Page 3 of Rubies and Revenge

He sighs, shoulders slumping. “Chinese,” he grumbles.

I grin, full-toothed and sly. “I love it when I win.”

“Is it winning if there’s no fight?” He holds open the door to the restaurant, eyes roaming over the tables, all empty, and then down the sidewalk, also empty.

I nod to the host when he greets us and hold up two fingers. “If I get my way, yes.”

“I could forcibly carry you back to the car.” Darius follows a step behind me.

“You could,” I concede. Because, duh, of course he can. “But you won’t.”

“I won’t.” He shakes his head like I’m an annoying little sister he grew up putting into headlocks and giving nuggies to rather than his boss. Unfortunately for me, both are true. Except the sister part.

The host leads us past empty table after empty table draped in red cloth with fancily folded gold napkins. I snatch one as we pass, pausing to kneel and wipe my boot clean. Darius stops behind me without comment, while the host strides away as if he’s being chased.

I don’t rush, cleaning my thousand-dollar boots the best I can without the proper tools. Residue clings to the leather, but at least the goo is off. I rise to my feet and drop the napkin on a table at the same time four men round the corner.

“Why is it always the Chinese restaurant?” Darius grumbles. He unbuttons his jacket and shrugs out of it, hanging it off the back of the nearest chair with ginger hands. Two guns and a combat knife hang secure in his chest holster, but he doesn’t reach for them, instead crossing his wrists behind his back and waiting.

I flip my black bangs out of my eyes, smoothing my hands down my jacket and stuffing them in my pockets. Antoni stands at the front of the pack with a slick grin and shiny skin, proud of himself for setting up this little meeting.

Or ambush, rather.

“Antoni.” I keep my shoulders loose, my voice light, my face relaxed, hiding the heated anger building into a raging fire in my chest. “I’m surprised to find you here. I thought we agreed to meet at twelve-eleven Washington Street. Isn’t this twelve-fifteen?”

“I could say the same thing, Tamayo.” He stands with a hand on his hip and a condescending scowl on his face, as ifweinconveniencedhim. “I waited for you.”

The flames inside lick up my throat, into my arms. “I’m sure you did.”

“Imagine my confusion when my friend told me you were here.”

“Ah, well,” I say with a shrug, “we were hungry, and I had a craving.”

“Craving for home?” he jabs, overly smug.

His soldiers chuckle, throwing each other sly eyes. They all look the exact same, with white skin and brown eyes and brown hair faded into styled coifs. Typical mobster fuckboys with typical white male superiority complexes.

I feign confusion. “Home?”

“Chinese food,” he says like the connection is obvious.

“I don’t quite follow,” I lie. It’d be hard not to follow his meaning when it’s the same bullshit I’ve heard my entire life. My mono-lidded eyes, my tan skin, my wide nose—all inherited from my Filipino father—are often generalized as Asian. And Asian in white America translates to Chinese, because people are too stupid to differentiate ethnicities from the most populated continent in the world.

I cock my head and frown at Antoni, a picture of bewilderment. “We’re more known for tacos than noodles in Buckman Heights.” Where I grew up in a third-floor walkup above a corner mart that always smelled like Swisher Sweets.

“No, because you’re—you look like—you’re Asian.” Antoni’s face visibly reddens as he’s forced to explain his racist joke.

Darius snorts.

“You must not have grown up around here.” I say the words flippantly, as if I’m not deeply insulting him. The Falcones don’t accept foreigners as made men. None of the Families do. Another thing that sets me and mine apart from all of theirs. I wave my hand. “That’s neither here nor there, though. Shall we?”

He doesn’t answer—not with words, anyway.

Without a signal, Antoni snarls and charges forward. A small man with a smaller ego. The sudden move catches his men off guard, but then they’re on their feet, three seconds behind their capo. It’s enough.

Darius draws both guns in one swift motion as I duck and rush at Antoni. He tries to wrap his arms around me. Rookie fucking move. I sidestep out of reach and kick out at his knee, whirling around to slam my elbow into his back.

Two shots ring through the tight space. Twothunksfollow.

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