CHAPTER FIVE
Cammie
If you had told me that I might someday be seeking assistance from Cody’s killer, I would have probably laughed in your face.
It was interesting how life worked, I guess.
I mean, however surprised I might have been to admit I needed his help, Massimo looked even more shocked.
His head actually jolted backward at my words. His lips parted. His lovely, mismatched eyes widened.
“What?” he asked, sure he misheard me.
“I need your help,” I repeated.
“Help with what?” he asked, brows pinching.
“I’m going to need another drink before we get into that,” I said, moving forward toward the bar. “May I?” I asked, waving toward the bottle of the best-tasting wine I’d ever had in my life.
Granted, I was no judge. I generally didn’t even like wine unless it was the ultra-cheap, mostly sugar, type. More fruit juice than wine, really.
Whatever kind of wine this was, though, had a nice kick to it. One glass and I could feel some of the anxiety lessening. A second glass, I hoped, would give me a little bit of a buzz so I could get through the next part of the story.
“Be my guest,” Massimo said, lifting the bottle to pour it for me, but he didn’t refill his own glass. Why would he? It was still mostly full. I was the only heathen gulping down what had to be expensive wine. “Do you want to sit?” he asked, waving toward a small table for two.
“I, ah, yeah,” I said, walking over toward it on wobbly legs. Not from the wine, mind you, just my nerves.
Because, quite frankly, he had to say yes. I had to get him to agree to helping me. I had no chance otherwise.
“Okay. So, what do you need help with?” Massimo asked, standing beside his seat as he unbuttoned his suit jacket.
Did I find myself oddly fascinated by that move? Yes, yes, I did.
I was pretty sure the only time I’d seen one do the whole unbutton to sit down thing was in movies or TV.
It was kind of hot, I had to admit.
“That’s a… long story,” I admitted when he sat down across from me, setting his wine aside, and clasping his fingers on the table. While I clutched my wine like it was a life preserver meant to keep my head above water.
That sounded dramatic. But I’d spent the last few years with my head being held underwater, so I knew what I was talking about.
“Okay, so find a place to start.”
“Okay. Cody,” I said, watching his face for a change of expression. There was none. I guess it had been naive to think I’d see it. I mean, he couldn’t get emotional about his kills, or he’d make a pretty crappy hitman, right?
“Is that the boyfriend?” he asked, playing it cool.
“He was, yes,” I said, barely resisting the urge to roll my eyes. “He was leading a… I don’t want to call it a gang, because it was more organized than that,” I told him.
The look on his face said he was dubious about that.
I couldn’t blame him. Even Cody’s guys thought it was just a step up from a street gang. Because he’d been keeping his moves quiet. But he had been making them. Big moves. And making connections with some scary dudes.
I imagined that was what led the mafia to put a hit out on him.
He was getting in over his head.
“Okay. And?”