“Ha, good luck, getting up to speed on my, as you put it, kung fu shit. A fitness retreat is not what I was expecting, but I can teach you how to throw some better punches,” she snickers, making me keenly aware that she’s teasing me. “As for the club, just let me know what you need.”
“Says the woman with no friends and no family. I heard your mother ran off with a wealthy man and left the country,” I lash out, not wanting to be soft in front of her. “And we need to do something with your car. I don’t want your brothers breathing down my neck.”
“Oh no, don’t get rid of it. The trackers in it don’t even work. I parked it downtown, but I’m sure you have room for it here in an old garage . . . or a barn. Do you have a barn? It’s the one big thing Daddy bought for me, so it has sentimental value,” she pleads, giving me the sob story of why this car is important to her.
The question is why? She doesn’t appear to need the money and her dad was a prick so I’m not buying the sentimental bullshit.
But what do I care? At last, I concede. “We can find a place for it, I’m sure. Why does your family hate you so much?”
She’s quiet.
“Hmm, cat got your tongue, eh? Did I hit a nerve? Seems you like to be a smart mouth, but you don’t have much to bargain with, you might want to reconsider that.”
“Niente.”
Nothing, of course, we’re back behind the wall of silence and one-word answers. I still have to monitor her and remember that she can’t be trusted.
Blood runs deep even when family members hate each other and for all I know, this could be an elaborate smoke screen set up by her brothers.
“That’s all you have to say?” I pull up a chair to feed her bite size pieces of the panini I made. If she’s not going to use her mouth to answer my question about the falling out with her family, she might as well use it to eat.
While she chews, I take a bite of my sandwich. My mouth waters and I remember it’s been hours since I ate. Food is always better when I have an appetite, but when someone else cooks, it’s sublime.
Now that I have something in my stomach, I can think straight. Maybe she’s a trojan horse, a gorgeous woman who gets inside a man’s house and waits for him to drop his guard? Should I be concerned she’ll spin her web with me in it?
I already feel like she’s inside my head. I haven’t been this horny since I was a teenage boy and found my uncle’s secret stash of porn. Doesn’t every single man have spank bank material?
Bottom line is, she’s from the enemy’s camp and I can’t trust her, and she’d be a fool to trust me. I don’t need her around stressing me out and possibly spying on our organization. But what am I to do with her? If I can’t keep her, I have to kill her.
And I can’t bring myself to give that order.
She’s a good addition to my security staff. She also knows how the Conti and Calabrese family work and who the players are. She might prove to be an invaluable source of information if she’s pissed enough with them maybe she’s already changed her loyalty but her way of showing it was misguided at best.
Even though some of the key players changed after Conti’s death, the organization is too big to make large scale changes overnight.
A new don still has a learning curve and there is a time following the takeover when he can’t trust those around him until he becomes entrenched.
“I’d like your help with a situation at the club. You accused me of being predictable. Tell me what I need to do to get rid of the Albanians. They are selling drugs right under my nose and it needs to be dealt with. I think they broke into my office too.”
She coughs on the piece of sandwich in her mouth.
“What?” I pound her back and look around for something for her to drink. She waves me off shaking her head no, but I leave my hand on her toned back, enjoying the feel of it under the palm of my hand.
“Um. That was me.”
“You?” Fuck me, this girl is unbelievable.
“What were you looking for?”
The silent treatment again.
“Look, we’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t talk. I need something from you, and you obviously need something from me. What is it?” I pull her chair toward me and lean forward, peering into her eyes with my elbow on the counter. I want answers.
Her eyes widen and her body stiffens. “The girls,” she says, as if she’s had an epiphany.
“What girls?” My eyebrows knit together like a small caterpillar.
“The ones who are being trafficked. They should be here by now, in a box truck. Supposedly you paid for them. Where are they?”