Every word Mia says is accurate. This should be very good news indeed.
So why does my stomach churn enough that it feels like I might throw up? My mouth waters and I swallow several times to keep from running towards her bathroom.
“Valentina… You know I’m right about this.”
“Eh-ha,” I mumble, still thinking through all she’s said.
“Think about it. It will get him and his father out of our hair. No more competition for the top jobs. We’ll be able to laugh all the way to the bank. And it’s not like we’re the ones taking out the hit on them.”
So why does it feel like keeping this a secret would be exactly the same as pulling the trigger myself? The stress I’d felt earlier when talking to my brother was nothing compared to the wave of anxiety I feel at knowing there is a hit out on Atlas and his father.
I hate him. He is egotistical, and misogynistic. He is condescending.
“Dammit,” Mia curses. “I shouldn’t have told you. I should have known you’d want to warn him.”
“I didn’t say that,” I argue.
“You don’t have to! You don’t think I can see it in your eyes?”
“I’m just thinking through all of the implications.”
“Professionally, there are no implications to think of. So, any reason you come up with for warning them will be personal,” she accuses.
“I’ve told you over and over, there is nothing personal between us.”
“Bullshit. You may not have told me all of the gory details, but there is a history here you haven’t shared with me. At first, I didn’t give a shit because it didn’t affect me, but that’s changed. Now that we are going head-to-head with Atlas and his father for every job, I need to know what the hell I’m dealing with here.”
“There is nothing to deal with, I’ve told you that. In fact, that’s the reason I was a bit late getting here. I got a line on a lucrative job I know for a fact Atlas won’t be competing for.”
I may not have wanted to talk about all I’d learned in the car ride over just yet, but it was better than being continuously interrogated by Mia about the ancient history between Atlas and me.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m talking business.”
“Okay… I’ll bite. What is this magical job?”
How to frame it so it doesn’t sound as bad as it really is?
“It’s a referral from The Whitney. A Moroccan businessman needs some of his possessions that were taken returned to him.”
“Okay, that sounds vague. What possessions? And where are they now?”
It was a toss-up which topic I wanted to discuss less—the casino job or the hit out on Atlas.
“Atlantic City.”
“Okay, close. But, what aren’t you telling me?”
Shit. I can lie with the best of them. Hell, a big part of being a successful thief often requires me to play a role, but over our time working together, I knew Mia could always tell if I wasn’t telling her the truth.
“He already asked Atlas to take the job, but Atlas turned him down, which is why we need to do it. To show Atlas I’m better than he is. That I’m not afraid.”
“Are you even listening to me? You don’t have to prove anything to Atlas again because he’s going to be dead!”
Her voice is getting louder, and my headache is getting worse by the minute, and I haven’t even told her the worst part yet.
“That’s not the only reason I want to take the job. It pays cash. One and a half million.”
Mia whistles, proving how good that kind of money sounds.
“What the hell could be in Atlantic City worth that kind of money?” she presses for answers.
I hedged. “Casinos.”
“Casinos are impossible targets.”
“Hard, yes. Impossible, no.”
“Oh, for crying out loud, you are crazy!” She is now shouting.
“Why, for wanting to prove myself?” I shout back.
“No, for insisting on playing this fucking game with a man who is your enemy, and who will soon be dead. Mark my words; this personal battle you’re in is going to end with both of you dead if you’re not careful.”
I want to argue back, to tell her she’s wrong, but I can’t. I’m too busy running toward her bathroom to throw up my lunch.
Chapter Eight
ATLAS
Look the fuck away.
Look away.
I can’t look at her. I need to resist the urge.
I shouldn’t care what she does. It’s none of my business why she is on The Rooftop, sitting, waiting. What Valentina Key does with her time is no concern of mine.
Then why can’t I stop staring?
“So, what’s going on between the two of you?” Dex asks me as he sips his scotch across from me. We’re trying to discuss the aftermath of the warehouse fire, but my ass is as distracted as a junkie in need of a fix.
“Who?”
Dex rolls his eyes. “Valentina Key. It’s obvious something is brewing between the two of you.”