’Oscurità for a while, but all signs pointed to my reprieve coming to an unwilling end.
And I wasn’t close to ready for it.
Chapter Three
ARIANA DE LUCA
“Deep breaths, Ari,” I muttered to myself, much like the homeless woman who’d taken up residence outside my new apartment building two days ago. “You can do this. Everyone has their first big cover.”
My affirmations fooled no one. The likelihood of coming out of this cover dead outweighed my probability of living. I might as well get used to pasty skin and the matching hand-me-down funeral dress Aunt Nadia had made me promise to wear to the grave.
I sent my handler Simmons a quick coded text message, letting him know my position, and then I pushed him out of my mind. I hated being partnered with him. Simmons had a recognizable face—a near replica of his dad’s, who served as the secretary of state for the current administration.
Nine out of ten times, someone recognized him before he could even start his cover. The bureau still hadn’t pulled him from fieldwork. Nepotism at its finest. Today was one of those nine times, and I’d gotten the message that I was on my own only an hour ago. We’d already planned for it—I would be stupid not to with a partner like Simmons—but it didn’t make it any more palatable.
