Page 44 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

I sit. He pushes it in behind me like the gentleman he’s not and sits beside me at the end of the booth.

“Look alive, buttercup,” he says with a glint in his eye.

I give him a blank stare like I don’t understand.

Boring, boring, boring, I think. I will not be eating. I will not be drinking. I will not be enjoying any part of this night.

A waiter sets down a basket of warm herbed bread with a plate of roasted peppers and feta, and it all smells so good I want to die.

Luka smiles. Like he knows.

Chapter Seventeen

LUKA

The waiters descend with more food and a gin and tonic for Edie.

“Drink, eat.” I set a piece of rosemary bread and a slab of feta on her plate.

“Not hungry.” She gives me another one of her fake smiles, all wide green eyes and cherry lip gloss.

“You knew you were coming to dinner, but you’re not hungry?”

She shrugs, expression vacant.

I take a strand of her hair between my fingers. What’s going on with her?

Orton discreetly presses the guys for information about something that happened years ago, back when my brother, Alteo, took a bigger role in the family. Alteo would be forty now if I hadn’t killed him.

Only Orton and Storm know I’m here for vengeance. You never show your hand, and you never reveal what’s important in life.

My brother ordered the Tucumayo killing. That’s why he died. But there are still actual killers to find.

Everybody involved in her death dies—that was my vow to Sara all those years ago. I don’t care who they are; they die. Ultimately it’s my fault, of course, and a lot of indiscriminate killing won’t change that, but that’s one of the good things about being all-powerful—the shit you do doesn’t need to make sense.

As luck would have it, I’m good at running this clan. One month in, and they’ve never been stronger. Never richer.

You came for the vengeance, and you stayed for the power trip.

I catch her staring at the bread, practically drooling over it. Oh, she’s definitely hungry.

I take a piece for myself and load it up with cheese and peppers. I let her watch me take a bite. I dab the corners of my mouth. “You’re missing out.”

She smiles and shrugs.

I grit my teeth. I know when a person’s hungry. They’d keep us so hungry in that place.

God, why does her hunger feel like a three-alarm fucking fire? If she wants to deny herself, who am I to interfere? If she wants to play cat-and-mouse with where she lives or what she’s doing during the day, why do I care?

But the bland act? No.

I settle my hand onto her thigh and hover my lips over her ear, warm and electric. “I will break you of this so hard.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

She pulls back with a frown as though she doesn’t understand.

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