He crossed his arms when I released him. “Whataboutme?”
“Are you some kind of do-gooder?” I mimicked his voice.
“No, they say I’m an evil seed.” There was an unmistakable gleam in the kid’s eyes that said he was proud of that label. “So, you should watch out.”
“Who says that?”
“All the people I’ve ever met. Even the woman who gave birth to me.” His stomach gurgled and his cheeks turned pink.
I noticed his shabby clothes and smudged skin. He’d been on the streets for a while. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”
He looked at me suspiciously. “What’s it gonna cost me?”
“Not a damn thing,” I snarled, annoyed by the insinuation that I was into kids or something like some goddamn pedo.
He shrugged, unconcerned with my irritation. “It’s smarter to ask first than to assume.”
I liked that reply. Not only was the kid intelligent, but he had common sense. Street smarts and a survivor mentality would do him better than any formal schooling. His obvious acumen along with the calculating gleam in his eyes said hemightbe sociopathic. But who was I to judge.? I, myself, often wished I had been born cold and calculating rather than have my child-like empathy snatched away through the brutal lessons of Bratva life.
I saw a small restaurant just up ahead and pointed to it. “That place any good?”
“It’s alright.” But the hunger in his gaze said differently.
“Lead the way,” My knees cracked as I straightened, but I ignored the reminder that I wasn’t getting any younger.
I didn’t bother to fill in the silence as we went. Instead, possibilities ran through my mind. I could use this kid. I’m sure he knew where I could forge connections around here. Once I did, I’d be one step closer to gaining my empire back.
I held the door open and let him walk ahead of me. I would need to get this kid to take a bath if we were going to be hanging out.
“How many?” a waitress asked.
“Two, please,” the kid said.
Ah, a street urchin with manners.
The server led us along until we reached an empty booth. I stood beside the one that had the wall behind it. Those of us who lived by the gun expected to die by the gun, which meant your back was always against the wall and your eyes were on the door. While I knew I was wanted by the mafia, my father may have sent assassins after me as well.
“What’s your name, kid?” I asked as we sat down.
“Roman Puttanesci.” He said from behind a menu. He lowered it and stared at me. “What’s yours?”
“Alexie Petrov.” I waved the waitress over ready to order for the two of us. “And I want you to work for me.”
“What could I possibly do for you, Mr. Petrov.”
Respect given was respect earned. We would work well together.
“You can be my eyes and ears. I’m new to the area, and I need to establish connections.”
Before he could answer the waitress appeared.
“What can I get you fellows?” She pulled out her pad to take our order.
“Two cheeseburgers, no pickles. What do you want on yours?” I wouldn’t presume what he liked and didn’t like. Even though I’ve lived my whole life with an iron fist of commands and control.
“I want the works. I don’t dislike any foods.”
How could he when he was living on the streets starving?