Page 153 of Push

I tried to lose my crafting companion in the crowd, but he was never far away, constantly on my heels as I hurried through the city. He was behind me when I stopped to grab a coffee. He was still there when I paused at the traffic lights, scanning left and right before dashing across the road.

I was breathless from dodging through the city in three-inch heels, but I was calm. Being followed wasn’t exactly a new thing. The Morelli family had pulled the same kind of crap when I’d been preparing the case for the Bankstown raids. Intimidation—never worked. Bribery—they shouldn’t have bothered. And they hadn’t for long. They’d quickly realized their promises of dirty money were wasted on me and found people morereceptiveto their offers.

The click of my heels slowed as I approached the weathered bricks of the building on Barrack Street. I didn’t want an audience for where I headed next.

Scowling, I glanced over my shoulder. The man was still there. He paused, looked to the side, up, and then…he started whistling.

Whistling.

I stopped on the sidewalk, spun around, and faced him head-on. I didn’t have time for this crap.

“Well,” I barked at him. “What do you want?”

Dark eyebrows popped over his sunglasses, and his tattooed finger raised, pointing to his chest as if to say, “Who, me?”

“Yes.” I put my hand on my hip. “You.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Hello.” He looked around the street, thinking. “It is a…nice morning…for a walk.” He had a heavy accent—strong, sharp, Italian, maybe?

“Is it?” I arched my eyebrow. “I’m not sure I agree.” When his head tilted, confused, I spelled it out for him, “A strange man’s following me.”

My crafty friend launched into action, stepping closer to me, his arm shooting out like a bodyguard, and his head whipping around to check everyone passing us on the street.

I rolled my eyes.“You’rethe strange man.” Not the sharpest enforcer dragged out of the goon squad tool shed, was he? “You see this?” I lifted my foot and wiggled the pointed toe of mypatent black stilettos. “One kick in the right place, and you’ll never father enough children to make any of those quilts. Who are you?”

A small smile tugged at his lips. “I’m Romeo.”

“Romeo?” I snorted.Yeah, right.“I bet you are.”

“Sì.”His smile grew wider.

Italian. For sure. I could be in deep shit. My skin prickled with apprehension, but I took a deep breath, scanning the busy street, the sun of broad daylight warm on my skin. I was safe here…for now.

“And why are you following me, Romeo?”

“I was told to.”

“By…?”

“My employer, Signora Sullivan.” He bowed his head.

“And who is youremployer?”

“No names. I prefer to keep my employer happy.” Another slow smile spread across his face. “I was warned you’d try to get up here.” He tapped the magazine against his temple. “But I prefer to stay alive,sì?”

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve got much of an employer if you have to worry about a nap in the dirt,” I retorted. “I hope they pay good overtime.”

Romeo snorted a laugh. “My employer is very generous, Signora.”

I cocked my head and looked him up and down—an action that seemed to please him based on his sly grin. “You look familiar.” My eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a whiff of the Morelli family about you.” He was far too tall and too broad, but the dark curls and strong jaw reminded me of the eldest son—and who knew how many more of that motley crew there were in the city?

That accusation received a swift reaction. Romeo stepped forward, his lip curled. “I don’t lie with dogs.” The chilled edge to his voice was enough to shuffle me back a step.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t a Morelli.

I forced a tight smile and played it cool. He’d rattled me, but I wouldn’t slip up again. Maybe this was all some bullcrap intimidation tactic of Kayleigh’s legal team—get some over-muscled goon in a suit to follow me around to convince Toby to drop the charges coming.

Why, though?

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